Chapter 6
Grass - Metlan
Metlan spoke gently to Pergassi and stroked the bone just beneath her eye. Pergassi closed her eyes and nuzzled her nose into Metlan’s hand. Then Pergassi lay on her back, exposing her nearly white fur-covered belly to Metlan. She held her legs up in the air, with her paws curled in. Metlan scratched her belly.
“You’re a good kitty, Pergassi,” he cooed to her.
Pergassi rolled over on her side, and Metlan curled up next to her. He trusted her completely, even though she was almost twice as long as he was tall, six times as heavy, and could snap his neck in an instant. Metlan stretched out onto his back and lay his head on Pergassi's soft furry side like it was a pillow. Her even breathing soon lulled him into a deep sleep.
Across the dry field where they had encamped along the river, there were numerous other boys, men, and female cave lions. Several male lions patrolled the perimeters of the camp to keep out intruders. The Samalitans prized these felines for their giant size and endurance. Some of the tribesmen had chosen to sleep in the shady comfort of tents, while others, like Metlan, had chosen to rest outside with their cats under spindly shrubs or anything that offered scant protection from the intense sun. The lions had brought down several long-nosed antelope from a passing herd the night before and had eaten their fill. Now they were sleeping it off.
After several hours of sleep, Pergassi stretched her front paws as if reaching for the horizon, causing Metlan to awaken and sit up. He stroked Pergassi along her back, near her neck. Pergassi lifted her hind quarters to the sky and stretched her paws into the ground, pulling at the dirt with her claws. Her short fur was a yellowish brown, the same tawny color as Metlan’s wavy hair. She had distinctive black lines under her eyes. When he looked closely, Metlan could see the faint outline of light brown stripes, almost ghostlike along her haunches. He noticed her fur was matted with sweat where he had been lying against her.
“It’s too hot. Let’s go on down to the river,” Metlan said.
Pergassi turned to look at him, squinting her green eyes to his soothing tones. He grabbed a small chunk of dried flier meat from his leather pack and headed through the tall grasses toward the river. Last night, a scouting party had brought back dead fliers from the forest and carved them into treats for the cats. Sometimes to encourage their sleepy cats to keep moving, the men dangled the treats from sticks as they rode. Now that the tribe had neared the wooded hills, these tasty morsels had become available.
As he began to wade through the tall grasses into shallow water, Metlan turned to call to his pet.
“Pergassi!”
He watched her pad toward him. She lifted each powerful paw and silently placed it in front of her. The skin on her back rose and fell in waves as her weight shifted from side to side. Her long tail curved behind her. As they neared the water’s edge, Metlan thought back to the first time they had gone swimming together, when she was just a cub.
Pergassi had stayed on the bank while Metlan called to her from the center of the pond. It was a warm summer day. The little lion scampered up to the edge, as if to go in, and then stopped abruptly. She paced along the edge, looking at him longingly, while waving her tail from side to side. But she was too scared to jump in. After a bit, he waded out, picked her up by the scruff of her neck, dropped her in the water, and then jumped in behind her. She began paddling through the water to Metlan. When she came close, she shook her head, spraying water right in Metlan’s face.
The memory made Metlan laugh. Looking at the giant cave lion walking beside him now, he found it hard to believe there had ever been a time when he could pick up Pergassi.
Metlan forded into the cooling water until he was covered up to his chest. Pergassi entered the water and began to swim toward him, her head held high while her body was submerged. As she reached him, she put her immense paws on his shoulders. Unlike some of the other cats who were not so gentle, Pergassi always retracted her claws when she was near Metlan. He held the flier meat above her mouth, and she happily snapped it up. Metlan slapped his hands on the water, and soon the two were splashing about together. Some of his land-loving tribesmen, who had come down to the river for a drink, looked out at them scowling, but Metlan didn’t care. Metlan loved swimming in the water with his cat. Let the others bake in the hot sun. That was their problem.
Metlan glanced at the nearby tree-covered mountains. Although the peaks had always loomed in the distance, he had never ventured so near. If all went as planned, by tomorrow he would be on his way to the legendary home of the fliers in the Ancient Forest. But first, Metlan would need to speak with the king.
He climbed up the shallow river bank with Pergassi following. She bounded out of the water and shook her body. For a few moments, Metlan and his lion sat drying in the sun, her paw draped over his shoulder. A large puffy cloud edged across the sun, offering a brief moment of shade. Last night, a brilliant new star had appeared in the sky. Before she had been lost at sea, Metlan’s mother had told him a fable about a star that led to a city of gold. Perhaps the new star was a good omen. Metlan felt that it was time that he made his mark on the world. He was tired of living in his father’s shadow.
“I’ll be back soon.” Metlan said. Leaving Pergassi beside his supplies, Metlan strode over to his father’s large, lion skin covered tent, his long tawny hair still dripping wet. As he neared, the king’s personal bodyguards jumped up and stood straight with their shoulders pulled back. They wore leather tunics and carried curved swords. Metlan was disappointed to see that Breyjak was on duty today. He had always suspected that Breyjak had ambitions of his own.
“Be at ease, men. Is my father busy?” Metlan raise his right palm in a friendly gesture, which also served to reveal that he carried no weapon.
Breyjak answered stiffly, “The king is never idle.”
“I meant I wish to have an audience with him.”
“Leipold and Jortan are with him.”
“May I join them?” Metlan persisted.
“I wouldn’t,” Breyjak said, still looking forward, expressionless, with his straight dark hair slicked back. “They asked not to be disturbed.” One corner of his upper lip curled as he glanced at Metlan.
“I didn’t ask if you could join them. I asked if I could join them,” Metlan retorted with a laugh.
But Breyjak didn’t find it funny. “Suit yourself, Prince Metlan,” he said with a frown and lifted the tent flap.
The king was seated with a cloth wrapped around his head, his bushy beard hanging loose, and one hand dipped in a bowl of water. Priest Leipold and Jortan were seated to either side of him, each with a bowl of their own. Jortan had one finger in his bowl and was swirling it through the strands of lion fur that floated upon the water. Leipold had apparently already swirled his and was staring intently at the pattern attempting to divine an answer. Breyjak had failed to mention that they were busy performing the Ktistai ritual for the great cat god Phix. It was too late now.
“How will the emperor reward me for flier’s claws?” the king solemnly asked as he removed his fingers and gazed into the water. When he realized Metlan had entered, he looked up abruptly.
Metlan bowed to his father.
“Who let you in here?” roared King Maltan.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Metlan lowered his chin and eyes. “I did not know you were performing the Ktistai.”
“You have spoiled the reading,” his father growled, turning his bowl upside down and spilling the water onto the dirt floor. “Why are you here?”
“I have come to ask your permission, Your Majesty.”
“Permission for what? I have better things to do than cater to your whims.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Stop wasting my time!”
Metlan gathered up all his courage and spoke. “I hope to bring honor to you by riding ahead with the scouts.”
“I am already honored above all. I
don’t need you to bring me honor."
“You are indeed honored above all.”
“So what do I need you for?” derided King Maltan with a laugh.
Priest Leipold and Jortan made the mistake of laughing along with their king.
“What are you laughing at? This is my son! You will not laugh at my son!”
The two men instantly grew grave. Metlan waited. This was the break he was looking for.
“My son belongs out in front,” proclaimed the King. “Prince Metlan, I order you to ride with the scouts.”
“As you please, as you order, so it is done,” Metlan replied.
“Make sure you bring the fliers’ claws to me,” the king added.
“Yes, sir.” Metlan bowed to his father and backed out of the tent. The meeting had gone even better than he had dreamed the day before. At last, I shall ride with the scouts to the Ancient Forest, he thought excitedly.
Metlan walked back to grab his belongings. Pergassi was stretched out sleeping beside them. She opened her eyes drowsily as Metlan came near.
“Have I got news for you!” he announced cheerfully to the cat.
She stared intently into his face, as if waiting for the news.
“We’ve been promoted to scouts!” Metlan walked around to her side, climbed onto her back, and stroked her next to her ears. “Up, girl,” he instructed, and the cat rose.
Her fur was soft and easy to grab onto, so no saddle or reins were needed. He simply held onto the long fur on her neck, and when he wanted her to go to the right, he tugged gently on the fur on that side. She would even go backwards if he tugged on the fur on her back behind where he sat.
He directed her toward the hills, past numerous tents set up in the grasses of the main camp, where men and their cats were still eating, drinking, sleeping, or lazing around. Pergassi kept going. They journeyed beyond the margins of the camp, into hilly plains, where the vegetation began to increase. Before long, following smoke rising from the woods ahead, he came upon a small camp in a clump of trees at the fringe of the forest, where a group of men were busy brushing their cats, checking their short bows, sharpening their curved swords, and packing food supplies to prepare to ride. Metlan had brought his own weapons. He was wearing a short leather tunic and trousers, and he carried a water bag slung over his shoulder. He had brought along a rolled up cloth filled with dried food supplies for several days' travel.
Metlan was thrilled to think that he would be joining these men as they ventured into the woods and up into the mountains. As he approached the makeshift camp, the scouts’ lions lifted their heads. A few twitched their ears. One smaller lion stood and began a flat lashing of her tail, which let Metlan know she was nervous about their approach.
“Pergassi, hulj!” Metlan said, issuing the Samalitan command to stop.
When the men recognized Metlan, they spoke to their cats in calming tones. Metlan dismounted and then waited patiently to be sure that the scouts’ lions would obey their masters and not respond to Pergassi with aggression.
Metlan started wondering if his idea was a good one after all. He did not know a lot about the fliers, so he was having second thoughts.
“Can we come closer?” A boy was approaching, walking alongside a cat.
Metlan lifted his hand, palm facing toward the boy, in a gesture of friendship. “I’m Metlan.”
The boy, whose large ears poked out of his long stringy hair, responded in kind. “I know who you are: Prince Metlan. I’m Sholfo,” he said in a voice that cracked, as it was still a little high. Metlan guessed Sholfo was several years younger than him, though the boy was already as tall.
They watched as their lions approached each other with their feline tails lifted high in greeting. After rubbing heads, both cats continued forward, rubbing each other’s sides with such power that Metlan thought Sholfo’s lion might fall over.
“That’s Telski,” the boy said.
“My cat is Pergassi.” Metlan was relieved that Telski appeared to recognize and accept Pergassi. “The king gave me an order to ride with the scouting party into the Ancient Forest.”
“As the king pleases, as the king orders, so it is done,” Sholfo recited.
“As a new scout, there’s a lot I need to learn in a short amount of time,” Metlan said, trying to show Sholfo that he was not some proud prince. “Can you help me?”
“Sure,” the kid said, “what do you need?”
“I don’t want to be in the way. Perhaps I can just follow along.”
“Sure. I can…” his voice trailed off as the scout leader approached on his cat through the undergrowth. The cat stopped about ten feet away. The leader was wearing a short lion skin cloak with the paws knotted at his bare chest. His long hair hung down to his shoulders.
“Greetings, Prince Metlan. I’m Carvor, and I’m in charge here. What can I do for you?”
“The king has ordered me to join you on your expedition into the forest.”
“As the king pleases, as the king orders, so it is done. We’re heading out shortly, so there is a lot you will need to learn in a short time. I see you have met my son, Sholfo.”
“Yes, he has actually been very helpful and has offered to show me the ropes.”
Carvor smiled slightly and looked from Sholfo to Metlan. “If that is acceptable to you, Prince Metlan, then that should work well. My son has ridden with this troop most of his life. I have great confidence in him.”
“Sure. That sounds good. Thank you.”
“Thank you, father. I won’t let you down.” Sholfo beamed as he squared his shoulders and stood a little taller.
“Try not to get killed or captured, Metlan. If you are captured, don’t let them know you’re the prince, or they might try to use you for ransom. That would not please your father,” Carvor said.
Metlan was confused by the strange statement. Carvor spoke as if fliers could reason like men.
“This may actually work out,” Carvor continued. “For now, you’ll ride in the back with Sholfo. Once you’re ready, we’ll put you up front with Huntor.”
“Yes, sir,” Metlan replied as Carvor turned to go.
“Great, so follow me. I gotta go get my stuff,” Sholfo said, as he climbed onto his cat and Metlan followed his lead. “First things first. Whatta you know about fliers?”
“They live in the forest. Dead ones make tasty treats for our cats,” Metlan said.
“That’s a start. Do you know how big they are?” the boy asked.
“I’ve never seen one that hasn’t been cut up. I hear they’re about our size, only a little smaller.”
“Good. What else do you know about them?” Sholfo quizzed.
“Although they resemble us in some ways, like when they walk upright or shoot bows and arrows, they are not really people. They have night vision like our cats and stretched skin they use for wings. They are uncivilized and have no human language, but whistle like birds. They hide in the forest because they are cowards. They don’t even eat meat. The cat gods created them to be farmed as food for our cats. Unlike us and our cats, they have no souls,” Metlan recited, as Pergassi followed behind Telski. They wove their way through the undergrowth.
“Do they fly?” asked Sholfo.
“Of course they fly. They’re fliers, aren’t they?” Metlan was getting into his role as Sholfo’s sidekick. He might learn more this way.
The boy chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what we call them. But they don’t fly, they glide.” Sholfo seemed to be pleased that he apparently knew something that Metlan did not.
“Ok, so they glide.”
“It makes a difference,” said Sholfo. “They can’t take off from the ground; they can only glide between trees. A flier on the ground is as good as dead. They can’t outrun our lions.”
Sholfo halted his cat and leapt to the ground to retrieve his equipment from a tree. In a nearby clearing, the men were dousing the campfire and loading up the last of their goods o
n their lions.
“I heard they do not kill lions,” Metlan mentioned, trying to sound nonchalant. His biggest fear on this mission was that he might be putting Pergassi in danger.
“They will shoot them, or us, with their bows and arrows, but only in self-defense.”
“That almost sounds noble,” Metlan mused.
The boy raised one eyebrow and looked up at Metlan. “Noble? They’re nothing but beasts. But our cats seem to like ‘em.” He laughed and spat on the ground. Metlan found it humorous that Sholfo was trying so hard to act tough and wise, but the prince kept a straight face.
Metlan reached into the sack on his belt, pulled out several pieces of dried flier, tossed one to Pergassi and another to Telski. Both cats snapped them up quickly.
“I like to serve my cat noble treats,” joked Metlan.
Sholfo smiled. “Haha…noble treats…I like that. Let’s hope we serve up lots of nobility tomorrow!”
“Mount up!” Carvor bellowed. There was a flurry of movement from the clearing as the men obeyed.
Sholfo ran along beside his cat and leapt high into the air, grabbing her neck and swinging himself onto her back. Then he urged her forward.
“Looks like we’re heading out,” he said.
Metlan’s heart was beating quickly as Sholfo and he fell into line behind the troop.
As they wound their way up the side of a mountain, the trees became thicker. Birds fluttered away from the approaching lions. Metlan began to revise his plans, based on everything he had learned about the fliers from Sholfo and Carvor compared with what he had previously been taught. His father had portrayed them as dumb beasts. But if the fliers really could shoot bows and arrows and yet killed only in self-defense, then they were far more intelligent than Metlan had been led to believe. Could they really conceive of holding him for ransom as Carvor had suggested?
Metlan ducked under an annoying tree branch as he rode on, deep in thought. He began to wonder if his father would pay a ransom for his release. Whenever Metlan was around, his father was always growling orders at him. The king was not interested in what Metlan could do, only in what he could make him do. Still, Metlan was valuable to the king because he was his only child and heir. In their tribe, most men with one child had only one because the others had died. That was not the case with his father. Metlan was all there was or ever had been. People whispered that the king could not have other children. The talk never rose above a whisper because if his father heard them, he would have had their tongues cut out.
As a youngster, Metlan had ridden in one of the wagons which trudged along in the center of the tribe, surrounded by the riders. His tribe spent most of their time travelling across miles of dry grass that seemed to go on forever, following herds of long-nosed antelope. Those strange looking antelope, with tube-like noses that hung down over their mouths, served as the primary food for the lions, who devoured about twenty pounds of meat a day. As the tribe migrated, sometimes one of his uncles had lifted him onto a lion to ride. Metlan’s father, the king, was always too busy. Once he grew up, Metlan had ridden with the men in the main force, but he had always wanted to ride out front with the scouts. Now, at last, here he was.
“So, what do you know about reconnaissance?” Sholfo asked.
“I’m here to learn. I’d have no trouble with a raid in the grasslands, but a forest is a different matter.”
“I’m surprised your father would put you in such a dangerous position.”
“I requested this post.”
“Then you must have a death wish.”
Although Metlan didn’t owe Sholfo an explanation, he thought it couldn’t hurt. He told Sholfo about his recent meeting with his father, the king. Sholfo seemed duly impressed at the way Metlan had successfully manipulated the king.
“The truth is that I did not ask to join the scouts to impress my father or anybody else. I wanted to join you because I like adventure,” Metlan explained.
Sholfo looked over his shoulder at Metlan and smiled. “Then you’ve chosen the right troop.”
“So, what is our mission?”
“As scouts, our purpose is to gain information about the terrain and the enemy before our main force comes to the area. We’re supposed to determine the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses. We’re also expected to kill some fliers and bring back some treats for the cats. We usually just toss their claws, but now your father, the king I mean, wants us to bring him their claws. We may have some skirmishes as well, so you’d better be ready for combat.”
Metlan remembered his father had mentioned the claws. Perhaps the king wanted the claws to use for ornamentation or some new ritual. He wondered why his father thought he could impress the emperor with such things.
“I’ve been lucky. My father has given me the best trainers in riding, shooting, and hand to hand combat. I even have some knowledge in animal traps. I’ve fought in several skirmishes in disputes over antelope herds,” Metlan said.
“That’s great, and no offense, but have you ever been in a forest before?”
“Nope. I can’t say that I have. But I must say, it’s nice the way it’s so much cooler than our camp.”
“Just like in the grasses, the cats are really useful in detecting danger. Look for those signs like you always would.”
Metlan smiled and patted Pergassi. “I spend most of my time with Pergassi. I can tell what she is thinking from a movement of her ears, a flick of her tail, or even the tensing of her muscles, just as she can read me.”
“Yeah, the cats keep us safe from any dangers on the forest floor,” Sholfo agreed. “But the problem is that these fliers have night sight like our cats, and they have the ‘higher ground.’ I mean they live in the trees, so they’re always above us. We have no idea how many there are, and they can glide from tree to tree.”
“Then how are we to beat them?” Metlan asked.
“I don’t know. Somehow we gotta find a way to lure them to the ground.”
“Have you ever killed one?”
“Sure, some of them live alone in the woods outside the Ancient Forest. They come to the ground to pick berries, our lions hunt ‘em down and we shoot ‘em. It’s like hunting squirrels.”
“But what about those that live deep in the Ancient Forest? Isn’t it suicide to just go riding into the forest where so many of them live?” Metlan noticed that the undergrowth had become thinner, the trees larger, and the woods darker. “Has any human ever penetrated their forest and lived to tell about it?”
Sholfo shifted his weight on his lion. Metlan was expressing the same concerns that Sholfo’s father had shared with the king earlier. But the king had demanded that the scouts discover a way to conquer the city. King Maltan claimed that the fliers would not shoot the scouts as long as they stayed on their cats. Carvor had expressed doubts to his son.
“Well, when we venture too far into the forest, they will shoot to protect their boundaries but only in self-defense. Or that’s what we’ve been told,” Sholfo said.
“So are they stupid or just timid like herd animals?”
“My father says it’s a grave error to underestimate the enemy. Stupid animals can still be dangerous.”
They had reached a small stream. Sholfo and Metlan dismounted to refill their water skins while the lions drank the fresh running water. Sholfo pointed out a paw print in the mud. “I assume you know how to track animals, including our own lions? The animals in the forest are different from those in the grasslands. That print was left by an otter.” Sholfo pointed out a paw print in the mud. “Cave bears will sometimes even threaten our lions.”
The boy looked at Metlan as if he was trying to scare him. It didn’t work. They followed the stream for a bit and then turned down a path that led deeper into the forest. They could barely see the sun due to tall trees whose tops seemed to form a tent over them.
“I would like to know more about finding my way through the forest,” Metlan said, c
almly. “How do you keep from getting lost?”
“First things first. I better teach you how not to go in circles. So as you ride along, don’t just look at the back of my lion. You should be constantly scanning your eyes from the ground and through the forest to try to notice natural breaks that you might pass through. Do you see that clearing ahead? Now, see that large beech, the smooth barked tree?” he said, pointing ahead about ten cat lengths away. “Let’s ride up to that spot.”
When they reached the tree, Sholfo turned and pointed back. “Now look back to where we came from. Remember the large rock we passed? Then just start all over again, look forward and select another landmark, like that evergreen up ahead. If you do this, you’ll be able to stay in a straight line when you don’t have me to follow.”
“With some practice, I should get pretty good at it,” Metlan said, as he glanced behind and then ahead.
“If you do get confused, whatever you do, don’t panic, or you could lose your sense of direction and not know how to get out of the forest. Even worse, you might ride right into the flier’s camp,” Sholfo explained.
“I’m not usually one to panic, but I’ll keep that in mind. I’ve noticed that everything sort of looks the same the further we go,” Metlan said.
“If worst comes to worst, Telski has been trained to find my father’s cat in an emergency.”
“I’ve taught Pergassi how to deliver messages written on bark,” Metlan offered. He had been hoping to get a chance to demonstrate this skill.
“That sounds like a good trick, only…well…I can’t read,” Sholfo said, acting a little ashamed.
“That’s not a problem, maybe I’ll teach you some day. But for now, if I ever send you a message, will you promise to take it to my father, the king?” Metlan asked.
Sholfo pushed his hair back behind his ears, as he scowled. “Sure.” He seemed uneasy.
“But I’ll need your help teaching Pergassi to always find Telski, in case we get separated,” Metlan added.
Sholfo seemed to relax. “Fair enough. We can practice now. We can make sort of a game out of it as we ride. I’ll show you.”
“Great idea! But remember your promise, okay?” Metlan reminded.
“Sure. I never forget a promise,” Sholfo said, quite seriously. Something about the way he said it, made Metlan believe the boy.
“What about the fliers, are there any around here?” Metlan asked, glancing up at the treetops.
“Not yet, we still have a ways to go. They’re around the other side of this mountain. Believe me, you’ll know when we reach the Ancient Forest. The trees are twice as big there.”
Metlan looked around him at the straight trunks that seemed to reach for the sky. He couldn’t imagine trees any bigger than these.
“Sure, let’s try your game,” Metlan said.
The boys and their lions spent an enjoyable afternoon honing their skills in the woods, all the time drawing nearer to the mysterious Ancient Forest.