The return of the cat, p.7
The Return of the Cat, page 7
Not giving him time to stop me, I creep in the direction of the cart, carefully placing my feet in soft mud and grass to avoid the snap of twigs. As I approach the frozen eagles, encircling the camp, not a bird moves or blinks, with only the odd feather rising in the breeze. Strangely, they’re all facing inwards, not out at the surrounding forest or up above. Clearly, the serpents don’t expect any opposition. But then, why should they? The demented Armpit could defend the camp on his own.
A sudden flash of shiny green scales makes me drop low in the undergrowth. An enormous serpent slithers past, catching a living statue with the rattling end of his tail. The frozen eagle topples onto his side, lying in the mud with half his face submerged. The serpent continues on its journey without a backward glance at the bird’s distress. Even at his worst, I doubt Serpen treated his eagle servants with such utter disdain.
Serpents writhe over one another, twisting and sliding, their sheer height and bulk packing every inch of space. The cart stands on the edge of the camp to prevent it being smothered, which is good news for me. The thought of trying to slip through that den of worms makes me want to pass out.
And then I spot them.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. In amongst the serpents and eagles, plastering themselves against tent poles and trees as they inch their way from space to space, are two people I sincerely hoped never to lay eyes on again. It’s the poisonous messenger herself and the purveyor of patricide: Decipa Longfang and Big Wolf’s youngest son, Fidus.
Now I come to think of it, what better place for two traitors to hang out than with this lot? They don’t seem particularly happy, judging by the miserable look on their faces, but that’s hardly my concern. No doubt they’re giving up useful information to the enemy. I wondered how Armpit knew who I was, or Sospa.
That was your fault, my conscience points out, in the voice of my angry wolf.
Oh, shut up. The eagles probably told them, ages ago.
I glance back to discover whether Wings has seen the wolves. He has, but a mass of feathers waves at me to hurry up. I rise a few inches, then hurl myself flat in the mud as though I’m on elastic. The human version of Armpit weaves towards the cart and he looks like I used to feel after a night clubbing and too many cocktails. To wit, ghastly. He’s unsteady and panda eyed, stopping every few steps to lean on a tent rope, or a handy frozen eagle, all the time stroking that burnt out gemstone like it’s a beloved ailing pet.
He hauls the edge of the tarpaulin over his shoulder, gifting me a glimpse of metal bars as wide as my wrist. So, it’s not just a cart; it’s a mobile prison cell. I was right; the cat’s being held captive. The king groans as he bends and slips inside. A booming roar follows and the cart shakes as though hit by an earthquake. Two weaker growls fade into a whimper, then silence. Up goes the tarpaulin and Armpit reappears, minus the gemstone, wobbling back into the swarm of snakes.
It’s now or never. Onwards and upwards. Fortune favours the brave, or some such hogwash. I’m tiptoeing over to the cart like a cartoon villain doing Swan Lake, when my progress is arrested by the sight of the eagle on his side, beak almost submerged in a puddle. I can’t leave him like that. Wings will kill me when I get back, but I just can’t. Grabbing his shoulder, I push down until his body rotates, leaving him face up. It’s still undignified, but it’s better than blowing bubbles down his beak. Please don’t unfreeze and give me away.
I glance back at Wings, who’s rocking back and forth with rage, glaring at me. Miraculously, I make it to the cart without being rumbled and crawl under the tarpaulin, praying I’m right about this cat and won’t become a tasty snack. It may be broad daylight outside, but it’s pitch dark in here. Desperately urging my blind eyes to adjust, I hear something scratching and scraping barely inches from my face.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I whisper, breathlessly. “Please don’t bite me.”
A chain clangs.
“I just want to talk to you.”
There’s another clang and a horrible squeaking scrape, like fingernails down a blackboard. An outward breath puffs through my hair. A lone pair of eyes emerge from the gloom, way above my head, staring straight down at me, pupils shining as though floating in the darkness. If it’s standing up, then it’s huge.
An ominous growl rumbles like an approaching storm.
“ Grrrrrrr. Sooooooo dargggg doyyyy sarrrrrr.”
CHAPTER 11
Just Plain Insanity
Say what? Did I just get cursed?
“I... I... I’ve no idea what that means,” I tell the speaker, my voice shaking along with my body.
The floating eyes blink at me. “Nor I. That piffle tends to leak out when I’m fatigued,” replies, what I assume is the cat in the gravel laden, bass tones of an English movie villain. You know, the one that’s usually barking mad. “Who are you to enter my dark domain in stealth?”
“Er, Edi,” I whisper.
“Edith Breaker-Smith Furtletooth?” asks the voice, stunning me into temporary silence. “Speak up, youngster. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The eyes disappear and a chain clanks in counterpoint to a rhythmic thumping on the cell’s metal floor, as though he’s bouncing around the cage.
“How, um, how do you know who I am?” I ask.
“You’re the Storyteller,” he replies, excitedly. “I always know when the Storyteller’s here. Why did it take you so long? You’re very dirty.”
“Are you the cat?” I ask, getting to the point. “The mage one?”
“I am the only one. At least, now,” he replies, releasing a tiny mew before launching into a ditty. “Falla lalla la lalla lalla la la.”
“Hush, please,” I beg.
“Don’t you hush me, young Storyteller. I’m old enough to be your... something or other.”
I don’t know if it’s my sight adapting or just my imagination, but the outline of a colossal feline begins to emerge from the gloom. And it’s speaking.
“How can you talk when you’re still a cat?” I ask.
“Hardly the most important question of the moment, don’t you know?” the cat replies. “Suffice it to say, I’m unable to return to my human form, so I have to speak in this one. That being an excessively long, sad story.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Thank you. Shall we proceed? Dum de da da dundle dee.”
The eyes disappear and reappear three times. I think he’s rotating. A terrifying roar suddenly shakes the cage and I nearly vacate my skin.
“Did you have to do that?” I hiss, trembling like a leaf in the storm.
“Yes,” he states. “Or I’ll go stark raving mad. Or perhaps I’m already mad. Who knows?”
His singsong delivery morphs into a quivering whimper. I hear a thud and those eyes drop to the level of mine. He must have sat down.
“I want the true magic back. Meooow.”
He sounds so heartbroken, I do something completely bonkers. Reaching through the bars of the cage, I feel above the eyes and gently stroke the top of his head, my fingers catching on what might be a mane. “There, there. It’ll be alright,” I say, though I’ve no idea how. I do know Curt would bite my hand, if he was here.
“I like my ears tickled,” the cat says with a gigantic sniff and I duly oblige, adding my other hand to the scratching of dual ears.
“My name is UrRahUm,” my new friend tells me.
“UrRahUm,” I repeat.
“Very good,” he says, perking up. “Nobody ever gets that right first time. I’m hungry. And lonely.”
“UrRahUm, you know who I am?”
“The Storyteller.”
“Do you know why I’m here, other than chief ear tickler?”
“You need me to ask the true magic to defeat the serpents,” he states, in a weirdly neat precis of my situation, before yawning.
“And can you?” I ask, leaving questions as to how he knows to another time.
“Oh indeed, yes,” he says confidently, then trails off into, “if the magic wishes.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but there’s only silence. Then I hear a soft intake of breath followed by air being blown through vibrating lips. Has he gone to sleep? I give him a gentle poke in what I hope is his side.
“UrRahUm.”
“What? What?” he blurts. “I’m awake.”
There’s a double ding against the bars as he shakes his head and I realise that what I assumed were two long, dim shafts of light are actually teeth, emerging from his mouth and dropping over his lower lip. Ok, so he’s a sabre tooth tiger. Sort of. I’m no natural history expert, but he looks way bigger than they’re supposed to have been and decidedly more tufty. Not to mention the meowing. But then, he can talk, so go figure.
“Erm, how can you defeat the serpents?” I prompt.
“Ears,” he insists, waggling them. I resume tickling. “To regain true magic, I must escape the serpent’s curse and this cell.”
“Right. Serpent’s curse?”
A warm nose pushes through the bars and presses against mine, followed by a long wet tongue lathering one side of my face. Funnily enough, it’s not unpleasant.
“The amulet,” UrRahUm says, having rolled his tongue back in.
“The blue gemstone on King Armpit?”
The tiger chuckles. “Armpit, indeed. So you’ve seen it. The twin hangs around my once noble neck.”
My fingers follow the shape of his head down to his throat and loop into a heavy chain. I give it a careful tug. It clangs and slides through my fingers, yet I can’t pull it away from his neck.
“It’s stuck,” the cat tells me and I give his ears an extra tickle in sympathy. He yawns and I feel his jaw widen dramatically. “The foul thing is cursed,” he continues, his fur falling from my fingers. He lays his head on his front paws, tipping to one side to avoid the teeth. “Feel the gem.”
Following the chain to the pendant reveals Armpit’s second gem attached to the first, facet to facet. I give them a pull, but they’re locked together.
“The amulet uses my... mistake to hold open a door to dark magic and channel it to him, the slimy magic thief.”
“Does he mesmerise you?” I ask.
“I am a cat,” UrRahUm rumbles with a sniff of disdain. “I cannot be controlled.”
“Except through that amulet,” I point out.
“And the curse. Yes.” He sighs, one eye disappearing as his head drops further into his front paws. “It hurts and I’m so tired.”
“If I can get you out, would you help us?” The six billion dollar question, right there.
“Who might us be, Storyteller?”
“My pack. Wolves, bears, two eagles, nice friendly snakes.”
“And you.”
“And me.”
“You wouldn’t try to keep me inside?” he asks, the one eye glittering. “I don’t like it inside. In the dark.”
“No, you can roam where you will,” I promise. My mum’s smoky cat, Ashley Paws, suddenly pops into my memory. “Unless you want to come inside and sleep by the fire.”
He softly purrs an affirmative. “I want to run through the trees again, with the true magic flowing all around me.”
“Me too. You don’t eat changers, do you?”
“Of course not,” he growls. “I’m not a dofwangel.”
“Just checking. What’s a dofwangel?”
“An insect with big teeth that burrows into your...”
“Never mind. Thank you.”
“Where have you been living all these years, Storyteller?” he asks. “It’s been a long time. I’ve missed you.”
I’ve no idea how to answer that, but he doesn’t wait for me to try.
“The curse was placed by a serpent, so only a serpent can remove it,” he says, his gruff voice weakening. “Do you have one of those willing to help me amongst your nice, friendly snakes?”
“Might do,” I reply, an image of Serpen replacing Ashley in my mind. “What would you need him to do?”
“He can free the chain and break the curse, but only if you tell the story.”
“What story?”
“I don’t know,” he snaps, adding a growl for good measure. “You’re the Storyteller.”
“Right. Could you give me a clue how this works?” I feel for his head and stroke his fur. “Please.”
“I’m not a pet,” he snaps.
I whip my hand back. “Of course not.”
“Did I tell you to stop?” A tooth clangs off a bar. “Ow.”
I go back to stroking and he rolls over onto his side.
“I’m sorry, UrRahUm, I don’t understand the whole of this Storyteller thing,” I admit, since there’s no option other than the truth. “It’s all new to me.”
Purr. “I’m so tired.” Rumble. “You tell your story of the serpent breaking the curse as he does so. You have to crush the amulet. You must promise to crush it.”
“I promise.”
“I’ll recover the flow, if the true magic is kind. Then I will help you.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” he agrees.
“And you can beat them. Even their king?”
“We can. But you must hurry. When the amulet fills with dark magic, he’ll use its power against you. You’ll have to help me escape. I’m tired and I’ve not run for a long time.”
I reach both hands through the bars and hug him as best I can. “Thank you, UrRahUm. I’m coming back with help.”
Snoring is the only response.
CHAPTER 12
In The Doghouse
I peek under the tarpaulin, squinting against the resumption of daylight, until no feet, claws or scales loiter nearby. Scooting under the leather, I sprint through the undergrowth and land in Wings’ waiting feathery embrace with a wallop, panting, “Let’s go, now.”
Bless him, he doesn’t wait for an explanation, ushering me further into the forest. The moment we’re out of sight of the camp, he scoops me up in a claw, hops a couple of steps and takes off with a hefty flap, weaving through the trees until we rise higher and higher, passing into the clouds.
“I was right,” I yell up at him.
Wings peers down at me and squawks.
Soaring over the mountain top and past that miserable castle, I’ve time to figure out how screwed I am. Not only will I be facing off with one very angry wolf mate, I now have to convince the pack that going back to the serpent camp to free a mad mage cat is the sensible course of action. That’s if we can find the pack and they’re still willing to listen to me.
An eagle bursts from the trees ahead of us and I’m about to brace for impact when I realise it’s Broken Beak, waggling both wings in greeting. I wave my arms above my head in triumph, receiving a scrunched up scowl in response. That’s a tremendous start.
Escorted by our glum wingman, we sweep down the mountainside and into the valley. I’m prepared for the sight of our ruined town, with its burnt chalets and partially collapsed mansion, but it still wounds my heart. A mass of bears, wolves and snakes in human form already tramp along the valley floor, led by Big Wolf, heading for temporary cover in the caves, but a small gathering of people still wait in the town. Their body language is far from encouraging, since they’re all staring up at us with arms crossed. And I do mean all of them.
A chirp sounds from Wings and I peer up at him. “I know,” I tell the frowning eagle. “We’re so for it. Sorry.”
Wings slowly circles around the group twice, before Curt hollers, “Get down here, NOW.”
The eagle gently drops me and I jog the last few steps as he comes into land beside me. Gulid glides in behind the livid crew and duly folds his wings. I almost let loose a nervous laugh, but I value my life. I scan the faces of my family, Alpha, Dulcis, Adamo, Ursid, Anguis and Serpen, even Yelena and Primus, without finding a single ally. I don’t dare look at my seething mate.
“Alright, I know you’re angry,” I begin, “but you have to let me...”
And that’s when Curt blows my head off with his medieval werewolf voice and I will be lying if I say it isn’t frightening, especially since he’s never used it on me before. I feel my bottom lip quivering and an intense need to pee.
“How could you be so stupid? You should be dead. You stupid, stupid human. You know nothing about this world, nothing. Yet you dump yourself on the enemy and hope he doesn’t kill you? I’m your mate. Do you know what that means? No, of course you don’t because you’re not a wolf. I should never have listened to you. She was right.” He glares at Yelena.
“Keep me out of this,” Yellfire says.
“Curt,” I mutter, in a pathetic little girl voice.
“Don’t Curt me,” he screams, ending in a rasping howl. I’m not sure if he’s wolf or man right now. “You left me. You left me HERE. I’m your MATE. We’re leaving.”
He grabs hold of my wrist and hauls me a few steps before I sit my fat backside on the ground to slow him down. He’s still dragging me through the mud when Wings changes and lays a hand on Curt’s crushing grip.
“You need to listen to what she...” the naked birdman begins, but Curt rounds on him.
“As for you, I thought I could trust you. You’ve been with me my whole life and you betrayed me. ME. You listened to her over me and betrayed me.”
You know what? Now I’m mad. Stand by for blast back.
“He did nothing of the sort,” I growl, finding my feet and getting right in Curt’s face. “Don’t you dare speak to him like that. All he did was help me because he knows I’m right.”
“Right?” Curt booms, spitting the word in my face.
“Right,” I bellow back. “I’m sorry we scared you, because we both love you, but I am right. So stop hollering at me, put your teeth away and let me save this frulking pack and your mangy arse.”
Alpha opens his mouth to comment and I almost stick my pointed finger down his throat.
“Shut up and listen. You can open your big wolf mouth after I’ve finished. Understand?”
That stuns him into wide-eyed submission. Yelena snorts and bows her head to me, sweeping a hand as if to say ‘go ahead.’ Adamo uncrosses his arms and drapes one around Dulcis’ shoulders, drawing her into his side. I work hard at avoiding her sorrowful gaze.
