Tailchaser’s Song

Watching rapdy, Fritti walked farther up the beach. The unusual star repeated its cycle of brilliance and darkness. The words of the Firstborn came back to Tailchaser: "… a strange hill that shines at night…"

The spot on the horizon flared again, and he remembered his dream: the tail in the sea-the waving tail with the gleaming tip. What was before him?

Di

That night and the next he followed the beckoning light; the morning after he came finally into sight of the strange hill.

As Firefoot had said, it rose up from the midst of the Bigwater itself, far from the gravel beach. It was a M'an-hill, Fritti could tell: it climbed high, and u

Tailchaser made his way out to a wooded peninsula of land that reached out into the sea like an outstretched paw. From its farthest tip he could make out the island on which the M'an-mountain grew.

The island sat in the lap of Qu'cef, rising up from the tumbling waves. Its back was green with grass. Fritti could see tiny Erunor moving slowly on the sward. At the base of the hill-thing-which looked more like some great, white, branchless trunk- crouched a M'an-dwelling of the kind Fritti had lived near, back at the Meeting Wall, so long ago. This was his destination, so close that the scent of the Erunor carried across to him, tickling his whiskers. But between Tailchaser and his heart's desire stood a thousand jumps of the heaving blue Qu'cef.

Unfolding Dark came, and the blinding light sprang forth once more from the top of the M'an-hill. Tailchaser felt it as a burning in his heart.

Two more days passed. He remained on the peninsula, balked and frustrated, hunting up what little game he could in the bracken and shrubbery. As he patrolled the shore, thinking and scheming furiously, seabirds wheeled and dove in the sky above him. He thought he could hear their mocking voices calling: "Fritti… Fritti… Fritti…"

You are a bug-wit, he chided himself. Why can't you solve this problem?

He remembered the story that Earnotch had told him in the mound about Lord Tangaloor.

Well, Harar's shining tail, he thought, what good does it do me? The fla-fa'az owe me no favors. They hover and laugh at me.

He looked across the deep waters.

I am not too sure that I would be able to talk a great fish out of eating me, either, he decided. Besides, they must all know of Firefoofs famous trick by now. Depressed, he continued his vigil.

On the fourth day since coming to the little tongue of land, he saw something coming toward him over the waves.

Crouching low in the brush at land's end, he watched as the mysterious object bobbed its way across the Qu'cef. It looked like half a walnut shell that had been cast away after a Rikchikchik's meal-but it was bigger. Much bigger.

Something moved inside it. When the shell came nearer to his peninsula, he could see that the moving thing was one of the Big Ones-a M'an. The Big One was moving two long branches back and forth in the water.

The shell, colored as gray as old tree bark, slid past Fritti's vantage point and stopped at last on the shores of a small inlet at the base of the peninsula. The M'an climbed out. After fussing for a while with some sort of long vine, he stamped his feet and walked away across the meadowlands toward the other M'an-dwellings.

Fritti ran excitedly down the peninsula, bounding over roots and stones. When he reached the inlet, he looked cautiously about-the Big One had disappeared-then loped down to examine this strange thing.

He sniffed it. It was obviously no walnut shell, but rather something M'an-built. It was twice as long as the Big One was tall. The gray color was flaking off on its side, showing wood beneath. It smelled of the Qu'cef, and of M'an, and of fish, and other things he could not identify. For a long time Fritti walked around it, scenting its strangeness, then leaped up inside. He nosed and probed, trying to discover what made it swim like a great gray pril.

Perhaps it will swim for me, he thought, and take me across the water.

But it only lay on the rocky beach-no matter where Fritti stood, or how hard he wished. He lay down on the bottom of the great shell-thing. He thought hard, trying to see a way to make it bear him over to the hill that shined. He thought… and thought… and all the pondering, and the warm afternoon sun, made him feel drowsy…

He awoke with a start. Disoriented, he looked wildly around, but could see nothing but the sides of the swimming walnut shell. Footsteps crunched across the gravel toward him. Groggy and confused, frightened of leaping up and revealing himself to the Big One, he dove beneath a pile of rough fabric. It scratched him as he squirmed beneath its comforting heaviness.

The footsteps of the M'an stopped, and then the whole shell was sliding and scraping along the beach. Surprised, Fritti gripped the wood beneath him with his claws. The scraping stopped abruptly, to be replaced by a sensation of smooth motion. Tailchaser heard the Big One climb weightily over the edge, and then a regular sequence of creaking and splashing.

After some time, Fritti worked up the courage to poke a pink nose out of the enveloping folds of cloth. The massive back of the M'an was turned to him; the Big One was working the tree limbs back and forth. The shell was entirely surrounded with water.

Mother Rebum did say "things that move on water," thought Tailchaser, so if I succeed-and am not drowned in this strange nut husk-I suppose I shall have her to thank.

He curled up in his hiding spot, tail over nose, and went back to sleep.

Time-he did not know how much-had passed. The shell thumped to a halt. Fritti heard the M'an rummaging about, but his haven was not discovered. Finally the M'an got out and went thumping away. Tailchaser lay silent for a while, then emerged to stretch and look about.

The island rose up before him. The shell had come to rest against a wooden walkway that stretched a short distance across the water, then ended at a dirt path which wound away up the grassy slope. At the summit of this path Fritti could see the M'an-dwelling, and-looming above it like a white, limbless Vaka'az'me-the towering M'an-hill. The sun was still in the sky, and the white hill was dark.

Fritti made his way up the uneven path. The grass was springy beneath his feet. He stepped lightly. The wind off the Bigwater that caressed his nose and whiskers made him feel as though he had reached the top of the world.

A dark shape detached itself from the bulk of the M'an-nest, and with plodding, unhurried steps, came partway down the hillside. It was a large dog, deep of chest and heavy-legged.

Feeling curiously light-headed and confident, Tailchaser continued his sedate walk up the grassy slope. Puzzled, the fik'az tilted his head to one shoulder and stared. After a moment's curious scrutiny, he spoke.

"You there!" the mastiff barked. "Who be you? What be you doing?" His voice was as deep and slow as distant thunder.

"I am Tailchaser, Master Fik'az. Good dancing to you. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

The dog squinted down at him. "Huff-so-Gruff am I. You didna answer question. What be you doing?"

"Oh, just looking about," said Fritti, waving his tail in a disarming ma

"Aye," growled Huff-so-Gruff, "but you shouldna be here. Be off, you." The dog glowered for a moment, muzzle lowered, then once more cocked his head to the side. "Said you… 'flew'?" he asked slowly. "Cats du

As they talked, Tailchaser had been drawing steadily closer. Now, barely five jumps away from the fik'az, Fritti sat, and began to groom nonchalantly.