The rumor reached Chytt as soon as she rose, but not before it had permeated down to even the stupidest servant in the lowest levels of Qartt Hold. Scratching a persistent itch behind her ear, she tried to persuade herself that Gitl had been mistaken. Mimki might well have bred out of season—it was no great secret that she was on the simple side, and if she had erred, no doubt it was Chytt's own fault for wanting Mimki's spectacular red-and-white spotted coat pattern passed on to Qartt's future generations.
Chytt ran a hand back through the long red mane lying loose on her neck and shoulders, feeling how much thinner it had become. And she didn't have to see herself to know she had lost a full hand-width of height in the past few seasons. Her ability to hold Qartt was weakening, and this breakdown in order was symptomatic of that fact.
But she could not picture Mimki actually being stupid enough to mate with a Qartt male. There was, of course, no telling what a male might do, even one bred out of Qartt. Once the male cublings were sent off to a males' house, the Voice alone knew what nonsense they were taught. But no daughter of hers would ever be wanton enough to do such a thing! Everyone knew such behavior invited disease and deformity, endangering the Line. And from the scruffiest nameless servant to the Line Mother herself, the Line was held sacred. Nothing came before its welfare, including the urges of the body. Nothing!
Someone scratched at the threshold. Chytt whirled, handclaws half-flexed, but met only Gitl's sorrowful yellow-furred face. "What?"
"Fik has returned." Gitl lingered uneasily in the doorway, eyes cast down to the deep-blue carpet.
Chytt flicked an ear at her and turned away. If the news were indeed as bad as the whispers said, then nothing would keep Fik's impudent face away. If it were good, then nothing would bring that insolent ginger-colored female here to face Chytt ahead of her own designs.
"I see you have heard," an arrogant voice said behind her back.
Chytt braced one hand against the curving wall of her chamber and told herself that she would not tremble before this creature. "Since you are the Head Breeder, I would rather hear it from you."
"Mimki bred out of season." She heard the whisper of fur against the wall as Fik moved about the room behind her. "The child was born last night, although surely you must have heard her caterwauling. She was not at all quiet about it."
"Is it perfect?" Chytt wondered at the calmness of her own voice.
"Yes, perfect." Fik yawned. "You will have to forgive me. I had a full night."
Chytt turned and saw to her amazement that Fik had curled up in the far corner on her cushions, the very best ones worked with gold thread. Her ears flattened. "You forget yourself!"
"On the contrary . . ." Fik stretched a pale-ginger arm over her head and lounged back on the soft dark-blue cushions. "You are the one who forgot herself—on the day when you passed that sand-brain, Mimki, at her final gleaning." Flexing her handclaws, she preened the white patch of fur on her chest. "Everyone knows that silly creature would never have risen higher than a non-breeding tender down in the nursery, if it were not for you. She has neither wit, nor courage on her side. In fact, she has nothing that makes her fit to breed Qartt's future generations." She yawned again, but her dark eyes, ice-bright and dangerous, glittered across the chamber at Chytt. "Nothing, but her direct descent from you."
Freeing her handclaws, Chytt glared at the insolent female. "Get out!"
"You thrust that stupid, foolish creature into the heart of this shameful pattern." Fik's eyes followed Chytt from her own cushions. "You invited this degradation into our hold."
"I do not believe she did more than breed out of season." Chytt forced her voice to remain calm. "If she mated with a Qartt male, then show me the child."
"Oh, I can do much better than that." Fik's lips drew back over her large white teeth and she flipped a bloodstained piece of blue birthing cloth in Chytt's direction. "Take a careful whiff of the stench of double-Qartt blood—because in this hold, as long as I am Line Mother, such will never be bred again."
Chytt flinched from the cloth that fluttered to her feet, then picked it up between the tips of two claws. The taint of wrongness in the dried blood sent a chill through her body. Qartt breeding with Qartt—who would have thought she would live to see such a thing? Added to the extinction of Levv, it seemed chaos crept closer with every breath. She had thought the current pattern ruling Qartt was river/in/fire, one that twisted and turned, yes, difficult and full of change, but these events indicated a shape far more sinister than any she had ever perceived. And, if she had mistaken the pattern, then this was her fault. How could she have been so wrong?
Fik rose in a fluidly powerful move, muscles rippling under her ginger coat. "Do you think you are strong enough now to box my ears, Line Mother?" Her voice was pitched in the inflection of an adult speaking to a cubling. "How many gleanings did you survive because you were Hallat's direct-daughter?"
Chytt's claws were at the pale-ginger throat before she even knew she had sprung. Fik whirled and pinned her to the floor, one arm across her throat. Chytt rolled and threw her off. Scrambling back onto her feet, she faced Fik again, ears flattened to her skull and the breath painfully short in her chest. Maturity had brought her wisdom and a broad knowledge of tricks that could be employed in a fight, but youth had its brute strength. For a bewildering second, she had a flash of old Hallat's surprised yellow-furred face when, all those seasons ago, Chytt had torn out her throat in this very same room.
Had she only been stronger than Hallat then, and nothing else? Not wiser, more fit to take this hold under her claws? Fik lunged and she retreated, catching a heel on a cushion and slipping. Her arms flailed as Fik fastened both hands in her mane and forced her head back, going for her throat with savage bared teeth.
As her head cracked against the exposed stone floor between the edge of the carpet and the wall, she knew it was already too late. Hotness bubbled at her throat as Fik drew back a triumphant, bloodstained muzzle, then tossed her aside like a soiled robe.
How strange that she felt no pain. Her muzzle was pressed hard against the cold stone of the wall, but aside from that, she only felt the spreading warmth of blood as it spurted down her chest onto the floor and soaked into her prized blue carpet, just a stride away. For herself, she could find no grief. From the day she had seized Hallat's place, she had known this would come; Line Mothers passed the Gates of Death in no other way.
But she was overwhelmed with the pain of Qartt passing under Fik's savage, quick-tempered claws. What would happen to the Line, all the daughters and the cublings and even the servants? What dark pattern would Fik give them over to? Fur rustled at the door; Gitl and perhaps a number of others had been there all along, but none would interfere. In the ancient way of things, power passed into only the sharpest of claws so that they would always breed from strength; that was the heritage of the Lines.
Grayness clouded the edges of her vision, then deepened to singing blackness which ate inwards toward the center and finally bore her away.
A tall indistinct shape loomed over Mitsu in the dimness. She took a shallow breath and closed her eyes again. It was too early, she told herself. Blast his fur-bound hide, Blackeagle was always eager to start their run before dawn, but she couldn't see in the darkness like he could.
"Just a few more minutes," she murmured. Every inch of her body felt like lead and the universe wouldn't end if she slept a little longer.
There was a harsh mutter of words close to her ear, and then someone touched her face. "I said, give me a few more sodding minutes!" She pushed at the hand, then curled up at the pain in her right arm and shoulder.
"Lie ——" The guttural voice penetrated her haze of pain, speaking in some other tongue than Standard.
She dimly remembered learning that language at some point, but when? Forcing her eyes open, she made out a sharp-nosed face leaning over her, covered in pale-gray fur though, not black.
Placing a hand under her good shoulder, the hrinn eased her back into the thick pile of cushions. "The —— has fled —— do not burn —— did before. Still, you must —— and allow —— heal."
Mitsu thought she had seen this hrinn before, but not this place. Even though the light was very low, there was a feeling of space in the room and the air smelled fresh. "Water?" she asked, then coughed at the harshness of Hrinnti syllables on her parched throat.
The light-furred hrinn picked up a yellow pottery bowl, then raised Mitsu's head to drink from it. The cool water slid down her dry throat, but moving her head made her arm and side throb.
"Sleep now." The hrinn brushed the hair out of her eyes in a curiously gentle manner. "No one —— you here."
Mitsu's eyes sagged shut, her thoughts evaporating like raindrops under the noonday sun.
His head felt so light as they labored up and down the increasingly rugged hills that Heyoka found himself surprised it didn't just float off into the cloudless amber sky. Down below and incredibly far away, his abused body struggled painfully over the rocky trails. Once in a while, Nisk spoke to him and he answered, but what either of them said, he had no idea.
When they reached a shallow mountain stream cascading over rounded rocks, Nisk motioned for him to drink, but he just stared stupidly at the water, no longer able to feel his thirst, or much of anything else, for that matter. Nisk seized his ruff and forced him to his knees, the water rushing inches away, and splashed water on his face. Heyoka licked the drops off his muzzle, then lowered his head to drink from cupped hands.
Nisk released him and studied the clear water until he finally scooped out a creature with bluish scales and wriggling tentacles. Turning back to Heyoka, he held it out and spoke sharply.
Looking down from his faraway place, Heyoka tried to make sense of that command.
"—take it!" Impatiently, Nisk tore the creature in two and pushed a still-writhing half into Heyoka's hand. "If you do not eat, you will die."
Heyoka brought the handful to his mouth, but the smell was rank and bitter.
Nisk's ears flattened. "Eat, or I will tear your throat out and leave you here for the dako to scavenge so at least something somewhere will have some use of you!"
Nisk's anger penetrated the haze inside Heyoka's head and he pushed the handful into his mouth, trying not to think about the off-taste or the squishiness of it between his teeth.
Nisk handed him the other half. "Now eat the rest and be quick! We cannot stay here."
Heyoka's stomach rolled as the first mouthful went down, but he crunched the second half, then rinsed his hands in the cool stream to wash away the smell. If anything, he felt worse.
They reached the crest of the first hill by the time the red sun was nearly overhead. Nisk knelt, using some low bushes for a screen and pointed back the way they had come. Four hrinn on yirnback were following their trail. "We will wait for them here."
Heyoka stared at him dully. "Why does Beshha want us dead?"
Nisk looked back down the hillside again. "I saw fear in her eyes last night when she looked at you. She knows something about the ending of Levv that would call the honor of Jhii into question."
The world seemed a little more real to him now. Heyoka began to feel the heat of the sun on his shoulders as though he were part of his body once more.
"When we fight these Jhii, you must not draw power." Nisk put a hand on Heyoka's shoulder, flexing his handclaws so that the tips pricked through Heyoka's tunic and fur for emphasis. "If you draw power again while you are this weak, you will die. Do you understand?"
"Draw—power?"
"As you did yesterday, on the hill when the young Jhii attacked you." Ears flattened, Nisk shook him. "That was wasteful. You should have been able to handle a mere youngling like that without even breathing hard."
Heyoka tried to think back to the fight. Drawing power—on the hillside? He replayed the memory, the cubling's sudden leap onto his shoulders . . . his vision shifting to blue, the world moving in slow motion. "You mean—things slowing down and turning blue?"
"Yes." Nisk peered over the edge of the hill.
"But—" Heyoka rubbed the sides of his head; it was still so hard to think. "—that just happens. I have no control over it."
Nisk stared at him, black eyes glittering. "If you cannot control it, you will die."
Yirn hooves clicked against the rocks as the Jhii trackers worked their way up the hillside. The warm afternoon wind blew into the males' faces, carrying their scent away from their trackers and allowing them at least some measure of surprise. Heyoka's ears pricked at the mutter of low voices. Although the four females were still hidden by the trees and bushes below, they had to be very near now.
Nisk flexed his handclaws, ears flat with concentration. "I will take the leader, who should be the most experienced." He spoke in a low, measured voice as though speaking of the chance of rain or some other equally mundane subject. "You must wait and take the third rider, so the yirn behind her will panic and render its rider useless for a breath or two."
Before Heyoka could argue, the first yirn's horned head bobbed just below the ledge where they were hiding. Nisk waited until it passed, then followed it through the brush, so the next riders would come on through. Then, as the third yirn's nose appeared, Nisk flung himself without a sound onto the cub-trainer's back and wrestled her to the ground.
Heyoka let the second rider pass, then launched himself at a nearly grown cubling who turned, teeth bared, and met him halfway. In a second, they tumbled together into the tough branches of the scrub.
With a savage snarl, the dark-brown cubling scrabbled out of the broken bushes and leapt for his throat. Using every combat trick he knew, Heyoka fought the snarling, spitting female off, all the while dreading the telltale slowing that signalled "drawing power."
Feeling a sudden hot breath on his shoulders, he whirled to face the fourth yirn crowding his heels. Without thinking, he clawed its nose and sent the bloodied beast squealing back down the trail. In that split second of inattention though, the cubling broke through his guard, ripping at his throat with razor-edged teeth. As he struggled to fight her off, the amber sky shifted toward blue.
No! He tried to catch his breath. He did not even have the right to die in this forsaken place! If he were killed, then Mitsu would never be rescued and she had only come to Anktan to aid him! With an effort he tried to slow his breathing, still prying at the fierce jaws clamped on his throat. Suddenly he threw himself forward against the stone ledge, crushing his adversary against the rock with his weight. The jaws loosened and he ripped at her body with his handclaws, all the while fighting the dislocating blueness which threatened to overwhelm him.
When the cubling's body went limp, he heaved it into the bushes. The savage scratches along his throat throbbed as he looked for the other two cublings, but the fourth rider had stayed with her yirn as it panicked back down the trail and the other sprawled, motionless and bloody, at Nisk's feet.
Nisk disappeared around the rocks, then reappeared, trailing two reluctant yirn by the ears, his face and neck red-orange with blood. As he dragged the second yirn toward Heyoka, the cubling in the bushes whimpered.
Nisk gave him a hard look. "Finish it."
Hovering on the edge of blueness, Heyoka stared back at Nisk's alien black-furred face over the white blood-streaked throat. The pulse drummed in his ears. Kill an injured prisoner in cold blood? A hoarse snarl rose up in his throat. By all the gods, that was a flek trick; it was the flek who took no prisoners. No human would ever—
A muscle twitched over his eye. He suddenly felt more kinship with the meanest, scruffiest human soldier back in his ranger outfit than this black-eyed mirror of himself—humans did not kill unarmed prisoners!
Nisk leaned into the bushes and yanked the limp, unresisting body out by the heel, then Heyoka watched in shock as Nisk's handclaws descended in a leisurely arc toward the cubling's unprotected throat. A shimmering curtain of intense blue fell over the world, as though he were gazing through sheer cloth of the most expensive weave. No longer resisting, Heyoka embraced the blueness, then watched his own hand, moving at normal speed, rise to catch the slowing falling arm before it could strike.
Nisk met his eyes without moving a hair. Heyoka could feel Nisk's superior muscles contract; even without blueshift speed, the older male could overpower him and kill the cubling if he wished. Heyoka lacked the strength to prevent him.
"She—will—come—after—us—again." Speaking in a drawn-out manner that was difficult to understand, the older male twisted his arm out of Heyoka's grip. "We—will—only—have—to—kill—her—later."
Blue everywhere, staining the world in a million shades of indigo, drowning him in a chill sea the color of Mitsu's eyes. Suddenly cold, Heyoka shivered convulsively. "Let it be later then!" he gasped and fell to his knees beside the cubling.
Nisk stared down at him, then stepped in slow motion over the cubling's prone body to pull Heyoka to his feet. Dizzy, Heyoka swayed against the rock ledge and tried to shunt the deadly blueness aside. Nisk took his leg and boosted him over the yirn's shaggy warm side. Heyoka groped for the leather harness and settled just behind the beast's hump. Then, huddled there in misery, he watched as Nisk mounted the other beast and rode around the bend, driving Heyoka's own beast before him.
Though still very weak, the creature was no longer ill. Nibbling a crumbly handful of sweet yellow-cake to restore her energy, Vexk watched its chest rise and fall in the evenness of healing sleep. If she could just keep it here, even for a few days, it would regain some measure of strength again, perhaps even be able to walk.
But not if she sent it back to Vvok now, as Seska continued to demand in an unending stream of messenger jits. And, oddly enough, there was something in the spiteful, threatening tone of those messages that spoke to Vexk of the old female's fear. She leaned over and smoothed a lock of the short black mane out of the creature's pale face. What had Seska, Line Mother of Vvok, to fear from this soft-skinned, hairless thing?
Over in the far corner, Khea stirred in her sleep and Vexk glanced at her. She had hoped for more time to awaken the talents hidden in Khea's nature and to tempt her with a different, more satisfying way of life other than that offered by the Lines.
Still, she had no right to keep either the cubling or the Outsider here past the time the creature could travel. Perhaps tomorrow morning, she told herself, they could not possibly go until then. Finishing the last crumb of yellow-cake, she rose and went to find Siga so a jit could be sent back with that message.