Tad Williams - Tailchaser' s Song

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For I will consider my cat ...
For at the first glance of the glory of God
in the East he worships in his way. For this is done by wreathing his body seven
times around with elegant quickness . . . For having done duty and received blessing
he begins to consider himself. For this he performs in ten degrees. For first he looks upon his
fore-paws to see
if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there. For thirdly he works it upon the stretch with
the fore-paws extended For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood. For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash. For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may
not be interrupted on the beat. For eighthly he rubs himself against a post. For ninthly he looks
up for his instructions. For tenthiy he goes in quest of food . . . For when his day's work is
done his business
more properly begins. For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night
against the adversary. For he counteracts the powers of darkness by
his electrical skin and glaring eyes. For he counteracts the Devil, who is death,
by brisking about the life. For in his morning orisons he loves the sun
and the sun loves him. For he is of the tribe of Tiger. For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel
Tiger. . . For there is nothing sweeter than his peace
when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life
when in motion . . . For God has blessed him in the variety of
his movements. . .
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music. . .
—Christopher Smart
[INTRODUCTION
In the Hour before time began, Meerclar Allmother came out of the darkness to the cold earth. She
was black, and as furry as all the world come together to be fur. Meerclar banished the eternal
night, and brought forth the Two.
Harar Goldeneye had eyes as hot and bright as the sun at the Hour of Smaller Shadows; he was the
color of daytime, and courage, and dancing.
Fela Skydancer, his mate, was beautiful, like freedom, and clouds, and the song of travelers
returned.
Goldeneye and Skydancer bore many children and raised them in the forest that covered the world at
the beginnings of the Elder Days. Climbfast, Wolf-friend, Treesinger, and Brightnail, their young,
were nrong of tooth, sharp of eye, light of foot and straight and brave to their tail-ends.
But most strange and beautiful of all the countless children of Harar and Fela were the three
Firstborn.
The eldest of the Firstborn was Viror Whitewind; he was the color of sunlight on snow, and of
swiftness. . . .
The middle child was Grizraz Hearteater, as gray o shadows and full of strangeness. . . .
Third-born was Tangaloor Firefoot. He was as uack as Meerclar Allmother, but his paws were red iKc
flame. He walked alone, and sang to himself.
There was rivalry among the Firstborn brothers. Whitewind was as fast and strong as a cat could
xix
XX
iNTROduCTJON
dream of being—none could overmatch him at jumping and running. Firefoot was as clever as time; he
solved all puzzles and riddles, and made songs that the Folk sang for generations.
Hearteater could not match his brothers' exploits. He grew jealous, and began to plot the downfall
of Whitewind and the humiliation of the Folk.
So it came to pass that Hearteater raised up a great beast against the Folk. Ptomalkum was its
name, and it was the last spawn of the demon-hound Venris, whom Meerclar had destroyed in the Days
of Fire. Ptomalkum, raised and nurtured with Hearteater's hatred, slew many Folk before it was
itself slain by the gallant Whitewind. But Viror Whitewind received such wounds that he soon
wasted and died. Seeing the downfall of his schemes, Hearteater was afraid, and crept down a hole
and disappeared into the secretive earth.
There was great lamentation in the Court of Harar at the death of Whitewind, the best-beloved.
Firefoot his brother fled the Court in heartache, renouncing his claim to the Mantle of Kingship,
and wandered the world.
Fela Skydancer, Whitewind's mother, was ever after silent, all her long life.
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But Harar Goldeneye was so full of rage that he wept, and swore great oaths. He went howling into
the wilderness, destroying all before him in his search for the traitorous Hearteater. Finally,
unable to bear such great pain, he fled to the bosom of the Allmother in the sky. There he still
lives, chasing the bright mouse of the sun across the heavens. Often he looks down to earth below,
hoping to see Viror running once more beneath the trees of the World-Forest.
Countless seasons turned and the world grew older before Firefoot again met his treacherous
brother Hearteater.
In the days of Prince Cleanwhisker, in the reign of Queen Morningstripe, Lord Tangaloor came to
the
llMTRoduCTION
xxi
assistance of the Ruhue, the owl-folk. A mysterious creature had been pillaging their nests, and
had killed all the Ruhu hunters who had come against it.
Firefoot laid a trap, clawing away at a mighty tree until it was near cut through, then lay in
wait for the marauder.
When the creature came that night, and Firefoot felled the tree, he was astonished to discover
that beneath it he had trapped Grizraz Hearteater.
Hearteater begged Firefoot to free him, promising that he would share the ancient lore that he had
discovered beneath the ground. Lord Tangaloor only laughed.
When the sun came up, Hearteater began to scream. He writhed and screeched so that Firefoot,
although fearing a trick, liberated his suffering brother from beneath the pinioning tree.
Hearteater had been so long beneath the earth that the sun was blinding him. He clawed and rubbed
at his steaming eyes, howling so piteously that Firefoot looked about for a way to protect him
from the burning of the day-star. But when he turned away, the blinded Hearteater dug himself a
tunnel, more swiftly than any badger or mole. By the time the startled Firefoot bounded over,
Hearteater had disappeared back into the belly of the world.
It is told that he still lives there, hidden from the eyes of the Folk; that he works foul deeds
underground, and aches to return to the World Above. . ..
1
CHAPTER
. . . make no mistake We are not shy We're very wide awake, The moon and I!
—W. S. Gilbert
The Hour of Unfolding Dark had begun, and the rooftop where Tailchaser lay was smothered in
shadow.
He was deep in a dream of leaping and flying when he felt an unusual tingling in his whiskers.
Fritti Tailchaser, hunterchild of the Folk, came suddenly awake and sniffed the air. Ears pricked
and whiskers flared straight, he sifted the evening breeze. Nothing unusual. Then what had
awakened him? Pondering, he splayed his claws and began a spine-limbering stretch that finally
ended at the tip of his reddish tail.
By the time he had finished grooming, the sense of danger was gone. Perhaps it had been a night
bird passing overhead ... or a dog in the field beneath . . . perhaps ,..
Perhaps I am becoming a kitten again, Fritti thought to himself, who bolts in fright from falling
leaves.
The wind ruffled his newly groomed fur. Piqued, he leaped down from the roof into the tall grasses
below. First he must attend to hunger. Later it would be time to go to the Meeting Wall.
Unfolding Dark was waning, and Tailchaser's belly was still empty. His luck had not been dancing.
5
4 Tftd WiUiAMs
He had held motionless, patient watch at the entrance to a gopher hole. When an eternity of near-
silent breathing had passed, and the inhabitant of the burrow had still not presented himself,
Tailchaser had given up in frustration. After pawing in annoyance at the hole mouth he had gone in
search of other game.
Luck had been completely absent. Even a moth had eluded his pouncing attack, to fly spiraling up
into darkness.
If I can't catch something soon, he worried, / shall have to go back and eat from the bowl that
the Big Ones put out for me. Harar! What kind of hunter am I?
A faint wisp of scent brought Tailchaser to an abrupt halt. Absolutely motionless, all senses
straining, he crouched and sniffed. It was a Squeaker— downwind, and very close.
He moved as delicately as a shadow, carefully picking his way through the undergrowth, then froze
again. There!
A jump and a half before him sat the mre'az he had scented. It squatted, unaware of Tailchaser,
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and pushed seeds into its cheek—nose twitching nervously, eyes rapidly blinking.
Fritti lowered himself to the ground, his upraised tail lashing back and forth behind him.
Hunkered, he drew himself up on his hind legs and poised for the strike—unmoving, muscles tensed.
He leaped.
He had misjudged the distance. As he landed short, paws flailing, the Squeaker had just enough
time to give a chirp of terror and then drop—-floop!—into its hole.
Standing over the escape route, Fritti bit his own foot with embarrassment.
As Tailchaser licked the last scraps from the bowl, Thinbone bounded onto the porch. Thinbone was
a wild tabb\. gra\ -and-yellow patchwork, who lived in a
TAILCHASER'S SONG 5
culvert across the field. He was a little older than Fritti, and made much of it.
"Nre'fa-o, Tailchaser." Thinbone leaned over and sharpened his claws lazily on a wooden pillar.
"Looks like you're being fed well tonight. Tell me, do the Big Ones make you do tricks for your
supper? I've often wondered how it worked, you understand." Fritti pretended to ignore him, and
began cleaning his whiskers.
"I notice," Thinbone continued, "that the Growlers seem to have some sort of arrangement: they
carry things for the Big Ones, and leap around a great deal, and bark all night for their dinner.
Is that what you do?" Thinbone stretched nonchalantly. "I'm just curious, you understand. Some
night—oh, I admit it's not likely—some night I might be unable to catch dinner, and it would be
nice to have something to fall back on. Is barking very difficult?"
"Be quiet, Thinbone." Fritti snarled, then gave a sneeze of laughter and leaped on his friend.
They wrestled for a moment, then broke apart, batting at each other with their paws. Finally,
tired out, they sat for a moment reordering their fur.
When they had rested, Thinbone sprang away from the porch and bounded into the darkness. Fritti
put one last patch along his flank straight, then followed him.
The Hour of Deepest Quiet was just starting, and Meerclar's Eye was high in the sky above, remote
and unblinking.
The wind shivered the leaves on the trees as Tailchaser and Thinbone made their way across fields
and over fences—pausing to listen to night sounds, then galloping across wet, glimmering lawns. As
they came under the eaves of the Old Woods that flanked the dwellings of the Big Ones, they could
smell the fresh scents of others of their kind.
Over the top of the rise and past a stand of massive oak trees lay the entrance to the canyon.
Tail-
6 TAd WittiAMs
chaser thought happily to himself of the songs and stories that would be shared by the crumbling
Meeting Wall. He thought also of Hushpad, whose slim gray form and arching, slender tail had been
on his mind almost constantly of late. It was fine to be alive and of the Folk on Meeting Night.
Meerclar's Eye cast a mother-of-pearl light on the clearing. Twenty-five or thirty cats were
assembled at the base of the Wall—rubbing against each other in greeting, sniffing the nose of a
new acquaintance. There was much mock fighting among the younger Folk.
Tailchaser and Thinbone were greeted by a gang of young hunters who stood casually about on the
edge of the throng.
"Great you're here!" cried Fleetpaw, a young fellow with thick black-and-white fur. "We're just
about to have a game of Hop-in-the-Air—until the elders arrive, that is."
Thinbone jogged over to join, but Fritti lowered his head politely and moved toward the crowd to
look for Hushpad. He could not locate her scent as he slid through the milling group of cats.
A pair of young felas, barely out of kittenhood, wrinkled their noses at him flirtatiously, then
ran away, sneezing merriment. Ignoring them, he bowed his head respectfully as he passed
Stretchslow. The older male, who lay majestically prone at the base of the Wall, dignified him
with a lazy blink of his huge green eyes and a desultory ear-wiggle.
Still no Hushpad, thought Fritti. Where can she be? Nobody missed a Meeting Night if he could help
it. Meetings were only on those nights when the Eye was completely open and at its brightest.
Perhaps she will come later, he thought. Or perhaps even now she was walking with Jumptall or Leaf-
rustle—extending her tail languidly for them to admire. . . .
The thought made him angry. He turned and
TAILCHASER'S SONG 7
cuffed a juvenile torn who had been prancing and capering at his heels. It was young Pouncequick,
who gave him such a look of dismay that Fritti immediately felt sorry he had done it—the
rambunctious kitten was often a nuisance, but well-meaning.
"I'm sorry, Pouncequick," he said, "I didn't know it was you. I thought it was old Stretchslow,
and I was going to teach him a lesson."
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"Really?" gasped the young one. "You would have done that to him?" Fritti regretted his joke.
Stretchslow would not find it very funny.
"Well, anyway," he said, "it was a mistake, and I apologize."
Pouncequick was charmed at being treated as an adult. "I certainly will accept your apology,
Tailchaser." he said gravely. "It was an understandable mistake."
Fritti snorted. Giving the young cat a playful bite on the flank, he continued on his way.
Halfway through Deepest Quiet the Meeting was well under way, and Hushpad had still not made an
appearance. While one of the Elders regaled the assembled multitude—now swollen to almost sixty—
Tailchaser sought Thinbone, who was sitting with Fleetpaw and the others. The Elder was describing
a large and potentially dangerous Growler who was running wild in the area, and Thinbone and the
other hunters were listening intently as Fritti approached.
"Thinbone!" he hissed. "Will you come over and talk to me for a moment?" Thinbone yawned and
stretched before ambling over to Fritti's tree-root perch.
"What is it, then?" he inquired amiably. "Is it time for my barking lessons?"
"Please, Thinbone, no games. I can't find Hushpad anywhere. Do you know where she is?"
Thinbone considered Tailchaser as the Elder
8 TAd Willi
droned on. "So," he said. "I thought you seemed a little preoccupied. All this over a fela?"
"We were doing the Dance of Acceptance last night!" said Fritti, stung. "We didn't have a chance
to finish before the sun came up. We were going to finish tonight. I know she was going to accept
me! What could have made her miss the Meeting?"
Thinbone lowered his ears in mock terror. "An interrupted Dance of Acceptance! Skydancer's
Whiskers! I think I see your fur falling out already! And your tail is going limp!"
Fritti shook his head impatiently. "I know you think it's funny, Thinbone, and with your string of
tail-waving females you don't care about a real Joining. But I do, and I'm worried about Hushpad.
Please help me."
Thinbone looked at him for a moment, blinking his eyes and scratching behind his right ear.
"All right, Tailchaser," he said, simply. "What can I do?"
"Well, I suppose there's not much we can do tonight, but if I can't find her tomorrow could you
perhaps come out and have a look around with me?"
"I suppose so," replied Thinbone, "but I think that a little patience will probably—ouch!"
Fleetpaw had come up from below and butted his flat head against Thinbone's haunches.
"Come now!" Fleetpaw cried. "What is all this deep discussion? Bristlejaw's going to tell a story,
and here you sit like two fat eunuchs!"
Tailchaser and Thinbone bounced down after their friend. Felas were felas, but a story was nothing
to sniff at!
The Folk squeezed closer around the Meeting Wall—an ocean of waving tails. Slowly, and with
immense dignitv, Bnstlejaw mounted a crumbled section of the wall At the highest point he paused,
and waited
seen some eleven or twelve summers,
TAILCHASER'S SONG 9
Bristlejaw was certainly no longer a young cat, but iron control was in all his movements. His
tortoise-shell fur, once brilliant with patches of rust and black, had dulled somewhat with age,
and the stiff fur jutting from around his muzzle had gone gray-white. His eyes were bright and
clear, though, and could bring a sporting kitten to a halt from three jumps away.
Bristlejaw was an Oel-cir'va: a Master Old-singer, one of the keepers of the Lore of the Folk. All
the history of the Folk was in their songs—passed on in the Higher Singing of the Elder Days from
one generation to another as a sacred trust. Bristlejaw was the only Old-singer within some
distance of the Meeting Wall, and his stories were as important to his Folk as water, or the
freedom to run and jump as they pleased.
From his position atop the Wall he surveyed the cats below for a long time. The expectant murmur-
ings quieted to soft purring. Some of the young cats—tremendously excited and unable to sit still—
began frantically grooming themselves. Bristlejaw flicked his tail three times, and there was
silence.
"We thank our Elders, who watch over us." he began. "We praise Meerclar, whose Eye lights our
hunting. We salute our quarry for making the chase sweet."
"Thanks. Praise. Salutations."
"We are the Folk, and tonight we speak in one voice of the deeds of all. We are the Folk."
Caught up in the ancient ritual, the cats swayed gently from side to side. Bristlejaw began his
story.
"In the days of the earth's youth—when some of the First were still seen in these fields—Queen
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Satinear, granddaughter of Fela Skydancer, ruled in the Court of Harar.
"And she was a good queen. Her paw was as just in aid of her Folk as her claw was swift to harm
for her enemies.
10
WilliAMs
"Her son and coregent was Prince Ninebirds. He was a huge cat, mighty in battle, swift to anger,
and swollen in pride for all his youthful years. At his Naming the story had been told of how, as
a kitten, he had slain a branchful of starlings with one blow of his claws. So Ninebirds he was
Named, and the fame of his strength and his deeds stretched far.
"It had been many, many summers since the death of Whitewind, and none living in the Court at this
time had ever seen any of the First. Firefoot had been wandering in the wild for generations, and
many thought him dead, or gone to join his father and grandmother in the sky.
"As stories of Ninebirds' strength and bravery began to run from mouth to ear among the Folk, and
as Ninebirds began to listen to those ignoble ones who always cling to the great Folk, he began to
see in himself the greatness of the Firstborn.
"One day it was told throughout the World-Forest that Ninebirds was no longer content to be Prince
Regent at his mother's side. A Meeting was declared to which all the Folk were to come from far
and wide for feasting, hunting, and games, and at this meeting he would assume the Mantle of
Harar—which Tan-galoor Firefoot had declared sacrosanct but for the Firstborn—and Ninebirds would
declare himself King of Cats.
"And so came the day, and all the Folk gathered at the Court. While all cavorted and danced and
sang, Ninebirds sunned his great body and looked on. Then he stood, and spoke: 'I, Ninebirds, by
right of blood and claw, stand before you today to assume the Mantle of Kingship, which has gone
long unfilled. If no cat has any reason why I should not take upon myself this Ancient Burden . .
.'
"At that moment there was a noise in the crowd, and a very old cat stood up. His fur was shot all
over with grav—especially about his legs and paws—and his muzzle was snow-white.
TAILCHASER'S SONG
11
" 'You assume the Mantle by right of blood and claw, Prince Ninebirds?' questioned the old cat. 'I
do,' answered the great Prince. 'By what right of blood do you claim the Kingship?' queried the
old white-whisker. 'By the blood of Fela Skydancer that runs in me, you toothless old Squeaker-
friend!' rejoined Ninebirds hotly, and rose from where he lay. All the gathered Folk whispered
excitedly as Ninebirds walked to the Vaka'az'-me, the tree-root seat sacred to the Firstborn.
Before all the assembled Folk Ninebirds lifted his long tail and sprayed the Vaka'-az'me with his
hunt-mark. There was more excited whispering, and the old cat tottered forward.
" 'O Prince, who would be King of Cats,' said the ancient one, 'perhaps by blood you have some
claim, but what of claw? Will you fight in single combat for the Mantle?' 'Of course,' said
Ninebirds, laughing, 'and who will oppose me?' The crowd goggled, looking about for some mighty
challenger who would fight with the massive Prince.
" 'I will,' said the old one simply. All the folk hissed in surprise and arched their backs, but
Ninebirds only laughed again. 'Go home, old fellow, and wrestle with beetles,' said he. 'I will
not fight with you.'
" 'The King of Cats can be no coward,' said the old cat. At that Ninebirds cried in anger and
leaped forward, swinging his huge paw at the old gray-muzzle. But with surprising speed the old
one leaped aside and dealt a buffet to the Prince's head that addled his wits for a moment. They
began to fight in earnest, and the multitude could scarcely credit the speed and courage of the
old cat, who opposed such a great and fierce fighter.
"After a long while they closed and wrestled together, and although the Prince bit at his neck,
the old one brought up his hind claws and scratched, and Ninebirds' fur was scattered in the air.
When they broke apart, Ninebirds was full of surprise that this lean elder could do him such harm.
12
TAd WilliAMS
" 'You have lost much of your pelt, O Prince,' said the old one. 'Will you renounce your claim?'
Angered, the Prince charged, and they fell again to fighting. The old one caught the Prince's tail
between his teeth, and when the Prince tried to turn and rend his face, the elder pulled his tail
from his body. The Folk hissed with astonishment and fear as Ninebirds wheeled bloodily around and
faced the old cat once more, who was himself wounded and panting.
" 'You have lost your fur and tail, O Prince. Will you not also yield your claim?1 Maddened by
pain, Ninebirds flung himself on the ancient one, and they wrestled—spitting and swiping, blood
and tears glistening in the sun. At last the challenger wedged Prince Ninebirds' hindquarters
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beneath a root of the Vaka'az'me.
"As the dirt settled, an excited shock ran through those watching—in the last battling, quantities
of white dust had been knocked free from the coat of the challenger. His muzzle was no longer
gray, and his paws and legs shone the color of flame. 'You see me revealed, Ninebirds,' he said.
'I am Lord Tangaloor Firefoot, son of Harar, and it is by my command that there is no King of
Cats.'
" 'You are a brave cat, O Prince,' he continued, 'but your insolence may not go unpunished.' With
that, Firefoot caught the scruff of the Prince's neck and pulled, stretching his body and legs
until they were thrice as long as a cat's are meant to be. He then pulled the Prince loose from
the tree root and said: Tailless and hairless, long and ungainly have I made you. Go now, and come
never more to the Court of Harar. you who would have usurped his power. But this doom I lay on
you: that you shall serve any member of the Folk who commands you, and so shall all of your
descendants, until I release vour line from this bane.'
"And with that Lord Tangaloor went away. The
TAILCHASER'S SONG I ?
Folk drove the misformed Ninebirds from their midst, calling him M'an—meaning 'out of the
sunshine'— and he and all of his descendants went ever after on their hind legs, and do today, for
M'an's forelegs have been stretched too far away to touch the ground.
"Ninebirds the usurper, punished by the Firstborn, was the first of the Big Ones. They have long
served the Folk, making us shelter from the rain and feeding us when the hunt is bad. And if some
of us now serve the disgraced M'an, that is another story, for another Meeting.
"We are the Folk, and tonight we speak in one voice of the deeds of all. We are the Folk."
His song finished, Bristlejaw leaped down from the Wall with a strength belying his many summers.
All the assembled Folk respectfully bowed their heads down between their forepaws as he left.
The Hour of Final Dancing was drawing to a close, and the Meeting broke up into small groups—the
cats saying their farewells, discussing the Song and gossiping. Tailchaser and Thinbone hung on
for a while, discussing plans for the next evening with Fleetpaw and some of the other young
hunters, then took their leave.
As they frisked back across the fields they stumbled on a mole stranded away from its burrow.
After they chased it a bit, Thinbone broke its neck and they ate. Bellies full, they parted at
Fritti's porch.
"Mri'fa-o, Tailchaser." said Thinbone. "If you need my help tomorrow I'll be in Edge Copse at
Unfolding Dark."
"Good dreaming to you, also, Thinbone. You are a good friend."
Thinbone gave a flick of his tail and was gone. Fritti hopped into the box left for him by the Big
Ones, and sank into the sleep-world.
CHAPTER
It is the Vague and Elusive.
Meet it and you will not see its head.
Follow it and you will not see its back.
—Lao-tzu
Fritti Taikhaser had been born the second youngest of a litter of five. When his mother, Indez
Grassnestle, had first sniffed him, and licked the moisture from his newborn pelt, she sensed in
him a difference—a subtle shading that she could not name. His blind infant eyes and questing
mouth were somehow more insistent than those of his brothers and sisters. As she cleaned him she
felt a tickle in her whiskers, an intimation of things unseen.
Perhaps he will be a great hunter, she thought.
His father, Brindleside, was certainly a handsome, healthy cat—there had even been a whiff of the
Elder Days about him, especially when he had sung the Ritual with her on that winter night.
But Brindleside was gone now—following his nose toward some obscure desire—and she, of course, was
left to raise his progeny alone.
As Fritti grew, she lost touch with her early perceptions. Familiarity and the hard day-to-day
business of raising a litter blunted many of Grassnestle's subtler sensitivities.
Although Fritti was a bright and friendly kitten, cle\er and quick-learning, he never fulfilled in
size the promise of his hunter-father. By the time that
14
TAILCHASER'S SONG 1 5
the Eye had opened above him three times he was still no larger than his older sister Tirya, and
considerably smaller than either of his two brothers. His short fur had darkened from the original
cream to apricot-orange, except for white bands on his legs and tail, and a small, milky star
shape on his forehead.
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Not large, but swift and agile—conceding some kitten clumsiness—Fritti danced through his first
season of life. He frolicked with his siblings, chased bugs and leaves and other small moving
things, and mustered his green patience to learn the exacting lore of hunting that Indez
Grassnestle taught to her children.
Although the family's nest was in a heap of wood and rubble behind one of the massive dwellings of
the Big Ones, many days Fritti's mother would take the kittens out past the outskirts of the M'an-
nests and into the open countryside—wood lore was quite as important as city lore to the children
of the Folk. Their survival depended on their being smarter, faster and quieter, wherever they
found themselves.
Forth from the nest Grassnestle would go, her young forming a straggling, cavorting scout party
about her. With the patience passed down through countless generations, she taught her ragged crew
the fundamentals of survival: the sudden freeze, the startling leap, true-smelling, clear-seeing,
quick-killing—all the hunting lore she knew. She taught, and showed, and tested; then patiently re-
taught time and again until the lesson stuck.
Certainly her patience was often stretched thin, and occasionally a botched lesson would be
punished by a brisk pawsmack to the offender's nose. Even a mother of the Folk had limits to her
restraint.
Of all Grassnestle's kittens, Fritti loved learning most. Inattention, however, sometimes gained
him a smarting nose—especially when the family went out into the fields and woods. The tempting
whistles and chirps of the fla-fa'az and the swarming, evoca-
16
WilliAMs
live scents of the countryside could set him daydreaming in a moment, singing to himself of
treetops, and wind in his fur. These reveries were frequently interrupted by his mother's brisk
paw on his snout. She had learned to recognize that faraway look.
The dividing line between waking and dreaming was a fine one among the Folk. Although they knew
that dream-Squeakers did not satisfy waking hunger, and that- dream-fights left no wounds, still
there was nourishment and release in dreams unavailable in the waking world. The Folk depended so
much on the near-intangible—senses, hunches, feelings and impulses—and these contrasted so
strongly with the rock-solid basics of survival needs that one supported the other in an
inseparable whole.
All the Folk had exceedingly keen senses—they lived and died by them. Only a few, though, grew to
become Oel-var'iz—Far-sensers—who developed their acuteness and sensitivity far beyond even the
high median of the Folk.
Fritti was a great dreamer, and for a while his mother harbored the idea that perhaps he had this
gift of Far-sensing. He showed occasional flashes of surprising depth: once he hissed his eldest
brother down from a tall tree, and a moment later the branch on which his brother had stood broke
loose and fell to the ground. There were other hints of this deeper Var, but as time went on, and
he began to grow out of kittenhood, the incidents became fewer. He became more prone to
distraction—more of a day-dreamer and less of a dream-reader. His mother decided that she had been
mistaken, and as the time of Fritti's Naming grew closer she forgot it entirely. The life of the
hunting mother did not permit brooding over abstractions.
At the first Meeting after their third Eye, young cats were brought to be Named. The Naming was a
cere-
monv of great importance.
TAILCHASER'S SONG
17
It was sung among the Folk that all cats had three names: the heart name, the face name, and the
tail name.
The heart name was given by the mother at the kitten's birth. It was a name of the ancient tongue
of the cats, the Higher Singing. It was only to be shared with siblings, heart-friends and those
who joined in the Ritual. Fritti was such a name.
The face name was given by the Elders at the young one's first Meeting, a name in the mutual
language of all warmblooded creatures, the Common Singing. It could be used anywhere a name was
useful.
As for the tail name, most of the Folk maintained that all cats were born with one; it was merely
a matter of discovering it. Discovery was a very personal thing—once effected it was never
discussed or shared with anyone.
It was certain, at least, that some Folk never discovered their tail name, and died knowing only
the other two. Many said that a cat who had lived with the Big Ones—with M'an—lost all desire to
find it, and grew fat in ignorance. So important, secret and rare were the Folk's tail names, and
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so hesitantly discussed, that nothing much about them was actually agreed upon. One either
discovered this name or did not, said the Elders, and there was no way to force the matter.
On the night of the Naming, Fritti and his littermates were led by their mother to the special
Nose-meet of the Elders that preceded the Meeting. For the first time Fritti saw Bristiejaw the
Oel-cir'va, and old Snifflick, and the other wise Folk who protected the laws and traditions.
Fritti and his siblings, as well as the litter of another fela, were herded into a circle. They
lay hunched against each other as the Elders walked slowly around them—sniffing the air and
sounding a deep rumble
18
Tfld WilliAMS
that had the cadence of an unknown language. Snifflick leaned down and put his paw against Tirya,
Fritti's sister, and brought her to her paws. He stared at her a moment, then said: "I name you
Clearsong. Join the Meeting." She rushed away to share her new name, and the Elders continued. One
by one they pulled the other young out of the pile where they lay breathing shallowly with
expectation and Named them. Finally there was only Fritti left. The Elders stopped their circling
and sniffed him carefully. Bristlejaw turned to the others.
"Do you smell it, too?"
Snifflick nodded. "Yes. The wide water. The places underground. A strange sign."
Another Elder, a battered blue named Earpoint, scuffed the earth impatiently. "Not important.
We're here for a Naming."
"True," Bristlejaw agreed. "Well. . . ? I smell searching."
"I smell a struggle with dreams." This from Snifflick.
"I think he desires his tail name before he has even received his face name!" said another Elder,
and they all sneezed quietly with humor.
"Very well!" said Snifflick, and all eyes turned to Fritti. "I name you . . . Tailchaser. Join the
Meeting."
Bewildered, Fritti leaped up and trotted rapidly away from the Nose-meet, away from the chuckling
Elders who seemed to share a joke at his expense. Bristlejaw called sharply after him.
"Fritti Tailchaser!"
He turned and met the Master Old-singer's gaze. Despite the merriment wrinkling his nose, his eyes
were warm and kind.
"Tailchaser. All things in earth's season—only given time. Remember that, won't you?"
Fritd flattened his ears and turned and ran to the Meeting.
TAILCHASER'S SONG
19
The waning days of spring brought hot weather, long trips into the countryside—andTailchaser's
first meeting with Hushpad.
As he drew closer to his maturity the daily company of his brothers and sisters became less
important to Fritti. Each day the sun was longer in the sky, and the scents carried by the drowsy
wind grew sweeter and stronger. So, increasingly, he was drawn on solitary rambles outside the
range of dwellings among which his family lived and slept. During the hottest parts of the Hour of
Smaller Shadows—his hunger blunted by his morning meal, his natural curiosity freed—he would range
through the grasslands like his brethren of the savannahs, holding imaginary sway over all before
him as he stood on a hillside, grass stems tickling his belly.
The deeps of the woods also lured him. He delved at bases of trees for the secrets of scurrying
beetles, and tried the strength of outer branches, feeling the intriguing breezes of the upper air
swirl through the sensitive hairs of his face and ears.
One day, after an afternoon of intoxicating freedom and exploration, Tailchaser emerged from the
low scrub that girdled his woods and stopped to pull a twig loose from his tail. As he sat splay-
legged, pulling at the bit of branch with his teeth, he heard a
voice.
"Nre'fa-o, stranger. Might you be Tailchaser?" Alarmed, Fritti leaped to his feet and whirled
around. A fela, gray with black striping, sat regarding him from the stump of a long-dead oak. He
had been so wrapped in his thoughts that he had not noticed her as he passed, though she perched a
mere four or five jumps away.
"Good dancing, Mistress. How do you know my name? I'm afraid I don't know yours." The bramble in
his tail hanging forgotten, Fritti observed the stranger carefully. She was young—seemingly no
older
20
T«d
than he. She had tiny, slim paws and a softly rounded body.
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"There is no great mystery regarding either name," said the fela with an amused expression. "Mine
is Hushpad, and has been since my Naming. As to yours, well, I have seen you from a distance at a
Meeting, and you have been mentioned for your love of rambling and exploring—and here I have
caught you at it!" She sneezed delicately.
Her attractive green eyes turned away; Tailchaser noticed her tail, which she held coiled around
her as she spoke. Now it rose, as if of its own volition, and waved languorously in the air. It
was long and slender, ending in a tender point, and ringed from base to tip with the same black
accents as her sides and haunches.
This tail—whose lazy beckoning instandy captured Fritti's admiration—was to lead him into more
troubles than his own bounding imagination could conceive.
The pair romped and talked all through the Hour of Unfolding Dark. Tailchaser found himself
opening his heart to his newfound friend, and even he was surprised at what spilled out: dreams,
hopes, ambitions—all mixed together and hardly differentiated from each other. And always Hushpad
listened, and nodded, as if he spoke the dearest kind of truth. When he parted from her at Final
Dancing, he made her promise to meet him again the next day. She said she would, and he ran ail
the way home leaping with delight—arriving at the nest so excited that he woke his sleeping
brothers and sisters and alarmed his mother. But when she heard what it was that made him squirm
and fickle so that he could not sleep, his mother only smiled and pulled him to her with a gentle
paw. She licked behind his ear and purred, "Of course, of course ..." to him over and over until
he finally crossed into the dream-world. Despite his apprehensions of the following after-
TAILCHASER'S SONG
21
noon—which seemed to pass as slowly as snowmelt— Hushpad was indeed there to meet him when the Eye
first appeared over the horizon. She came the day after, too . . . and the one after that. Through
all of high summer they ran together, and danced and played. Friends watched them and said that
this was no mere attraction, to be consummated and then ended when the young fela finally came
into her season. Fritti and Hushpad seemed to have found a deeper congruency, which might ripen
later into a joining—a thing rarely seen, especially among the younger Folk.
Tailchaser was picking his way through the litter of the dwellings of the Big Ones, in the
fragmented darkness of Final Dancing. He had spent the night roaming the woods with Hushpad, and
as usual his thoughts lingered with the young fela.
He was struggling with something, but did not know what it was. He cared for Hushpad—more than for
any of his friends, or even his siblings—but her companionship was somehow different from the
others': the sight of her tail twining delicately behind her as she sat, or held delicately
upright when she walked, tickled a part of his imaginings he could not put a name to.
Deep in these deliberations, for a long while he did not heed the message that the wind carried.
When the fear-smell finally reached his pondering, puzzling mind he started with sudden alarm and
shook his head from side to side. His whiskers were tingling.
He leaped forward, galloping toward home; toward his nest. He seemed to hear terror-cries of the
Folk, but the air was still and quiet.
He clambered across the last rooftop, down a fence with a scratch and bump—and stopped short in
amazement and fear.
Where the pile of rubble that had been his family's
22 T«
nest had stood . .. there was nothing. The spot was swept as clean as wind-scoured rock. When he
had left his family that morning his mother had been standing atop the heap, grooming his youngest
sister, Softwhisker. Now they were all gone.
He darted forward and fell to scratching at the mute ground, as if to unearth some secret of what
had happened, but it was M'an-ground, and could not be broken by claw or tooth. His mind felt
blurry with conflicting passions. He whimpered, and sniffed at the air.
The atmosphere was full of cold traces of fear. The smells of his family and nesting place still
hung, but they were overlaid with the awful scents of fright and anger. Although the impressions
were much jumbled by the action of time and winds, he could also sense who had done this thing.
M'an had been here. The Big Ones had lingered for a long time, but had themselves left no mark of
fear or anger. Their reek, as always, was nearly indecipherable of meaning—more like the busy ants
and borer beetles than like the Folk. Here his mother had fought them to the end to protect her
young, but the Big,Ones had felt no anger, no fear. And now his family was gone.
In the next days he found no trace of them, as he had feared he would not. He fled to the Old
Woods and lived there alone. Eating only what he could catch with his still-clumsy paws, he grew
thin and weak, but he would not come to the nests of other Folk. Thinbone and other friends
occasionally brought him food, but could not persuade him to return. The elders sniffed sagely and
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kept their peace. They knew wounds of this type were best nursed in solitude, where the decision
to live or die was freely made, and not regretted later.
Fritti did not see Hushpad at all, for she did not come to visit him in his wild state—whether out
of sorrow for his situation or indifference he did not
TAILCHASER'S SONG 25
know. He tortured himself with imagined reasons when he could not sleep.
One day, almost an opening and closing of the Eye since he had lost his family, Tailchaser found
himself on the outskirts of the dwellings of M'an. Sick and debilitated, he had wandered out of
the protection of the forest in a kind of daze.
As he lay breathing raggedly in a patch of welcome sunlight, he heard the sound of heavy
footfalls. His dimmed senses announced the approach of M'an.
The Big Ones drew near, and he heard them cry to each other in their deep, booming voices. He
closed his eyes. If it was fated that he should join his family in death, it seemed appropriate
that these creatures complete the job that their kind had begun. As he felt large hands grasp him,
and the smell of the M'an became all-pervading, he began to pass over—whether to the dream-world
or beyond, he did not know. Then he knew nothing at all.
Slowly, cautiously, Tailchaser's spirit flew back to familiar fields. As thought came back he
could feel a soft surface beneath him, and the M'an smell still all about. Frightened, he opened
his eyes and stared wildly about.
He was on a piece of soft fabric, at the bottom of a container. It gave him a trapped, terrified
feeling. Pulling himself onto his unsteady paws, he tried to climb out. He was too weak to jump,
but after several attempts he managed to get his forepaws over the edge of the container and
scramble out.
On the floor below he looked around, and found himself standing in an open, roofed-over area
attached to one of the dwellings of the Big Ones. Although the smell of M'an was everywhere there
were none in sight.
He was about to hobble away to freedom when he felt a powerful urge: hunger. He smelied food. Cast-
24
WilliAiws
ing his eye about the porch, he saw another, smaller container. The food smell was making his
mouth water, but he approached it cautiously. After sniffing the contents suspiciously, he took a
tentative bite—and found it very good.
At first he kept an ear cocked for the return of the M'an, but after a while abandoned himself
completely to the pleasure of eating. He bolted down the food, cleaning the container to the
bottom, then found another full of clear water and drank. This gorging on top of his enfeebled
state almost made him sick, but the Big Ones who had put the meal down, perhaps foreseeing this,
had provided only modest amounts.
After he drank he wobbled out into the sunlight and rested for a moment, then rose to make his way
up to the forest. Suddenly, one of his captors walked around the corner of the bulky M'an-nest.
Fritti wanted to bolt, but his body's fragile health would not permit it. To his amazement,
however, the Big One did not seize him, or kill him where he stood. The M'an merely passed by,
leaning to stroke the top of Tailchaser's head, and then was gone.
So began the uneasy truce between Fritti Tailchaser and the Big Ones. These M'an, on whose porch
he had found himself, never hindered his coming or going. They put out food for him to take if he
wished, and left the box for him to sleep in if he so desired.
After much hard thought, Fritti decided that perhaps the Big Ones were a little like the Folk:
some were good, and meant no idle harm, while some were not—and it was this second kind that had
brought ruin to his family and his birthing-place. He found a kind of peace in this balance;
thoughts of his loss began to recede from his waking Hours—if not from his dreams.
As health came back to him, Fritti once more found pleasure in the society of the Folk. He found
Hushpad
TAILCHASER'S SONG
25
also, unchanged in whisker or tail. She asked him to pardon her for not visiting him during his
upset days in the woods. She said she would not have been able to bear the sight of her playfellow
in such distress.
Pardon her he did, and happily. With his strength returned, they once more ran together in the
countryside. All was as it had been, except that Tailchaser was more given to silences, and a
little less to happy chattering.
Still, his time with Hushpad was now even more precious to Fritti. They talked now, from time to
time, about the Ritual that they would enter when Hushpad came to her season, and Tailchaser
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