Mark of the Cat and Year of the Rat

  “It has truly begun,” her voice was steady. “Death, death and rebellion. A caravan was attacked here at first light—rats—many of the strange ones. And two Sand Cats were cruelly slain—by men.”

  She paused; her tongue swept over dry lips. “Men who follow a false banner, who spout lies, rebels who will fasten upon the belly of our world if they are not stopped, gnaw us into utter darkness. A great attack it was.”

  How she had learned of an event happening afar from Valapa, I did not know. But I had long accepted that the doll maker had talents she seldom revealed. That the rats would so attack a caravan, one could accept at once. But who were these warriors who killed rats and also Sand Cats?

  It was said that Shank-ji had gone to the desert, had raised a standard of revolt—was that true? That he would kill Sand Cats—yes. More readily because Hynkkel-ji favored them. But this—

  If there were more killings of the great cats, they would believe themselves betrayed and would slaughter in return. What would become of Hynkkel-ji should this occur?

  Ravinga must be reading my thoughts. “So will he be between one tie and the other. I ask you, go to him. Tell him what I have told you—official reports will come too late. He must prepare to act at once!”

  “I will go.”

  Hynkkel-ji:

  I had found much to interest me in the old records. The one concerning the water shortage held me the longest. It contained, of course, the martyrdom of Zastaff-ji. Only I noted one strange thing about that part of the roll. The ink there was darker, the surface of the skin less worn. One might believe it was added later—why? The whole report had been drawn up after the affair.

  Murri had not returned by the time I bedded down. I believed him with the leopards. I felt uneasy and could not sleep. Rat attacks, shrinking algae pools, uncertainty concerning what support I might have—those wove like specters around my mind. Why had the Essence set this burden upon me? By my father’s opinion I was a weakling, not to be trusted. My brother, according to rumor, had already joined with an enemy.

  I had Murri—perhaps Ravinga—Allitta? Why had my mind suddenly pictured her face? She had never had any regard for me. Long ago in our market meetings she had made that plain. No—I could not count on Allitta.

  Sleep came at last, and I did not dream. I awoke early—night was still dark beyond my windows. Only there was in me a need for action, as if the storm drums of the desert had roused me.

  Who—Murri! But—danger!

  I was on my feet when he slipped through between the heavy night curtains at the door.

  “Brother—” I mind sent—and met a barrier!

  Never before had Murri so shut me out. His large, sun bright eyes regarded me as from a distance, his tail beginning to swing a little back and forth. Something had disturbed him greatly, raising this barrier between us.

  “Murri—” I took a step in his direction. His ears flattened. He did not growl, but I could see the hint of fangs.

  This was indeed rejection. But what had I done?

  “Brother in fur,” I thought slowly, baring my arm to show the scar of our uniting. “What lies ill between us?”

  The return touch struck like a weapon. “Blood!”

  Had some palace lurker tried attack? It was possible.

  That thought may have reached him.

  “Kill—blood—”

  To my shock and surprise he turned and was gone. I stumbled after him. The entry guard barely stepped aside in time as I shouldered past him to stare down the hall. Murri was moving with the speed of a desert roamer. He was already at the far end. I could not catch him now.

  “You,” I demanded of the guard, “was the Sand Cat injured; did you see any mark of a wound?” I had not, but perhaps such had been hidden by his stance.

  “No, August One. He was unharmed. At least I saw no mark on him. Shall I follow?” He did not look too eager to do so. With Murri in his present mood, it was best that none approach him but I, and he had made certain that was not to happen.

  To lose Murri—and why? Unspeakable cold clutched me.

  Still, I struggled to reach him by mind touch. There was no answer. Either he was now beyond call or he was unwilling to answer. At last I had to accept that, but I determined, one way or another, to find an answer.

  Dawn brought the heat of the day. A servant came to announce a very early visitor—Allitta. Could Murri have gone to her—or to Ravinga? With desperate hope I had her admitted.

  She also stood just within the doorway to face me, looking about the room.

  “Murri?” Not his name in greeting, rather a question.

  “He is gone—perhaps to Ravinga.”

  “Ravinga sent me,” she used no formalities of speech.

  I flinched—I could not believe now that any news would be good.

  “What has happened?” I forced the question.

  “There has been a battle,” she began flatly. “Ravinga has her ways of learning. Rats, many of the large ones, attacked a caravan. There came guards to their aid—but they were no city scouts. Shank-ji was their leader, under his own standard. Sand Cats had fought to help the caravan. He killed them. Perhaps their kin will now turn full enemy again.”

  I clenched my hands. I was never a fighting man, but in that instant I could have joyfully crushed a certain throat. My edict concerning peace with the cats had been the first issued under my seal at the beginning of my reign. I knew that Murri had broadcast that news to the nearest of his kin. Those in turn would have picked up his sending and spread it through the rock islands where they laired.

  Was the blood-bond now broken? Murri—Murri, my brother—I cast that thought as far as I could. Come to me—let me aid. No answer—I could only hope that when his first anger ebbed a little, he would in some way communicate. The tie between us—might the Essence allow it to tighten once more—let Murri come to me?

  Shank-ji. He had raised his own standard, gathered warriors to him. This was open rebellion and I must face it—but not with weapons unless I was forced to. I did not want to awaken such hatred among my own kind as might come from that. No, I must show myself abroad, let all know me, learn me. The Empire was not just Valapa, but all the Queendoms. Let me visit each in turn, answer questions and be the visible ruler that the Essence had called me to be.

  “Lady of Vurope . . .” she still stood by the door “. . . this day you have rendered a great service, you and Ravinga. Her care of this land is beyond price.”

  Allitta bowed her head. “The August One has spoken,” her voice was now cold, formal. “It shall be done as he commands.” Like Murri before her, she vanished before I could speak again.

  CHAPTER 6

  On a Housetop in Valapa:

  Murri crouched on the roof. He was not sure why he had taken this path out of the city. Now he paused to recall the events of the morning. Blood-bond warred with hot anger. No, it had not been his smooth-skinned brother who had slain. He could swear to that before the Elders. That men often betrayed was known to every Sand Cat—but “men” were not “man;” the killers had shared nothing with cats. Long years of hunting, of slaying and being slain lay between “men” and cats.

  To judge blindly without knowing all was a peril. Wait—wait and see.

  Murri arose. There was more traffic on the streets below. He did not want to be sighted. Padding across the roof he looked down. Some instinct he did not understand had led him here—for now, he would obey it.

  He drew upon the breeze about him. His thick fur began to rise. The breeze was near wind strong. Murri not only yielded to the pull of it but he bounded over the edge of the roof, circling down, his fall softened by his puffed coat so he reached the courtyard below with hardly a jar. Turning he faced the entry of the building.

  That was ajar and he confidently approached it, nudging the inner curtain aside to enter. The smells he encountered made his nose wrinkle: glue, hot leather and metal. With those mingled the odor of humans and, faintly, s
pices and herbs.

  She whom he sought was at the door of a chamber ahead. In one hand she held a cup, painted with Sand Cats whirling in one of their dances. From this curled incense that brought from Murri a throaty purr of greeting.

  Ravinga retreated, beckoning to the great cat. “Welcome,” mind touch reached him.

  She seated herself in the comfortable manner she used when working. He sat. For a very long moment their eyes met before there was communication.

  “You have heard, then,” she made it a statement and not a question.

  “I have heard.”

  “Go you now to the pride?”

  “I began to do so—” he hesitated.

  “But—” she prodded him.

  “There is a blood-bond.”

  She settled back a little as if some problem she had faced was solved.

  “The Dark stirs,” Ravinga said slowly. “All manner of acts, which can lead to distrust and confusion are weapons for him.” Still she held the cat eye to eye.

  “Him?” Murri demanded.

  She had set the incense bowl on the table between them. Now she arose and opened one of the wall cabinets to bring out the Hynkkel doll in the robes of the Emperor, then another, which she placed to face the first. This also was the image of a man—yet there were marked differences. The face of the second lacked the customary mustache; his hair was drawn high in a single knot. The dull purple robe he wore lacked any elaboration of embroidery or gem encrustment. He had a single piece of jewelry—a large pendant of metal centered by a bluish stone.

  Murri studied the doll closely. That it portrayed a living person he knew—but not one known to him.

  Ravinga picked up a small rod of dull black, not much longer than her own palm and pointed it at the stranger.

  “Your people have also their records. How far back those run I cannot tell, for each race keeps its history in a different fashion. Have you ever heard of Quinzell?”

  Murri’s lips instantly shaped a snarl.

  “The Dark One—but it has been long and long since he befouled the outlands. Surely only his brittle bones exist.”

  “He was one who pursued power in strange places and learned much that is forbidden. If he died he has risen again—for it is he whom the rats serve. It is to him that Shank-ji and those who follow that rebel will give allegiance. Anything that weakens us serves him. No, he is not dead—some time ago he awoke. Now he holds court in Renwala—”

  Murri shook his head. “A place which no longer exists.” But he did not seem altogether certain of that.

  Ravinga settled farther back in her seat. “Renwala has been loosed from the sand this same sorcerer called up to hide it. Within the Plain of Desolation it rules once more. The rats serve as its warriors and guardians. This must change. I say this in order that you may in turn warn the pride. If Quinzell achieves his goal then our world, our lives, will fall away from the scales of the Essence. We shall drown in the sand.”

  Murri uttered a small growl deep in his throat. “Do you see this for us, Woman of Far Sight?”

  “If those of the Queendoms, and those wind-free among the rock isles do not make peace, yes. There is an enemy, common to us both. You are young, but because you have come hither, because you have lived with your blood-brother, you must speak to the Elders; carry them my warning.”

  For again a long time they locked eyes. Then Murri advanced a step or two to the table, raising his great right forepaw with knife-sharp claws extended. Flat it went between the two dolls. Ravinga did not hesitate, but at once placed her hand over the paw, sealing their private pact, warrior fashion.

  “I will tell the Elders what I have heard.”

  She nodded. “Across the roofs will be best. May the Essence favor you.”

  So he returned to his former perch on the roof and began a zigzag way from one to another, coming at last to one near the city wall where he waited to avoid the duty tours of the guards. The watch was slack and lazy—it had become mere custom. In this Queendom none had ever faced danger from without.

  Though Murri was better used to sand and rock, he had adapted to this so strange land, which held greenery—some of which towered high above his head. Again he drew in strange scents, but none enticed him to explore. Then he reached the cliff edge of the giant mesa, which made up the Diamond realm.

  He took a position concealed by high rising growth and sent a call—first in quest of blood kin—then to the nearest Elder.

  Hynkkel-ji:

  I summoned the Chancellor and the Commander of the guard before I even broke my fast. There was no Murri behind my seat and that lack I did not forget. In his place was Akeea and I sensed that the leopard was uneasy. Perhaps Murri had communicated our break to him. Though the loss of Murri was foremost in my mind I must rouse myself to deal with the acts of humans. I used no formality, but came directly to the point, speaking to Giarribari.

  “What news have your private scouts garnered concerning Shank-ji?”

  There was no hesitation as the Chancellor answered.

  “He has raised a standard of revolt, August One. There are those who join him. It is said—proof of this can be depended upon—that he is telling foul tales. Only last night did such news come.”

  So, I had later news and rashly I delivered it. “He has done more than wave a banner and patter lies.” I controlled the anger rising in me with all my strength. “Look you there—” I pointed to where Akeea sat in Murri’s place. I did not want to bring Ravinga into this but I could shade the truth and allow them to believe that I had learned from Murri. “He who is as my right hand has gone. Why? Because, may the Essence sand-bury this Shank-ji; the rebel has slain the very Sand Cats who fought to defend a caravan. Thus he may have severed all friendship between the Empire and their Prides—as well as broken our edict.”

  For the first time since our initial meeting I saw the Chancellor aroused. Her mouth opened as if she wished to deny my charge, then closed with a snap, not uttering a word.

  The Commander’s hand went to his sword hilt.

  “This Empire is faced by dire danger,” I continued. “If it is rent by quarrels, action against those who are allies, then how can we meet with outside danger, armed and ready?”

  Neither had an answer to that. Still I believed that they were in agreement with me.

  “Because this duty has descended upon me I must learn as speedily as I can how similar trials have been met in the past. Not all reigns were as smooth and without incident as that of Haban-ji. Yes, there was intrigue within this court—and others. But before that there were ancient threats to all of the Outer Regions.”

  “For example the war of Quinzell—”

  They both froze in startlement.

  “What references I have found in the records are not direct. It is almost as if he or she who recorded that period either worked with incomplete knowledge, or else the real history was directed to be made secret. Must we take the records of all the Houses and study them in turn?”

  When Giarribari answered, she looked down at her hands. “Perhaps that record was altered according to decree. There were those of high rank, one or two of great power, who, a generation after that conflict came into disfavor. There came a time of destruction of Houses. Some secrets have remained intact.”

  “Still,” I continued, “one might seek in less known collections and find answers. But this present knowledge is ours. There is before us the matter of edict breaking. Though Shank-ji is not yet under my hand, let it be proclaimed that he has wantonly dared to kill allies of the Empire and the harshest fate is to be his—he is now an outlaw beyond outlaws.” To my faint relief, both of them nodded at once.

  Allitta:

  There were always so many things to be done. Now I tried not to glance at the envelope of hide I had discovered only late last night among the records. My attention needed to be focused on the report my steward was making. So much revenue this quarter from the orchards, so much from the weaver
s Vurope employed, investments in two caravans, tax due the Queen, due the Emperor—Due Hynkkel-ji—but for how long? With a rebellion already rising in the Outer Regions? My future might well be linked with his. Should he fall, would that not leave me open to attack from the same source that had already stripped Vurope from the High House rolls once?

  “House Lady?”

  I pulled myself out of tangled thoughts. The steward was eyeing me, a faint trace of frown between her brows.

  “My thanks to you, Hardi.” I hastened to cover my lack of attention. “Yes, the foretelling of water lack is of the utmost importance.”

  She rewound her roll of pluses and minuses. But when she answered there was a cool note in her voice.

  “Surely the Queen will call all Houses to a conference. It has been proclaimed that the Emperor will begin his formal Progress in the Outer Regions soon. Already there are rumors that at least two of the Queendoms are perhaps to be measured soon. One of them is that of the Emperor’s birth—Kahulawe.”

  I nodded. The Progress, which was the duty of the Emperor at set times, was always made with ceremony—especially so at the beginning of a reign. At least half the court, as well as the heads of the major Houses, would make the journey with him. I had no desire to be one of his entourage, but I had no choice—one followed custom. I looked back at the days when I had been with Ravinga and had known freedom of a sort. Now I was completely locked in.

  I uttered the proper phrases of praise for Hardi’s efforts and she went about her daily tasks. I reached at once for the envelope. Kassca, who had been stretched at ease at the end of the table, lifted her head, then footed daintily around the mass of sheets Hardi had left for my signature.

  I stroked the Kotti’s head. “Little one, thank the Essence that you do not have such as this to disturb you. Clever furred one, you have chosen the better way of life.”

  She mewed, then her right paw shot out and tapped the envelope. How much did the Kottis know of our affairs? Did she understand my driving need to know—know what? I could not have said, save some need had pushed me for days. The folded sheets I now drew from their casing were age-brittle and I had to straighten them with care. Three bore writing—in the antique script of the far past—the fourth appeared to be blank. Yet as I spread it under better light I could now see very faint tracings. I laid this carefully aside and turned to the writing. In my childhood, before Vurope had fallen, I had been introduced to this form of script. Ravinga had added it to my training, as she needed to refer to ancient instructions. She was not the first doll maker of the Outer Regions and they were all women of secrets.