The two largest bared their teeth at Storm. He was instantly aware of Tracer at his back. He was aware of something else, too. The sheep was not a sheep.
Storm swallowed. Suddenly, the air felt too thick to breathe.
“She was already dead,” said Tracer behind him. “She slipped and broke her leg a few days ago.”
Storm hardly heard him through the hammering of blood in his ears. There were five other foals, counting Tracer, and they’d already surrounded him. Did he do all that running to tire me out?
“What is this?!” snarled the largest foal. Storm judged him to be at least two years old—dirty brown with a ripped ear and a broken front tooth.
“He can run,” said Tracer calmly. “We need a new runner.”
“You could have brought him later! If he goes to the elders, they’ll kill us.”
“He won’t do that,” said Tracer. “He’s alone, Mylo.”
“He looks awfully well-fed to be alone.” Mylo came forward, bristling, and sniffed.
Storm cowered to the ground. It was too late to run. They were all around him. His fear that they’d brought him here to eat him gave way to fear that they would kill him to keep their secret. Elders did kill ferryshaft who were discovered feeding on the bodies of their own dead. Behind the others, a single foal continued to methodically devour the corpse.
Another foal, almost as big as Mylo, gave Storm a shove with his scarred muzzle. “He’s a runt. He probably lives on roots. He won’t starve until next winter when he’s bigger. In the meantime, he’s useless.”
Tracer seemed unperturbed. “He—can—run. He can get into small spaces, Callaris. We will starve without someone like him to flush the prey.”
“Ally can get into small spaces,” countered Callaris with a jerk of his head and a sneer in his voice that told Storm exactly what he thought of Ally.
A tiny foal, even smaller than Storm, limped out from behind a tree. Something was wrong with one of his back legs. It was small and twisted—a birth defect that should have been a death sentence. His large eyes met Storm’s and then jerked away. So, six of them, he thought. But this one won’t kill me. He’ll just eat my liver after I’m dead.
“Ally can’t run,” persisted Tracer.
“Who are your parents, runt?” asked Mylo.
Storm swallowed. “My father died before I was born. My mother is So-fet.”
“Only half orphan,” spat a medium-sized foal who’d not yet spoken. “I’ve seen him with that high-nose, Pathar, back at Chelby Lake. He gets special favors.”
Storm scowled. I’m dead anyway. Might as well be honest. “No, I don’t. I have to hunt for my food just like you do.”
One of the foals who’d circled round behind him drew in a sharp breath. “I thought he looked familiar!” He trotted back into Storm’s line of sight—a leggy yearling with fur even blacker than Storm’s. He turned to Tracer. “He’s the one they call The Rat! The one that Kelsy nearly bit his own balls trying to catch! He can run.”
Mylo’s scowl slipped a little. Several of the others started talking behind him. Tracer gave Storm a shove. “Stand up,” he hissed.
Storm obeyed.
Tracer glanced at him sidelong and grinned. “I didn’t realize I’d found someone famous.”
Storm looked at the ground. “I’m not famous. But I did keep my kills from Kelsy and his clique. I ran from them until they stopped chasing me.”
Silence greeted this remark, interrupted only by the crunch of a bone from the foal who was still eating.
Storm raised his head. Mylo was staring at him. “You ran until…they stopped chasing you?”
The black foal piped up again. “Yes, it was the height of gossip for a few days. Kelsy couldn’t catch him. When he got tired of looking silly, he stopped trying.”
The foal with the scarred muzzle—Callaris—harrumphed. Storm realized a moment later that he was laughing. Several of the others joined in. Mylo’s face relaxed a fraction. He didn’t laugh, but he did smile. “Do you have a name, or do you go by Rat?”
Storm returned the smile hesitantly. “My mother calls me Storm.”
“And what do your friends call you?”
“I guess I’ll find out.”
Mylo did laugh, then. “Well, friend, have a share of our meal here, and you can stay.”
Storm swallowed. “You want me to…”
“You’re either part of our clique or you’re not,” said Mylo coldly.
They’ll kill me if I don’t, thought Storm. They’ll think I plan to tattle to the elders. He took a deep breath and sidled up to the carcass. It really didn’t look much like a ferryshaft anymore. It could have been a fawn for all that remained of it. Except for the face. Don’t look. Don’t look.
Storm avoided eye contact with the foal who was still munching on a femur. He bent his head, shut his eyes, and pulled lose a rib. He took it with him, back to the center of the group, where he sat down and began cracking it open to get at the marrow. Storm was ashamed at the way his mouth watered. I’m not really that hungry. I’ve never been that hungry. But it tasted like any other marrow—rich and warm.
He sensed, more than saw, that the biggest foals were drifting away—satisfied that he had passed the test. Storm finished extracting the pitiful amount of marrow from the rib. He dared an upward glance and saw the black foal. He felt like he should thank him for something.
Tracer was all smiles beside him. “Storm, this is Leep—expert on herd gossip and, apparently, on your exploits.”
Storm laughed. “I don’t think I have many exploits.”
“Oh, but you do!” said Leep. “Did you know that Kelsy nearly lost his clique over you? Three foals challenged him. He was probably too busy fighting them to keep chasing you.”
Tracer was talking quietly. “Mylo is our leader. He’s not as mean as he seems. Not mean at all, actually; he let Ally stay.”
“Ally is Ishy’s twin brother,” said Leep. “Ish tries to take care of him, but... Well, it’s hard for them.”
“Callaris is our muscle,” said Tracer. “He’s pretty affable as long as you let him have first turn at the food. It’s hard to get enough to eat when you’re that big. He’s only a yearling; he just looks older.”
“Speaking of food,” began Leep, “do you want any more…?”
“No,” said Storm quickly.
He followed grudgingly as the two walked over to the corpse. For the first time, he actually looked at the foal who was stripping meat from a hind limb. It was a female. She was painfully thin, worse than the rest. Her movements had a feral quality. “And this,” said Leep, “is Tollee. She came to us about five days ago. She was pretty hungry.”
Tollee looked up, the blood hardly noticeable on her brindled muzzle.
Storm thought he could understand her preoccupation with food. Still… “How can you do that?” he blurted. “Didn’t you know her?” At least I didn’t know her!
Tollee stood up and licked her jaws. “Not very well. But it wouldn’t matter if I had. She’s just meat now. Like you, like me, like all of us.” She rose and stalked away, a little wobbly.
“I think she’s improving,” said Tracer with mad cheer.
“Absolutely!” said Leep. “We should start sending her to greet new arrivals.”
Storm looked between them. “You’re both insane.”
“But extremely good-looking,” said Leep, whom Storm suspected would be popular with the females if he ever reached breeding age.
“And intelligent,” said Tracer.
“And even edible!” quipped Leep.
Storm laughed. “Thank you.” He swallowed. “I’ve never— No one has ever— Thank you.”
Chapter 12. At the Top of the Cliffs
Storm could tell that his new clique was still watching him for signs of treachery. After six days had passed without any sign of an elder, after the bones of the unfortunate foal had been covered in a fresh layer of snow, after Storm had
helped to catch several doves and rabbits—the clique began to relax.
Then one day, they took him up the cliffs. It was a dangerous thing to do, though perhaps not so dangerous as eating fallen ferryshaft. Hunting and foraging was said to be better in the woods at the top, and Tracer and Leep assured Storm that the view of the ocean was spectacular. Storm had never seen the ocean and was skeptical. He imagined something like Chelby Lake from a great height.
“Stay on the paths we show you,” warned Tracer. “If you stay on the good paths, you’ll be fine.”
Mylo led the way as they started up the trail, picking the best places to walk. Storm felt a growing sense of excitement as the ground fell away beneath them. He could see the boulder mazes much better, and tiny ferryshaft dotting the landscape. The path narrowed, so that they sometimes went single file. The wind became fierce and whipped sand and red dust into their faces as they climbed.
At one point, the foals encountered a boulder blocking their way. There was a little room on the outer side, but no one wanted to inch across that narrow ledge with the dizzy drop only a hoof’s slip away. In the end, they all jumped onto the rock and down the other side, staying as close to the cliff wall as possible.
Storm went first since he was small and less likely to start the boulder rolling. As he scrambled over the rock, he startled some sheep on the far side. For an instant, the animals just looked at Storm. Then Leep clambered over the boulder, and the wooly creatures fled with their tails in the air. They left the path almost immediately and bounded away over a slender thread of rock that sometimes vanished altogether on the sheer cliff face. Storm stared after them. If only I could have done that when Kelsy chased me.
“That is a sheep trail,” said Leep behind him, “Callaris’s parents died trying to catch game on a trail like that.”
Storm turned away.
Much later, after his eyes had begun to sting with the force of the wind, the group struggled over the lip of the crag. They rested for a moment, looking down out over the island. Storm could see all the way across the plain to Chelby Lake, sparkling like the blue eye of a flower. Beyond the plain to his left, he saw Groth—a denser line of green—and the Great Mountain rising behind it like the head of a snake. To his right, he saw the thick foliage of the southern forests—creasia territory—and beyond that, more fields like those of his birth, racing away toward the mountain ranges in the south.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Leep.
“It makes me wish I were a bird,” said Storm.
“Wait until you see the ocean,” grinned Tracer.
Storm turned to follow the others away from the Red Cliffs. “There’s a strip of wood here,” said Tracer. “It isn’t wide. Listen...”
“What is it?” asked Storm after a pause.
“The sea. It never stands still.”
“I don’t understand.”
Tracer just shook his head. He led Storm through the wood toward the Sea Cliffs. “Have a look,” he said, “and then we can forage.”
As they emerged from the shadow of the trees, Storm froze. He blinked hard and stared.
Tracer laughed. “See! What did I tell you? Look at it! Smell it! Listen to it!”
Storm didn’t answer for a moment. Water as blue as a summer sky stretched as far as his eyes could see. The restless waves ran up to the sand far below and away again in an endless dance that filled the air with strange music. The salt smell made his nostrils twitch.
“Well?” Tracer prodded.
“There’s so much of it,” whispered Storm. “It’s nothing at all like Chelby Lake.” He smiled. “It’s like something in my dreams.”
Tracer kicked him playfully. “If you dream of something besides food, you’re doing better than most of us.”
They went back into the trees where they found Leep stripping needles from an evergreen. The needles had a harsh, unpleasant taste, but they filled one’s belly. Unfortunately, the sheep had already gleaned most of the material that Storm could reach. However, Leep and Tracer occasionally dropped greens onto the ground and pretended not to notice when Storm picked them up. When Storm caught a squirrel later in the day, he shared it with them.
The group browsed until evening, then went to the Sea Cliffs and watched the sun sink into a haze of brilliant pink. Everyone had found enough food to feel satisfied, and they lay companionably close, sharing each other’s warmth as the last hints of evening faded and a full moon rose over the trees. The cliffs were too dangerous to navigate in the dark. They would go back to the plain in the morning. It was the sort of expedition Storm would never have attempted without a clique, and he basked in this new sense of freedom.
“Why don’t we tell stories?” suggested Leep. “Storm, you’re new. We’ve never heard any of your stories, so you can go first.”
“I don’t know any stories,” he protested, suddenly shy.
“Make it scary,” murmured Leep. “I know! Tell us about the telshees, Tracer.”
Ally startled Storm with an enthusiastic squeak. “Yes, Tracer! Tell us about the telshees!”
Tracer grinned. “Have you heard any telshee stories, Storm?”
“No,” said Storm. “I haven’t heard much about telshees at all.”
Tracer’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. “We’ll fix that.”
Chapter 13. Tales in the Dark
“Telshees,” whispered Tracer, “live in the sea. They look like snakes with fur, and they’re bigger than any other creature alive.”
“Bigger than the creasia?” asked Storm.
“Bigger than the creasia! They have white fur and a face like a seal.”
“What’s a seal?” interrupted Storm.
“They’re animals that live in the ocean and on the beach,” said Tracer impatiently. “You’ll see them when we forage down there. They’re a little like…big otters. You’ve seen otters by the lake, right?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, like an otter. Telshees have big, green eyes, and they can hypnotize you.”
“What is hypnotize?” asked Storm. From the way Tracer said it, he knew it must be something terrible.
“Hypnosis is when they control your mind,” breathed Tracer. “They sing at night on the beach, and if they find you, they eat you! Their singing makes your legs stiff and your brain fuzzy, so that they can catch you in their crushing coils. You know what’s happening, but you can’t move.”
A chill ran down Storm’s spine—a sensation somewhere between fright and pleasure. He watched the others, and from their rapt attention, half smiles, and shining eyes, he knew they felt it too. Tracer is making this up, thought Storm, and he sighed with relief.
Tracer’s eyes narrowed to gleaming slits as he continued. “I’ve even heard that some telshees are poisonous, so that one bite will kill you in the count of three breaths. They have slanted eyes that glow in the dark, and they can see at night. They can see you. But you can’t see them. They live mainly in the rocks along the beach, and they only come out at night. Most of them stay in the Garu Vell.”
“Where is that?” asked Storm.
“The Vell is the only place on the island where a rift cuts all the way through the cliffs to the beach. Actually, it borders on creasia territory, but there’s no need to worry about cats in the Garu Vell. They don’t like to go there anymore than we do. Some say that telshees keep their young in vast caverns under the Vell. Some say that they come out at night and wage wars with the creasia. Sometimes they wander into our territory, and if they find you sleeping...” Snap! Tracer brought his jaws together.
Ally jumped. “Tracer,” growled Ishy, “either tell your story or let somebody else go before you give us all nightmares.”
Tracer laughed. “I was just trying to explain telshees to Storm. Now, there once lived a foal named Nithl. He had heard stories about telshees all his life, but he didn’t believe them. His clique argued about it all the time. Finally, Nithl thought of a plan to prove his point. He would
take a group of his friends all the way through the Garu Vell at night. The Vell is no wider than the cliff top, so it can be crossed in a short time. ‘We will come out on the other side, and you will see that nothing has harmed us,’ Nithl said.
“His friends begged him not to do it, but he wouldn’t listen. The next night, he and four friends set out across the Garu Vell. The rest of the clique waited on the other side. They had agreed that if Nithl and company got safely through the Vell, the others would accept their opinion that telshees did not exist.
“Time passed, but Nithl’s group did not emerge. ‘Maybe they’re hiding,’ said one of the waiting foals, ‘trying to frighten us.’ Others predicted a cry for help from the Vell, but the night remained quiet. Hours passed, and finally the foals dozed.
“They woke at dawn and looked at each other, knowing that something terrible must have happened. The clique called for their friends, but no one answered.
“Finally, they decided to go back over the cliffs and follow Nithl’s path into the Vell. Perhaps a tide pool had trapped their friends. Perhaps they had gotten lost. ‘Telshees don’t come out in daylight,’ they reasoned.
“The clique did not have to go far into the Vell. The trail stopped thirty paces into the rocks in a clearing of white sand. What they saw in the center made them shake with fear!”
Tracer paused and looked around at his audience. “What, Tracer?” exclaimed Ally at last. “What did they see?”
“They saw Nithl. He stood with his back to them, staring straight ahead. They called to him, but he neither turned nor spoke. When they moved in front of him, they saw that his eyes were fixed and glassy.
“They also saw four long brownish objects lying around him on the ground. They were ferryshaft tails—all that remained of Nithl’s companions. The sand was perfectly smooth, with no trace of blood or a struggle.
“One of the bravest foals ventured to approach Nithl and touch noses with him, but he was dead, stone cold, standing on his feet. Eventually, they all stole away with their tails between their legs. And that is why whenever a telshee kills a ferryshaft, he leaves behind the tail as a warning to those who doubt his existence!”
A dramatic hush followed, and several foals shivered. Tracer opened his mouth again, but Mylo interrupted. “Who wants to go next?”