Chapter 6 Mercy #3
“Oh, sorry—I forgot you’re not from around here. The boo—The waters-of-madness are a magic of the two-legs. It’s sort of like catnip.”
“Ah. Yes. I know this thing.”
“Slighen, you recall the acorns,” added Asah.
“Right, those as well. Just as men have waters-of-madness that bring singing and stumbling, so too do they have acorns that bring sleep, and smokes that pull the spirit into strange shapes. Lady Mercy is fond of all these, and more than fond. Even without her disease, by rights she should have been dead long since. But her scent is as healthy as that of a young cub.”
“That is the cat’s handiwork?” Blacktail asked.
“It is. They are all of a pack, you see. Just as Lady Mercy protects them against the perils of man, they save her from the forest…and, I suppose, from herself.”
“Please to you, Lord Hunter,” said Asah. “You might walk on, this night. You might pass over this hunt. In this world, there is much room. Room for many things. Perhaps even room for Mercy.”
Blacktail made no answer to this. He turned and padded back up the way he had come.
iv
Blacktail paused in the underbrush well outside the boundary of illumination cast by Mercy’s den.
No, he thought. Not den, but House. This is House.
This far south, House dotted every hill and plain.
He had not stood so close to one since the night of Renren’s murder.
He studied the sharp, unnatural walls of red stone and wood, the lights, and his lip curled back over his front teeth. His stomach churned.
In the clearing the cult of Mercy sat waiting.
Their nostrils flared. Their eyes flashed, bright and watchful.
They have awakened what fury they can find in themselves.
He almost pitied them. The Great Dane was the only one tall enough to rise above his knee.
They can’t seriously think to stand against me?
Nonetheless, the fact that they tried at all told him a lot about their mood.
He was mindful of the warnings Asah and Slighen had given.
Perhaps I’ll hunker down a moment. Take the scent of things.
He moved in a bit closer, careful not to crack any branches or rustle dry leaves.
House had many openings through which the inside lights spilled out.
Milo sat in the puddle of light these cast upon the small clearing in front of House, together with two dogs and a cat.
Blacktail recognized the Great Dane and the cat from their earlier meeting.
He hadn’t seen the other dog last time. The rest of the pack waited inside of House, watching from the doorway and windowsills.
This time he gave the cat a closer look. It was hard to say precisely what, but something about her—perhaps the matted fur, or the glazed and unblinking eyes—reminded him of the Old Kitty Mother. That one is Larkspur, he thought. The witch.
The second dog, a black-and-gold Alsatian with ragged ears and a scarred muzzle, was unfamiliar to him. Is that the war dog? The one they call Sarge? Yes. It must be. Milo is holding his council against me, I think.
Blacktail took a moment to slow his heart and breathing. His ears perked up slowly, like the eyes of a crocodile rising from black water. When the breeze cooperated, he could hear them well enough.
“…won’t matter. If it’s awake inside him, we’re finished.” It was the cat’s voice.
“Can you tell?” asked Milo.
The cat hesitated before answering in an ancient, cracking meow. “No. Not entirely. This one…the flavor of his spirit is fierce, this is true. But a fierce spirit is not such a rare thing, even in these times. It is difficult to find the language…”
“Try,” said Milo, his voice flat and commanding.
“Very well, Holiness,” the cat answered. “Do you remember yesterday?”
“I don’t see what that has—”
“Indulge me. Do you remember yesterday?”
“Of course I do.”
“And this morning? Do you remember it as well?”
“Get on with it, Larkspur.”
“As you say. And what of tomorrow? Do you remember that?”
“Do I remember tomorrow? Of course not. It hasn’t happened yet.”
“That,” said the cat, “is where you are wrong. There is no yesterday, no tomorrow—these are only God’s little riddles. What was, is. What shall be, was. There is only now. When you learn the trick of it, it is easy to see.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Milo said.
“Many things are. It doesn’t mean they’re untrue. Tell me, Holiness: How well do you remember your mother?”
“Not at all,” Milo said coldly. “I was taken from her when I was little more than a puppy, as you well know. You try my patience, Larkspur.”
“Think again,” Larkspur said gently. “It is true that you are grown now, grown and standing against the enemies of your pack. But now it is also true that you are dead, and also true that you are not yet born, and that right now you are nursing at your mother’s teat, eyes opening for the first time to see her, the great and warm one… do you see?”
The tone of the cat’s voice tugged at Blacktail’s memory. The Old Kitty Mother spoke in such a way, he thought, the fur rising on the back of his neck. She’s making a spell.
“I see only—” Milo began, his tone was just shy of a growl. Then he broke off. He froze. His eyes widened. His tongue flicked out like that of a nursing puppy. “Mama. Mama, is that you?” Then, pleadingly, “Is it really?”
“You do see,” the old cat answered herself. “What is, and what was, and what shall be—all the same.” She studied Milo for a span of heartbeats, then flicked her tail to and fro in a pattern that Blacktail found painful to observe.
“Wait!” Milo cried. “Larkspur, please, give me just another moment with her!”
Larkspur completed her gesturing as if she had not heard. A moment later she turned her attention to licking a paw.
Milo glared at her for a moment, then sighed and returned to the business at hand. “Very well, Larkspur. It is as you say.”
Sarge spoke for the first time. “Why not tell who among us will live when the morning comes?”
“I will if you like,” the cat answered.
“But?”
“But you will not like the answer, nor will you find it useful. Life and death are incidental here. Tonight we deal with matters of faith.”
“Incidental?” Sarge growled. “Recall for a moment that it will be me rather than you out there getting my ass chewed upon by a death god. I hope you can see how I might lack your scholarly detachment.”
“Call it courage rather than faith if you like,” the cat shot back. “They are one and the same. Do you know anything of courage, friend Sarge?”
“I know that it won’t be hard to find courage on that windowsill where you’ll be sitting when I’m—”
“Enough!” Milo barked. “Recall that we are all of a single pack, please. If both of you are still alive tomorrow morning you can bicker then.”
“As you say, Holiness,” the cat purred.
“Sir, yes sir!” said Sarge.
Milo glared for a moment to make sure they knew he meant it. “Larkspur, continue your lesson. If you see so much, why not just tell us what we must do?”
“It is not so simple as that,” answered Larkspur.
“And why would it be? God wishes that we all be amused, and no one enjoys an easy riddle. There are many pasts, many futures. Some things are inevitable—on the day of the next full moon there will be a storm, and a nearby tree will be felled by lighting. But which tree? All of them, or only one of them, or many, or most, or none. Seeing too much is the same as seeing nothing.”
“Then what use are you?” rumbled Sarge.
“Perhaps none,” answered the cat, unperturbed.
“When I look forward, I see many things. The wolf Blacktail will soon be dead, that much I know. Of that much I am certain. One way or another he is not long for this world.” The cat purred, amused by some private joke.
“What matters—the only thing in all the world that truly matters now—is what he sees before he dies. The Old Kitty Mother was right. Something now stirs that has slept long and long.”
“I still don’t see why we didn’t just let him go on his way,” Sarge said.
“Eh? I’ve told you. That’s one of the few things that is clear.
One way or another, this wolf’s journey will soon be at an end.
Doing nothing is the same as condemning Mercy to death.
We must act.” She examined her paw, licked it.
“But…I will admit that exactly what to do remains a difficult question.”
The beagle’s voice came from the porch, surprising them all. “Why don’t we just tell him how much we love her?” he asked, trotting out to join the other four. The accent of his speech was exotic to Blacktail’s ear, musical. “Tell him how much she loves us?”
Sarge barked curt laughter. Larkspur gave a patronizing meow.
Milo glared at them, irritated. “Once that might have worked,” he said gently.
“But love died in this one long ago. Now all that’s left in him is judgment.
” He kissed the beagle gently on the top of the head.
“Go stand guard at the back entrance, little fellow. We’ll need you to sound the alarm if he tries to sneak up on us. ”
“But—”
“Run along now,” Milo said again. The beagle slunk away into House, tail low and unhappy.
What the cat said next was lost in the breeze.
“Well, I suppose we’ll know soon enough,” Milo replied.
Sarge barked out a nervous laugh.
“That’s all very well,” Milo said, “but it still doesn’t tell us what to do. Sarge, you are our tooth and claw. Can you hold him off?”
There was a long pause before the big dog spoke. “I don’t know. I’ve not seen the like of that one before. He’s not—” The dog hesitated. “I’ll give him a go, Holiness. I can promise nothing.”
“Is there anything”—the next part was lost in a rustle of leaves—“do?”