Tailchaser’s Song

Tailchaser and Thinbone bounced down after their friend. Felas were felas, but a story was nothing to sniff at!

The Folk squeezed closer around the Meeting Wall-an ocean of waving tails. Slowly, and with immense dignitv, Bnstlejaw mounted a crumbled section of the wall At the highest point he paused, and waited. He had seen some eleven or twelve summers, Bristlejaw was certainly no longer a young cat, but iron control was in all his movements. His tortoise-shell fur, once brilliant with patches of rust and black, had dulled somewhat with age, and the stiff fur jutting from around his muzzle had gone gray-white. His eyes were bright and clear, though, and could bring a sporting kitten to a halt from three jumps away.

Bristlejaw was an Oel-cir'va: a Master Old-singer, one of the keepers of the Lore of the Folk. All the history of the Folk was in their songs-passed on in the Higher Singing of the Elder Days from one generation to another as a sacred trust. Bristlejaw was the only Old-singer within some distance of the Meeting Wall, and his stories were as important to his Folk as water, or the freedom to run and jump as they pleased.

From his position atop the Wall he surveyed the cats below for a long time. The expectant murmur-ings quieted to soft purring. Some of the young cats-tremendously excited and unable to sit still- began frantically grooming themselves. Bristlejaw flicked his tail three times, and there was silence.

"We thank our Elders, who watch over us." he began. "We praise Meerclar, whose Eye lights our hunting. We salute our quarry for making the chase sweet."

"Thanks. Praise. Salutations."

"We are the Folk, and tonight we speak in one voice of the deeds of all. We are the Folk."

Caught up in the ancient ritual, the cats swayed gently from side to side. Bristlejaw began his story.

"In the days of the earth's youth-when some of the First were still seen in these fields-Queen Satinear, granddaughter of Fela Skydancer, ruled in the Court of Harar.

"And she was a good queen. Her paw was as just in aid of her Folk as her claw was swift to harm for her enemies.

"Her son and coregent was Prince Ninebirds. He was a huge cat, mighty in battle, swift to anger, and swollen in pride for all his youthful years. At his Naming the story had been told of how, as a kitten, he had slain a branchful of starlings with one blow of his claws. So Ninebirds he was Named, and the fame of his strength and his deeds stretched far.

"It had been many, many summers since the death of Whitewind, and none living in the Court at this time had ever seen any of the First. Firefoot had been wandering in the wild for generations, and many thought him dead, or gone to join his father and grandmother in the sky.

"As stories of Ninebirds' strength and bravery began to run from mouth to ear among the Folk, and as Ninebirds began to listen to those ignoble ones who always cling to the great Folk, he began to see in himself the greatness of the Firstborn.

"One day it was told throughout the World-Forest that Ninebirds was no longer content to be Prince Regent at his mother's side. A Meeting was declared to which all the Folk were to come from far and wide for feasting, hunting, and games, and at this meeting he would assume the Mantle of Harar-which Tan-galoor Firefoot had declared sacrosanct but for the Firstborn-and Ninebirds would declare himself King of Cats.

"And so came the day, and all the Folk gathered at the Court. While all cavorted and danced and sang, Ninebirds su

"At that moment there was a noise in the crowd, and a very old cat stood up. His fur was shot all over with grav-especially about his legs and paws-and his muzzle was snow-white.

" 'You assume the Mantle by right of blood and claw, Prince Ninebirds?' questioned the old cat. 'I do,' answered the great Prince. 'By what right of blood do you claim the Kingship?' queried the old white-whisker. 'By the blood of Fela Skydancer that runs in me, you toothless old Squeaker-friend!' rejoined Ninebirds hotly, and rose from where he lay. All the gathered Folk whispered excitedly as Ninebirds walked to the Vaka'az'-me, the tree-root seat sacred to the Firstborn. Before all the assembled Folk Ninebirds lifted his long tail and sprayed the Vaka'-az'me with his hunt-mark. There was more excited whispering, and the old cat tottered forward.

" 'O Prince, who would be King of Cats,' said the ancient one, 'perhaps by blood you have some claim, but what of claw? Will you fight in single combat for the Mantle?' 'Of course,' said Ninebirds, laughing, 'and who will oppose me?' The crowd goggled, looking about for some mighty challenger who would fight with the massive Prince.

" 'I will,' said the old one simply. All the folk hissed in surprise and arched their backs, but Ninebirds only laughed again. 'Go home, old fellow, and wrestle with beetles,' said he. 'I will not fight with you.'

" 'The King of Cats can be no coward,' said the old cat. At that Ninebirds cried in anger and leaped forward, swinging his huge paw at the old gray-muzzle. But with surprising speed the old one leaped aside and dealt a buffet to the Prince's head that addled his wits for a moment. They began to fight in earnest, and the multitude could scarcely credit the speed and courage of the old cat, who opposed such a great and fierce fighter.

"After a long while they closed and wrestled together, and although the Prince bit at his neck, the old one brought up his hind claws and scratched, and Ninebirds' fur was scattered in the air. When they broke apart, Ninebirds was full of surprise that this lean elder could do him such harm.

" 'You have lost much of your pelt, O Prince,' said the old one. 'Will you renounce your claim?' Angered, the Prince charged, and they fell again to fighting. The old one caught the Prince's tail between his teeth, and when the Prince tried to turn and rend his face, the elder pulled his tail from his body. The Folk hissed with astonishment and fear as Ninebirds wheeled bloodily around and faced the old cat once more, who was himself wounded and panting.

" 'You have lost your fur and tail, O Prince. Will you not also yield your claim?1 Maddened by pain, Ninebirds flung himself on the ancient one, and they wrestled-spitting and swiping, blood and tears glistening in the sun. At last the challenger wedged Prince Ninebirds' hindquarters beneath a root of the Vaka'az'me.

"As the dirt settled, an excited shock ran through those watching-in the last battling, quantities of white dust had been knocked free from the coat of the challenger. His muzzle was no longer gray, and his paws and legs shone the color of flame. 'You see me revealed, Ninebirds,' he said. 'I am Lord Tangaloor Firefoot, son of Harar, and it is by my command that there is no King of Cats.'

" 'You are a brave cat, O Prince,' he continued, 'but your insolence may not go unpunished.' With that, Firefoot caught the scruff of the Prince's neck and pulled, stretching his body and legs until they were thrice as long as a cat's are meant to be. He then pulled the Prince loose from the tree root and said: Tailless and hairless, long and ungainly have I made you. Go now, and come never more to the Court of Harar. you who would have usurped his power. But this doom I lay on you: that you shall serve any member of the Folk who commands you, and so shall all of your descendants, until I release vour line from this bane.'

"And with that Lord Tangaloor went away. The Folk drove the misformed Ninebirds from their midst, calling him M'an-meaning 'out of the sunshine'- and he and all of his descendants went ever after on their hind legs, and do today, for M'an's forelegs have been stretched too far away to touch the ground.