So-fet called, “Storm, is that you?” and he brushed past Dover into the cave. She was standing at the back. A tiny head peered from around her legs. So-fet gave a tired smile. “Meet your sister, Storm.”
Storm sidled nearer and lowered his head to sniff. The newborn foal looked up with big, inquiring eyes and chirped at him. Storm loved her at once. “She’s so small…” he whispered.
So-fet laughed. “You were smaller.”
Storm gave the baby a playful lick on the nose. “What’s her name?”
“Sauny.”
“It’s a good name.” The foal was mouse-brown—not an unusual color. But as Storm gazed into her bright eyes, he noticed that they were as gray as his own.
* * * *
Sauny grew quickly. Soon she was sniffing among the rocks, never venturing more than a few lengths from her mother. Storm visited them often. He renewed his habit of bringing small gifts of rare food, which seemed to appease Dover. Sauny adored her brother. One of her first half-pronounced words was “Sorm.”
Storm’s summer coat came in even paler than last year’s. He was the color of smudged snow, almost white in places. What must you think of my fur now, Pathar? He thought of Pathar’s ancient, graying muzzle. We’re almost the same color! Storm had not spoken to his old teacher since the scene in the cave. He knew he might have sought him out at night among the rocks, but he didn’t. He was tempted, as he tried to learn to fight, but something held him back—a bitterness that lodged in his throat and made it hard to talk. If Pathar is ashamed to be seen speaking to me, perhaps it’s better that we not speak.
When they crossed the fields to Chelby Lake, Storm slowed his pace to match Sauny’s. He was prepared to join So-fet and Dover in protecting her if they needed to spend a dangerous night alone upon the open plain. However, Sauny made the walk a little ahead of most of the other newborns. She was bright and alert early the next morning. “Look, Storm, look! Big trees!”
Dover groaned, and So-fet yawned. Storm got up. “Can I take her for a walk in Chelby Wood? We won’t go far.”
“Please,” muttered Dover.
When the foal entered the trees, she was speechless with wonder. Seeing her here for the first time reminded Storm of his own first visit to Chelby Wood—one of his earliest memories. The scent of loamy earth, the play of dappled shadows, the sounds of birds, and the noises of squirrels among the leaves—it was all new again.
Finally, they reached the lake—cool and still in the late morning sunlight. Sauny let out a gasp of pleasure. “Storm! What is it?”
“That’s Chelby Lake, Sauny. Soon I’ll teach you to swim in it.”
The baby gave an unintelligible reply and ambled down to the water, where she amused herself by wading on the edges and watching the minnows dart away. “What are they?! What are they?!” She squealed in excitement as she chased the flitting forms, trying to catch them in her mouth.
Storm laughed. “They’re fish. Sometimes, if you sit very still, you can catch one of the big ones.”
Sauny vowed to try, but she couldn’t achieve more than an instant of stillness before leaping after the minnows again, squealing and splashing. At last, she grew tired and came over to sit with Storm on the bank. “What’s that?”
Storm followed her gaze over the water. “Oh. That’s Kuwee Island.”
Sauny tottered up again. “Let’s go there!”
“No, little one,” smiled Storm. “No one goes there. You wouldn’t like it—just a lot of vines and trees...”
He stopped. What am I saying? I have no idea what’s on Kuwee. I’m just repeating the sort of things Pathar said. Storm felt disgusted with himself. “Sauny, someday I’ll take you to the island…when you’re big enough to swim that far.” Sauny cocked her head at Storm’s serious tone. Then a dragonfly caught her attention, and she dashed, snapping, after it.
* * * *
Summer melted away, but Storm could not forget that conversation by the lake. Sauny’s speech improved, and she began to play with other foals. Storm doubted that she even remembered what he had said about Kuwee Island, but his own words gnawed at him. Was he starting to think like an adult, keeping secrets that he didn’t even understand?
Storm realized that he knew less about Kuwee Island than about Groth—surely a much more dangerous place. Even Pathar said the island wasn’t dangerous. What did he say…that we are afraid of the past?
Storm had explored most of the plain and wood in the vicinity of Chelby Lake, and Kuwee Island became more enticing by the day. He could not have said for sure when he decided to swim over, but he knew when he woke that morning that he was going. It was early fall, and if he waited any longer, the water would be too cold. He debated on whether he should take anyone with him. Certainly he would not take Sauny, not until he knew what was over there. She wasn’t a strong enough swimmer yet in any case. He thought about asking Leep or Tracer to accompany him. He wanted to ask Tollee. But he was afraid that one of them might try to stop him. In the end, he asked none of them and told no one.
Storm arrived at the edge of Chelby Lake just after sunup. A light mist hung over the water. He measured the distance with his eyes. It would be a long swim, but he had been swimming a lot lately—trying to strengthen his legs for the fight with Mylo.
Storm’s fur had already started to thicken for winter, and the cold water took several moments to penetrate to his skin as he waded out. Soon he was paddling. The mist swirled around his head, making him uneasy. On land, he could see above the haze, but at eye-level with the water, the mist blocked his view of the island and all but obscured the shore.
Storm swam steadily on, the fog growing ever worse. He began to imagine shapes in the gray streamers—a shore that never materialized, phantom trees that retreated from him. He glanced back and found that he could no longer see the shore of the lake. Storm, you fool, couldn’t you have waited until the fog burned off? You had all summer to do this! Why choose today? For a few sickening moments, Storm thought that he might have passed the island, that he might be swimming beyond Kuwee into the vastness of Chelby Lake. He wondered if he should try to go back. He wondered if he would just swim in circles until he drowned.
The sight of trees rising out of the mist came as a great relief. Moments later, Storm struggled out of the water onto a strip of sand and rock. The beach was not wide—three lengths at the most—and beyond rose a dense forest. Storm grinned and shook himself. He was standing on forbidden ground.
After a few moments’ rest, he began to investigate the forest’s edge. He found little in the way of trails—none of the usual beaten tracks that ferryshaft had wound through Chelby Wood. At last, he found what he took to be a deer trail—faint and rarely used—but it gave him a starting point to penetrate the underbrush.
Dim light filtered through the canopy as he started up the trail, and the fog was as bad as it had been over the water. Storm noticed that many of the trees were blackened and gave off a strange odor. He recalled that Pathar had once pointed out a tree struck by lightning with a similar smell and appearance. Storm struggled to remember the word for what had happened to the tree. Fire. Fire is extremely hot and bright. It spreads and kills things, and often comes from lightning.
Is that why the adults don’t come here? But the fire had clearly not been recent, as underbrush had grown since. Storm could not smell anything that made him think of predators.
He wandered on along the faint line of the deer track, angling slightly uphill. He was beginning to feel vaguely disappointed. What am I looking for? What did I expect to find? A creasia den? A nest of curbs? A whole cave full of strange symbols? A monster?
He began to wonder if there was anything at all on the little island. The air was stuffy beneath the trees and quiet. At last, he stumbled over something lying beneath ferns. Curious, Storm reached down and, after a little digging, pulled the object free.
It was a skull. A brief examination assured him that it had not belonge
d to a deer. It was a ferryshaft skull. However, it was obviously many years old—brittle and decaying. Storm considered it thoughtfully. How had it come to be in this forbidden place?
As he continued, he found more bones. In fact, he soon realized that the island was covered with them. Some were ferryshaft, and some were another creature that Storm could not identify. Once he found a massive creasia jaw bone. What killed them?
Storm left the deer track and began to struggle directly uphill. He wanted to see what was at the island’s crest. He was soon above the mist and walking through streamers of sunlight as the trees thinned. He saw bones everywhere now that he was looking for them. Many were half-buried, and all seemed to be about the same age.
At last, he came out of the trees into a clearing, where sunlight shone on warm grass. Here, the island’s hilltop rose sharply to a crest of bare, blackened rock. Lightning, thought Storm. This place has been struck by lightning, probably many times. It explained the clearing and the signs of fire on the trees.
More bones poked through the grass around the hill. Storm identified two more ferryshaft skulls, along with parts of many skeletons. He found more of the strange creatures’ bones, too—ribs that looked impossibly large and huge vertebrae. Again, all the bones seemed to be of about the same age.
He crossed the clearing and circled the rocky outcrop at its center. He had a mind to climb to the top and see whether he could get a view of the mainland over the trees. As he searched for the best way up, he rounded the hill and found a wide-mouthed cave angling down into it. The cave was not as large as the Volontaro cave, but it was still one of the largest he’d ever seen.
Storm ventured inside hesitantly. Some irrational part of his mind kept insisting that this was a monster’s lair, but he fought it down. Any predator must feed regularly, and all of the bones were old. Whatever had killed them was long gone.
The black stone of Kuwee Island looked very different from the red rock of the cliff-side caves or the white, porous rock of the Sea Cliffs. Storm found translucent blue crystals growing on the walls. He grew bolder as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He took a drink from a hollow in the rock and promptly spat it out because of the unpleasant mineral taste. Near the back of the cave, he found an enormous skull. The jaw was missing, but he still had a clear sense of the size of the beast. At first, he thought it was a creasia, but surely it was too large, even for that. This animal could have swallowed Storm without chewing.
A drop of water pattered on his shoulders, and Storm looked up. There was something wrong with the ceiling of the cave. The colors did not make sense—lines of white, a splash of pink. Storm backed in a slow circle, trying to understand. He kept feeling as though he’d almost grasped something important, only to lose the thread.
The enormous skull, the huge vertebrae, the lines on the ceiling… “It’s a telshee,” he breathed. He knew it an instant before he made sense of what he was looking at.
An image had been created on the ceiling. Storm could not guess how it had been done. A thick, white line delineated the long, coiling body of a telshee. The creature’s face looked down on the center of the cave. It had one huge eye, made of a polished lump of blue crystal. Where the other eye should have been, Storm saw only a rounded indention in the stone, as though someone had scooped it out. The telshee’s mouth was open, and Storm could see its pink tongue and long, white teeth. However, it looked more as though it were trying to say something than as though it were about to attack.
Storm stared at it for a long time. “What happened here?” he whispered. “Did ferryshaft and telshees fight? Or did something else kill both of us? What about the creasia jawbone? Who made this image? How? Why?”
Only the wind replied.
Chapter 22. The Rules
As fall drew to a close, Storm found himself in a state of unexpected hostility with his mother and Dover over Sauny’s education. She had progressed wonderfully that summer—learning to swim and fish and identify edible plants. She could play sholo as well as any yearling, and she’d acquired a group of well-placed friends, all foals with two parents and good social standing in the herd.
Sauny will never be a ru, thought Storm with pride. He had supervised many of her lessons, pushing her beyond what was usually expected of a female foal who had yet to see her first winter. Indeed, Dover clearly believed that Storm was overly-aggressive with Sauny’s education, pointing out that she would never need to live by her own wits alone. So-fet did not like the long runs away from the herd on which Storm sometimes took his sister, and both parents objected when Storm and Sauny brought down a young deer late in the fall. Ferryshaft did not eat much meat in summer; there was no need, and deer could be dangerous game.
“All it would take is one kick!” thundered Dover, after Sauny had gone off with her friends. “One broken rib, Storm, and she’d start her first winter crippled! Is that what you want?”
“And how much easier will it be when she’s faint with hunger and chasing a sheep through the boulder mazes?” snapped Storm. “At least now she knows how to bring down large game.”
“It will be a year or more before that’s expected!” snarled Dover. “I am her father, and I will provide her with assistance, as will her mother and her clique.” Storm noted that the need for his own assistance was distinctly absent.
“Please let us raise her, Storm,” said So-fet.
Storm could tell that she was tired of arguing, but Dover’s sullen expression drew his ire. “What if you’re killed in the first creasia raid,” he shot. “What will she do then?”
Storm thought that his stepfather might strike him. Dover’s ears settled flat back, and he raised a front hoof. “You will not speak that way to me, runt.”
So-fet’s head shot up. “Dover!”
“You haven’t told her, have you?” said Storm, giving no ground. “You haven’t told her about the creasia?” He was looking at his mother now.
“We will not speak of such things—!” began Dover, but So-fet cut in.
“How would that help, Storm?”
“It would prepare her!” exclaimed Storm. “She wouldn’t be so shocked, and she’d know what to do.”
“What she’ll do is run,” said Dover tightly, “just like everyone else. There’s no technique, nothing to learn. Now, you will not speak of such things again in the presence of my mate or my foal. If I find that you have done so, you and I will have a serious altercation. Do you understand?”
“Dover, please,” murmured So-fet.
Dover’s blazing eyes never left Storm’s face. “I understand,” grated Storm. He walked away, but Dover surprised him by catching up a few paces distant. He trotted around Storm, and stopped in front of him, legs stiff, tail bristling. “Vearil,” he spat in a voice too low to carry to So-fet.
Storm flinched without meaning to. It was what the adults had called him when he was no older than Sauny—unlucky, an ill omen, unfit to live.
“You’re not of my blood,” hissed Dover. “I have let my mate’s compassion affect my opinion of you, but no more. You are the ill-favored child of a hapless, short-lived father—weak stock. You try to claim my foal because you will never make one of your own. If Sauny and So-fet did not dote on you, I would send you from here bleeding. Do not presume to challenge my authority over my family again, Storm Ela-ferry.”
Out of the corners of his eyes, Storm saw other ferryshaft watching. He’s putting on a show, thought Storm. Why? Because others have been talking?
Storm had been feeling very grown-up that summer. Now, he suddenly felt very young again, acutely aware that he was a small foal, only two years old, facing a full-grown, angry adult. He thought, This is what the fight with Mylo will be like…except I’ll have done something to really make him angry, and I haven’t done anything to Dover.
Storm turned and walked away. He half expected Dover to pursue or even to strike at him, but his stepfather seemed satisfied. You’ve re-established your place in the h
erd, he thought bitterly. By making sure that everyone knows the runt isn’t telling you what to do.
* * * *
Later, as Storm jogged beside the river with Sauny on the herd’s annual migration, he wrestled with the problem of whether to defy her parents and tell her about the cats. “Sauny, there are certain problems in winter.”
She smiled at him. “I know. Mother told me that last year there was a big wind, but this year, there won’t be…because the herd elders said so.”
Storm took a deep breath. “Last year, there was a Volontaro. They don’t happen very often. But…many ferryshaft still die in winter—”
“Oh, I know we’ll be hungry. Mother told me, but you taught me to hunt!” She gave a little skip—somewhat muted, because the long walk was wearing on her.
Storm didn’t know what to say. Dover and So-fet were walking a few lengths away. They probably couldn’t hear everything he said, because of the trampling of thousands of ferryshaft feet and their chatter as they walked. Still, he caught Dover glancing at him from time to time. Storm had half-expected another altercation, but Dover seemed confident in his authority.
Why shouldn’t he be? thought Storm. Sauny is not my foal, only my half-sister. And maybe he’s right. Maybe she doesn’t need to know about the creasia yet.
Storm glanced sidelong at Sauny—her coat a glossy red-gold, her legs already longer than his had been at the same age. Sauny had never been mocked by the other foals as far as he could tell. She had two parents and a brother watching over her. He did not feel jealous, but he did feel a little distant. Her life will be so different from mine… Maybe I have nothing to teach that’s worth learning. Maybe I should just follow the rules.
* * * *
The next morning, at the foot of the cliffs, Storm felt the tension in the herd which told him that the “conference” was in session. The weather remained clear, however, and soon the ferryshaft were behaving normally again.
The winter snows came. Storm spent more time with his clique and less time around Sauny. However, he sought her out on the day that the Igby froze hard enough for skating. As he’d expected, she was excited.