Mark of the Cat and Year of the Rat

  I had not yet tried to communicate again with the Kotti; however, Kassca’s forepaws shot out to push against me in a way that was an order to release. She did not run but stood looking up at me and I guessed that she indeed was ready to act as a guide, though we certainly could not squeeze through that door from which she had come. My belief was right. Her gray head nodded. She turned to the main passage and trotted on, the rest of us following her.

  Among the Many Roofs Aloft:

  Ravinga pushed herself through an open window to which her climb had brought her. The power that had been aroused was gone. She had no way of learning what had happened but she was certain that the summons of that force, the bending of it into service, must have left Quinzell exhausted for a period. She herself was in little better cause.

  Staggering over to one of the wall benches she could go no farther. Huddling against this support, she worked her cloak loose from the temporary fastening. Drawing a deep breath she continued to sit, her inner forces so centered on what must be done, she might have been transported to her workroom in Valapa, supplies for an intricate doll awaiting her.

  The Doll Shop in Valapa:

  Berneen threaded a needle, trying not to remember how this sanctuary had been invaded. It was her conviction that her grandmother had now traced her and she expected any moment the arrival of some servants to take her into custody. If only Ravinga were here to unleash her power! Berneen found Melora a support, yes. However, she was sure that the Doll Maker was the only one Yuikala would hesitate to confront.

  She and Melora had kept close together after the intruder. Neither of them had recognized him. There were riches enough here to attract other night runners.

  Berneen took two careful stitches of gleaming silver thread before using the point of the needle to pick up a glittering gem bead, fastening it to the cloth, which was taking on the appearance of a court robe suitable for one of the dolls Ravinga had set aside to be finished.

  The door curtain swayed and Melora entered. The happy look she most often showed the world was gone, replaced by a grim mask. This she had worn since the news had come that Hynkkel might have found lodging beneath a mound of sand drift. Berneen herself dreamed far too often of a dread sight—the dried hand of a man—and that wearing the seal ring she had seen three times in her life and which would be part of her memory forever. Tears had been shed, not publicly before Melora, but to dampen her pillow. She had kept her thoughts to herself and tried to control them, for she had discovered that fears must always be fought with all one’s inner powers.

  Melora went to a wall cabinet, which she opened. She stood there quietly, looking at the four dolls standing within. At last she touched the one, which was a portrait of Hynkkel—Hynkkel-ji—in his robes of state, but she did not lift the doll out. Instead she reached for the figure representing Ravinga, which she brought to the table. Berneen pushed back to give her room, though Melora might not have seen her; her eyes were all for the doll she carried.

  The girl ran her needle into a small fold to sheath it. Though her hands were busied now with the folding of her work, her attention was caught wholly by Melora’s actions. The gem dealer had placed the doll on the table, making an exact business of it.

  For a second time she turned to the wall, but a different cabinet, bringing out a box of burnished copper, a flask as tall as her middle finger, and two thin brushes no thicker than a dozen fine hairs squeezed together.

  Having laid these out she again stood motionless regarding all she had placed there. Berneen shifted unhappily. Yes, she had known that there were powers and talents, which could be controlled by those born to do so. However, before this time she had not believed that such had been given Melora. These strange gifts were mainly possessed by members of certain Houses. Though there were rumors that the Queens had such, nothing had been said that Hynkkel had such forces to hand.

  Again she shivered. The day was as warm as any during this season, but her flesh roughened as if she were exposed to the chilled heart of the mid-storms. Twice she formed a question; neither time did she voice it aloud.

  Melora ran a forefinger across the surface of the table and back again. She opened the small coffer to display dust the color of desert sand. Then, swiftly, as if she must be quick about what she did, in turn she uncorked the bottle to dip a brush within. When she again drew it forth, the hairs were a sharp sapphire blue, the color prized by Kahulawe. Melora’s other hand raised to the collar of her plain work smock to draw out on a cord a very small packet glittering with beads, tiny ones cut from the gems, which stood for each of the five Queendoms.

  An amulet, and one Berneen was sure was of more than ordinary power. Again Melora made a slow business of placing that directly before the Ravinga doll. Berneen stiffened again. Her companion’s hands were cutting signs in the air. Some of those she knew herself. The half finished miniature robe slid from her knee and she made no attempt to fetch it. She was copying those same signs, ones meant to summon the power of the Essence.

  Though there was no sound, Melora must be pleading silently for the notice of the Great Light to favor her.

  Berneen continued her own shaping with her fingers, as well as an inward petition.

  Wet brush touched the red sand in the box. Blue glyphs flowed across the table, glowing like lines of fire. Four swift paintings and Melora set aside the brush. She sat silent, her eyes on the doll as if she expected it to address her. Berneen believed that was happening, though she could not hear anything herself. It was not a woman but a thing crafted of cloth, hair, even though the molded face was a mirror image of Ravinga.

  Within the Lost City:

  Ravinga’ s eyes were closed, her body so still it might have been that she no longer drew the breath of life. Her own Essence could have taken flight. Then her lips moved soundlessly. Her hands lay where her ragged cloak had fallen open on her knees. Now her fingers began to move. Were they busy with a thread, as they wove it in and out—linking that which was invisible to the outer sight?

  So and so and so.

  Time vanished. Thus and thus and thus. From the far past she drew substance to be wedded to the light. Pain thrust above those open eyes. She forced herself to hold pressed her need to a deeper level.

  Ravinga touched, in one of those periods out of time, what was not hers, nor of the true world. The touch obeyed, thread knotting itself to thread. It vanished; she was alone. Then a second touch—a meeting with utter dark. That other remained unaware of her. Ravinga searched on. It was not the Light that she could sense in what she had called; still she remained undetected.

  Her hands moved quickly, finger against finger, pressing that unseen force, locking other now more than finger—sealing, subduing, taking it in hold.

  Ravinga sighed; she paid for her labor with such torment as she had never met before. Her whole inner self fought to break that tie; but she held.

  The Doll Shop in Valapa:

  Berneen watched. She could only guess now at the meaning of what she saw. Other dolls stood in line before Melora now—she knew them all—Hynkkel, Ravinga, Allitta, Murri. They were not a line but a circle where they moved without any touch. That circle was not completed. Out of the table surface rose a spot of viscous blackness, its ever enlarging tip weaving back and forth, gaining height and thickness of bulk.

  Though it grew larger it did not develop in any other way, save over its surface netted a tangle of blood red lines.

  Melora had edged back from the surface of the table; was half crouching now. She bent forward and back, uttering a sound more an expression of pain than a croon.

  At length she fell silent, even as the black thing appeared to reach its chosen height. A small rod in hand, Melora touched the doll that was Ravinga before moving quickly to touch in turn Hynkkel, Allitta and Murri. Having done so, the rod dropped from her hold, struck the table and shattered. Melora’s hands went to her temples and she moaned.

  In the Lost City:

  Ravi
nga wilted down on the wall bench. She was breathing heavily, struggling to draw more air into her lungs. Moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes and began tear tracks down her cheeks. But she did not allow herself to rest, rather pulled up and stood for a moment before leaving the chamber.

  Hynkkel-ji:

  During all our journey on the river we had not been able to keep an account of time. Hours had passed since we entered this maze of stone walls, rooms and passageways.

  Twice we halted, fed on small mouthfuls of our stores (oddly none felt hunger here) and rested for a space. We must always be on guard against rat attack. Lacking Murri’s talent and ability to warn well ahead of trouble, we went warily. I attempted to use touch with the Kotti, wondering how effective this would be. Kassca was not my bond mate. There were never any results to clear touch as I knew with Murri. What I did touch was another mind.

  A sense of startlement was what I gained from that other when our talents met. I found myself swinging my sleeve knife as I would against an imprisoning cord. Almost, in an instant I was free. But I was left with a demanding need to meet that other. The unknown drew, and I must follow.

  Ravinga? That the Doll Maker was in possession of many great powers I had come to accept. Also I was certain that she moved now to battle in a way unknown to any warrior. So sure was I that I had been summoned, I moved speedily ahead, leaving the rest of the squad.

  A soft weight settled on my left shoulder. I heard voices behind, growing ever weaker. Here there was no light; I moved through utter darkness. That shadow of touch took on greater substance as I went. I fought to identify the source of the drawing, growing more and more suspicious. Then I realized that Kassca was my companion—and the drawing was not hers.

  Never had I regretted my ignorance of weaponry so much. Certainly I lacked the proper warrior training. The dark continued. How large could this edifice be? Surely it must cover as much ground as a whole collection of houses would need, even in Valapa, the largest of the Queendoms.

  Soft fur brushed my cheek and I understood some change lay before me; then I reeled as I struck against what could only be a barrier. I used my knife to explore. The blade grated against what could only be a solid surface. With my other hand I began to sweep fingers along gritty stone. I had made another discovery. It was not dead stone that I touched now—rather a ribbon of life pulsed and called me on.

  The rhythm of that beat held me. I felt that I moved to the sound of a drum such as the caravaners danced to now and then. I could not withdraw my fingers from contact with that barrier. Thus I turned left and started on. Heat now rose from that ribbon, gathering even greater force.

  Bringing myself to a halt, I closed my eyes. The heat was traveling upward until I wore, not one of the elaborate crowns of my office, but a coronet of—water—hot water! How could that possibly be? For the continued sensation did not alter from the feeling of a circle, rather whirled around and around, spilling nothing on my cheeks below.

  Voices, words strange to me seemed to be connected with that wet racing, tattered pictures out of strange memory.

  “Zarrinkk!” I could not have cried out that name, yet I knew I had. Standing away from the wall I went on. Who was I? Where did I walk? Another personality was settling on me, as a travel cloak. It did not bring fear but rather a new feeling of being complete.

  Light, could it be dawn light? I kept blinking as my eyes adjusted. Before me stones became misty and the drum was louder. This was truly the way; I was needed! Colored ribbons swirled about, movement to the water crown I still wore.

  The color tinged mist hid any walls until there burst forth at floor level a chest. Kassca jumped from my shoulder to its lid. A pillar of silver, red, green and milk-white in which glittering stars moved—became Ravinga!

  No, the Star-One—Jadiza! She was—I tried hard to hold on the name that new presence within me deemed was right.

  “The time is now!” She uttered those words as a commander might.

  She pointed to the chest, but remained apart from it. However, the deeply carved lid was rising, seemingly by its own power. At the same time I advanced but not in answer to my own will. Then I stood looking down.

  Ravinga—Jadiza lay within, but how could that be? Was she not also standing close enough that we might clasp hands?

  “Zarrinkk! The time is now.”

  My hand opened, stretched forth. A hand and arm in turn rose from the chest, holding a rod the same hue as the milky white, color-dotted light the woman wore. Against all my wishes I accepted what she offered. As my hand closed about the warm smoothness, there came to me that this had happened once before—a memory so worn I could never understand it.

  “The time is now—”

  For the third time I heard those words. Forward I moved, away from the chest. Mist cleared. We stood in a chamber of size, filled to the greater part with vast bulks of metal. Someone else was there; his hands were lifted to adjust a lever on the nearest of these, back towards me—Lord of the Ever Dark, Snuffer of Light, Granter of Pain, evil not meant to destroy the earth. Once again we were together, though I did not know how.

  I pointed the rod I had been given even as he turned his head. Foulness, utter death, enfolded in a body like to mine. What I held struck at me as well as at my ancient enemy. Dark—or had I been blinded by a power? Blinded and swept on into nothingness.

  CHAPTER 29

  In the Palace of Valapa:

  The Diamond Queen loosed what she held from one hand into the other. Three times she juggled the stones so, then she tossed them on to the black tray of a soothsayer. In these days such action was merely a game to most dwellers in the Outer Regions. Those who remembered old tales out of legends considered such jewels more than parts of some forgotten game. Read the glints of light; note where is the emerald, the sapphire, how the diamond relates to the other stones.

  Yuikala studied the display now lying before her, her face set in a stern mask as she considered the position of sapphire to diamond. Suddenly she slapped her hand down with such force that the stones raised a fraction from the surface, returning again to form the same pattern. Her dark brows seemed to draw closer; her lips had become a thin line. So!

  There had been so much forgotten. Once, it was said, Power would have answered. Had that Power drained away through the years?

  Rising she touched the crystal mobile with a finger so it uttered two chiming notes. The on-duty guard drew aside the curtained door.

  “Highness!” He saluted.

  “There has been contact, Ibberk?”

  “Just now, Highness. A scout from the desert force.”

  “Well enough.” She rose from her seat. Yuikala still held the diamond stone; now she gave it to the Guard. “This to Commander Haldis.”

  He saluted and was gone. There was at least no news of the Emperor. If he lived and returned they would be ready for him. He had had no time to bind to him any of the greater Houses or the armies of the Queendoms.

  Allitta:

  I was tired; my body ached; I longed to rest. We were well away from the debris of the battle. Murri might be consulting some map of his own, for he went a pace or two before me without hesitation. Twice we journeyed upward, once along a sloping ramp, again by a narrow stair. When the passage branched to the left he continued, nor did he raise any warning. We met no rats. Perhaps they did not meet us in body, but their fetid stink, far from fading as we advanced farther, was still heavy.

  My mouth felt dry, devoid of moisture. I began to cough, though I fought to stifle that with all the determination I could summon.

  We emerged into another hallway, this barred along the right side with narrow vertical windows. Murri had padded only a short way along before he reached a doorway to the left.

  The shift of his body had already alerted me to this. In we did go.

  There was very little light here, only that which blazed through my torn shirt. The amulet was gathering force again. The room was not bare as w
ere most of the other chambers. Against the far wall a series of shelves towered to the ceiling, all of them filled with pouches, boxes, bottles—supplies in abundance and confusion.

  Murri delicately mouthed a pouch and brought it to me.

  “Food,” thought touch declared.

  He scarcely needed to say that—though I had not felt hunger before, I was now instantly ravenous. However, the dryness in my throat set me to coughing. I wavered to the shelves, seeking, myself, until I chanced upon a dusty bottle. Coming back I struggled with a greased cord until I had the packet open and with a shaking hand pulled out the contents. Then I forced the cork from the bottle and sniffed the welcome fragrance of melon wine.

  Murri was pawing at the cover of a tall jar and when I helped him free it, we found drinkable, though stale, water. When mixed with the wine, it tasted much better.

  Soon we were at ease. I alternated bites of cured algae journey-food with careful sips from a basin I had found. Murri lapped deeply of the water until he had emptied the larger pot I had filled for him.

  My needs having been satisfied, I began to wonder why I had not been hungry earlier—perhaps the Powers centered in this place too might strangely control that. Also, how did this unsuspected bounty come to be here?

  “A fortunate find,” I commented.

  “Siege supplies,” came the answer.

  “What siege?” Had time so passed that the armies of the Queendoms were now on the march?

  “The one which threatens,” Murri was not very informative. He returned to the shelves and nosed along them, finally pawing off two pouches joined by a strap, such as could be carried on the horn of a saddle.

  I longed to remain where I was, stretched out on the floor—resting—But I knew that the choice was not mine. I began to pack the bags with more food.

  Murri had taken to pacing up and down restlessly, but when I tried thought touch he had established a barrier. Fastening the last latch, I was up on my knees when there struck such pain in my breast that I reeled and sank back to the floor.