Katts and DawgsIn the Name of Truthby Roberto Sanhueza |
Table of Contents
Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 appear in this issue. |
| part 3 of 4 |
Most of the first day is gone when Bernie approaches Phydo. “Say, Phydo, would you mind if we took a little detour tomorrow evening and went by the old ruins?”
Phydo looks inquisitively at Bernie, but his companion’s face holds the utmost innocence. “The old ruins? What for?”
“What do you mean ‘what for’? Aren’t you curious to find out for yourself if they really are remnants of a Man-made city?”
“The High Priest said they aren’t.”
“And everybody else says they are. Come on, give yourself a break. What have we got to lose? It won’t take us very long, and we will still arrive at Riverfork in time.”
Phydo feels a deep stirring inside himself. His childhood is not that far in the past, and adventure has been totally lacking since he joined the Order. He smiles broadly and agrees. “What have got to lose indeed! Let’s ask Mutt and Wick!”
That night, lying beneath a tree, while his three companions are already sleeping, Phydo looks at the starry sky and beholds the Fixed Star. It is an unblinking spot of light that stays in place in the northern part of the Sentient Peoples’ skies, night after night, while the whole universe seems to spin as the night grows old.
As drowsiness is getting the best of him, Phydo feels a sudden jolt in his chest, and a premonition falls on him like lightning on a stormy day. Visions of a world full of wondrous and seemingly magical contrivances dance before his eyes for a fleeting moment, only to be gone the next. The moment passes, and Phydo falls finally asleep. Next morning he will think it was only a dream.
* * *
Thomm and the three Mysse lie by the edge of a deep ravine, spying on the entrance to the lair. Below them, Mysse come and go in a frenzy of activity. They don’t look up and go about their business, nervously staring at their surroundings.
Thomm shakes his head and turns to the three Mysse. “This is too stupid to be true. Is that really the only entrance to your lair? Right at the bottom of the gulch and at the end of it, too. There’s no escape if the beast comes along the ravine!”
The three of them look at each other and Benostter speaks. “We are not stupid, Katt, just too set in our traditions. Of course we have other, more discreet entrances and exits. But our law requires that we go out our main door to worship, and that happens every day. Trouble is, the old cougar found out. It’s an easy way to get his feeding, and now he won’t go away.”
“So your boss chose to humor the cougar and not to fight him.”
“We can’t fight that big a beast!”
“Yeah! I can see you don’t have the size, but you’re supposed to have the brains. Sure, we can fight him. Follow me!” Thomm starts running along the ravine’s upper edge, and the Mysse follow, more than a bit puzzled.
“There! Look there!” Thomm stops and signals to a point where the ravine splits into three arms. “If we can get the cougar into one of those channels and block the way back, he won’t be able to reach your lair.”
“But how do we get the cougar into the smaller ravine? And how do we seal it?”
“One question at a time. We get the cougar into it by using bait. And we lock him in by causing a landslide once he is inside. Piece of cake!”
The Mysse don’t seem so convinced. “But... who can be so brave, or so stupid, as to lure the cougar all the way from our lair to this place?”
Thomm sighs and rolls his eyes. “Who indeed? Who else but old Musstin Sharpclaws’ son, Thomm? Come on, let’s get going while there still are Mysse left. We’ve got some digging to do.”
* * *
It is evening when the four young Dawgs reach the old ruins. The setting sun gives the place an eerie light, with shape-shifting shadows, and the wind plays strange tricks on the apprentices, sounding almost like a far-away wail.
The place is a succession of low and high mounds. They look nothing like what the apprentices imagine would be the ruins of an ancient city.
The four hoofers stop on their own accord, to their riders’ surprise, right on the outskirts of the ruins. They start grazing, unconcerned with their masters’ orders.
“Well, this is odd,” says Bernie. “It looks like the hoofers will go no farther than this.”
Phydo laughs, a little too heartily perhaps, and jumps down from his mount. “Let us walk, then. Let’s find out what this place is all about.”
The four of them start walking towards the mounds, leaving the hoofers to themselves.
As they walk, a subtle feeling of uneasiness settles on them. It is nothing they can define, and they don’t even comment on it among themselves, but their fur prickles up, and the air seems to be a bit thicker. Daylight seems to be waning all too fast and shadows seem to flicker menacingly. Every step they take is heavier than the preceding one, and their hearts feel like lead weights inside their chests. When they reach the closest mound, the wind is moaning loudly, and they can almost hear whispering voices in it.
Then, all of a sudden, everything is gone. The wind is just wind, and the shadows only shadows, and nothing is menacing about them.
Bernie even doubts for a moment he felt anything special, and rather reluctantly, he asks his companions. “Did you fellows feel anything? I really felt ill a couple of heartbeats ago.”
They seem relieved now that one of them is openly admitting to the feeling. “Yes! I felt that way too!” say Wick and Mutt.
Phydo says nothing but his expression is all too clear. He felt it as well. He feels something else, too. An insistent albeit imprecise idea has started going around his head. There is something close by, something important and very relevant.
His mates watch in awe as Phydo pays no attention to their words and walks intently towards the next mound. Standing by the little hill, Phydo seems to lose his resolution. He looks around, not knowing what to look for.
Bernie is the first to catch on Phydo’s mood. “What is it Phydo? Are you looking for something?”
Phydo turns around as if to answer, but as he takes the next step he suddenly disappears from his friends’ eyes.
“By Man’s shoes! He fell into a hole! Come on lads, let’s get him out!”
Sure enough it is a hole. The three apprentices gather around the opening of a small and not very deep pit. Apparently Phydo walked over the rotten lid of a dry well.
“Are you all right, Phydo?”
“Yes, lads, don’t worry. There are plenty of dry weeds down here, and I don’t think I broke anything. See if you can fetch some rope from our bags to help me out!”
Dusting his robes, Phydo stands up at the bottom of the pit and it is then that he sees the glint of something shiny on the ground. And just like that, the Sentient Peoples’ destiny takes a sharp turn. But none of those present is aware of it at the time.
In the few minutes it takes his mates to go get the ropes, Phydo picks up from the dusty floor three plates, and he feels his heart skip a couple of beats. The light is poor, but he can tell the smooth and hard surface is neither metal nor polished stone. It is much lighter and stronger than either. Phydo strains his eyes but it is almost night, and he can’t be sure if he sees writing on the plates.
When his friends pull him finally out of the hole, he can only ask in a trembling voice. “A torch, fellows, bring a light!”
By the flickering light of a makeshift torch, the four awestruck apprentices behold the ancient writing of Man on tablets much like the holy ones.
* * *
The scene is all too familiar by now to Thomm. Hiding at the top of the ravine he watches the cougar stalking the entrance to the Mysse lair.
The door suddenly opens and an old Mousse is thrown out unceremoniously.
This is it, thinks Thomm as he half jumps and half runs down the ravine’s steep walls, wailing the Katt war cry and making all the noises he can to attract the cougar’s attention.
And the big feline goes for him. Maybe he is sick and tired of Thomm’s meddling, or maybe he considers the Katt a meatier meal than the old Mousse. Whichever, he turns and with a roar goes after the madly running Thomm.
Thomm does not look back, but he can feel in his whiskers that the cougar is shortening the distance between them. Thomm pushes forward. By the time he reaches the point where the ravine splits, the beast is only some feet away.
Thomm dives into the branching ravine and whistles a high and piercing whistle, which brings two results.
Glider drops from the heights and Thomm, in mid-stride, gracefully jumps onto the bird’s back and flies over the outraged cougar.
At the same time, the rocks and dirt that Thomm, Benostter, Myra and Lula have laboriously gathered over the ravine’s mouth fall in an avalanche, effectively blocking the cougar’s path.
When Thomm, atop Glider’s back, lands on the ledge, he finds the three Mysse happily dancing and singing.
“Good job, Mysse. Old cougar can’t go back to the other gulch, and this one has walls too steep for him to climb. The beast is most safely sealed away from your lair.”
“And you surely believe that is a reason for us Mysse to be eternally grateful, Katt.”
To the sound of the voice coming from behind them, all three Mysse fall on their knees and hide their faces against the ground.
Thomm, not nearly as impressed by the newcomer’s voice, turns slowly to behold a score of Mysse standing atop the ravine. In front stands a Mousse somewhat bigger than his fellows. He has an unmistakable air of authority.
“I take it you are the Headmousse.”
“That I am, Katt. And who are you to meddle in Mysse affairs and defy my authority?”
“Thomm Sharpclaws. And if by defying your authority you mean saving your subjects’ hides... then yes, I have defied it.”
The small Mousse comes to Thomm, little black eyes glowing in rage. “Play not the smart aleck, Katt. I am the ruler of my people’s destiny. You had no business dealing with the beast.”
Thomm does not yield. He comes to the Headmousse and looks challengingly down to his face. A Mousse is no match for a Katt, but the little brats are many, and their teeth are sharp. Nevertheless, Thomm is not going to let any ungrateful imp bully him around.
“But I did deal with the beast. What are you going to do about it?”
For a moment it looks like the Headmousse is going to order his subjects against Thomm, but the little Mousse is a cunning ruler, and he senses his Mysse would not join him in attacking the one who saved them from the cougar. He settles for saving face instead. “I’m going back to my lair, Katt. I advice you to do likewise. The next time we meet I may not be so generous.” And with a sharp order in their sibilant language, he sends all the Mysse back to their lair.
Thomm is left alone with Glider and he shakes his head in anger as he talks to the bird. “How do you like that for gratitude, Glider? He didn’t even utter a thank’ee, the dirty little twerp!”
“Coo!”
“Yeah, I know. I should stay away from other people’s trouble, but I couldn’t let old cougar eat that little Mousse girl, could I?”
“Coo!”
“Right. Come on Glider, let’s get out of these dusty ravines and let’s find some tree to spend the night.”
But as Thomm is hopping up onto Glider’s back, he feels a little tug on his garment. There is little Myra, a flower in her tiny hand and a smile on her face. She utters in an accented but clear Common Tongue a phrase that her mother, Lula, has obviously taught her: “Thank ye, my brave Katt.” Then she is gone, leaving the flower in Thomm’s hand.
A smile finds its way to Thomm’s face, almost in spite of himself.
Both Katt and bird take to the air as the sun sets behind the boulders of the rocky landscape.
Below, down in the ravine, a deep growl can still be heard.
* * *
“But what could these tablets be doing in an abandoned old well?”
None of the apprentices can give a sensible answer to that. They discuss the matter for a long time, and all they can agree on is that these tablets seem identical to the ones they have seen in Kannis castle.
* * *
Copyright © 2007 by Roberto Sanhueza
