by Catherine Thompson

The rat snuffled through last year's leaves, its long, hairless tail dragging in its wake. It paused, ears swivelling. A hand shot out, grabbing its neck and flinging the animal hard against the ground. The rat had time only for an angry hiss before its spine snapped. Its legs kicked for a moment, then it lay still.

Cat snatched up her kill, gutting and skinning it with a few swift dagger-strokes. Clearing a patch of ground, she kindled a small fire, even though she was hungry enough to eat the rat raw. She spitted the carcass on a sharpened branch from a young elm and thrust it into the flames. As soon as the meat was done, Cat pulled it from the fire, ignoring how hot it was as she sank her teeth into a haunch. She even cracked the bones and sucked out the marrow, savouring every morsel of the first meat she'd eaten in days.

Days ... Finished, Cat leant back against the maple tree. She didn't know how many, too tired to reckon the time. Days, weeks, what did it matter? Dirk was dead, and she might as well be, too.

Despite herself, her mind went back to that night when she'd found her master's body, when she'd fled Arcadia. She'd forded the river and headed into the forest, intending to make for the North Road and then to Ashby. Those had been Dirkhan's last orders to her: reach the safety of Ashby's Guild and see that the letter she carried got to the Guildmaster. It was a journey of a few days, a week at most, on foot. She'd doubled back to the road that led from the South Gate, but the sight of one of her former Guildmates, Herran, on the road had sent her back into the forest shadows.

More than a little dazed, she had wandered, numbed by grief, deep into the forest. When she'd finally come to herself again, she'd found her supplies exhausted. Since then, she'd lived hand to mouth, eating whatever game she could catch, digging for roots, hunting for squirrels' forgotten caches of nuts.

She shook herself free of her memories and buried the small, splintered bones, then, smothering her cook-fire with a handful of earth, she went for water.

Cat followed a deer-trail for a quarter-mile in the sure knowledge that it led to a watering hole. At her approach, a roebuck lifted its dripping muzzle from a spring-fed pool; alarmed, it sprang into the undergrowth. She knelt in the bracken and drank from her cupped hands; in her headlong rush from the barbershop, she'd somehow neglected to grab a waterskin. When she'd drunk her fill, she sat by the pool a while longer. Her murky reflection stared back at her. Cat assessed it as if it were a stranger's face: too thin, with cheekbones starting to protrude; lips neither thin nor full; unremarkable nose, save for the few freckles scattered across it; large, grey-blue eyes that looked as if they'd seen too much, shadowed by the brim of a cap. She swiped ineffectually at the dirt and for a moment considered a quick wash; it had been a while since she'd last bathed, and that had only been a brief, chilly dip in a secluded stream.

Her sharp ears caught a noise behind her; in an instant, Cat was on her feet, running along the deer-trail. She didn't know what, or who, could have made the sound, and she wasn't willing to look back. Reaching the maple with its one crooked limb again, she shinnied up into its branches, lying flat on one of the broadest so she could see the ground from its safety.

When nothing appeared after several tense minutes of watching, Cat climbed down again. She found a spot amongst the roots and curled up, ready to flee again if necessary. Reflexively, she withdrew her purse from her pocket and fished out her St. Bridget's medal. Just looking at the silver disc usually calmed her. She rubbed her fingers over the raised image of the saint, but peace eluded her. Her other hand went to her shirt, where her Guild-mark nestled by her heart. Touching its familiar spiked-Z form through the fabric did little to soothe her; it reminded her, rather, that her final mission from Dirk remained unfinished.

At the thought of her dead master, Cat buried her face in her arms. She wanted to weep for him, but couldn't. Not yet, a tiny voice whispered in her mind; it sounded almost like Dirkhan's. Once you've completed your mission, once you're safe, then. But only then.

Cat lifted her head, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She put her St. Bridget's medal away and got to her feet. Glancing up, she tried to take her bearings from the sun. It was close on midsummer, though, and the canopy of leaves blocked her view. She looked at the trees. Moss always grew on the north side of tree-trunks, or so she'd heard. A few paces from the maple, she found an ancient oak covered in green moss, which disproved that theory.

She returned to her maple tree, rubbing at her right wrist, which had begun to itch, and scanned the forest. The sunlight seemed brighter some distance to her left, so she headed in that direction. After perhaps ten minutes, she found a clearing, a ring of ash and yew saplings surrounding a small grassy area, like a tiny meadow. She hesitated, remembering tales of faerie rings and people trapped in them for decades-long days. Don't be silly, Cat scolded herself, trying for bravery she didn't feel. Faeries aren't real-they're just stories. Swallowing hard, she stepped into the clearing and looked up.

Above her, she could see blue sky, but no sun. "Gods and demons!" Cat swore aloud, clenching her fists. "Dragonspawn!" She lashed out at a sapling and bruised her knuckles. She stomped out of the clearing.

After a time, she slowed, looking for her maple tree. All she saw were elms and birches, oaks and ashes. She pivoted slowly, but nowhere did she see a maple tree with one crooked branch.

Cat let out a howl of frustration, dropping to the ground beneath a slender birch. "This can't be happening to me! I can't be this lost!" She gulped air, trying to calm herself. "All right, fine. I'll just make another camp here."

She gathered the makings of a small fire, trying to ignore her hand's increasing itchiness. Her fortunes took a turn for the better when she found a filbert bush with some of the previous year's nuts still clinging to its branches, amid the new, unripe ones. She stuffed what she could into her pockets and returned to her new campsite.

Setting the tinder alight with her flints, Cat roasted the nuts at the edge of the flames, picking them up in her handkerchief when they were done and knocking the shells loose by smacking them gently with a rock. Once her belly stopped complaining, Cat stretched and yawned, noting how dark it had become. She curled up by the fire, staring drowsily into the flames; her fingers scratched her right wrist. Her eyelids drifted shut.

She awoke shivering. The fire had gone out in the night. Cat sat up, hugging herself for warmth; almost immediately, dizziness overcame her. With a moan, she lay down again. Several moments passed before she could push herself upright. Cat leant back against the birch. Her hand has ceased to itch; now it throbbed and burned as it lay in her lap. Glancing down, Cat drew a startled gasp. Her hand was red and swollen; a laceration ran from the heel of her hand and along her wrist. Raised flesh surrounded it, and it oozed a thick, yellowish fluid.

A whimper escaped the young thief's throat. Cat forced herself to her feet, intent on finding water so she could clean the wound. She took two steps, then sank to the ground. "Oh, gods," she moaned, her voice hoarse. Unconsciousness veiled her eyes.

~*~

Her throat ached with thirst. Cat lifted her head, unsure how much time had passed. Her hand looked worse now. The rat, she thought, it must have clawed me. She couldn't recall feeling any pain, but at the time, she'd really only been paying attention to her stomach.

I'm going to die, she thought next. Tears blurred her already hazy vision, but before they could spill down her cheeks, Cat lost consciousness again.

The forest was black when next she opened her eyes. Cat moaned and tried to roll over. She couldn't use her arm. Her fingers looked like overfilled sausage-skins. Streaks of red radiated along her wrist.

I've failed you, Dirk. I'm sorry. Cat dropped her head to the ground. She'd stopped shivering; now she felt as if she'd sat too close to the fire. Her hand had started to throb again, in time with her pulse. She blinked, slowly. Objects faded into and out of focus. She closed her eyes.

The sound of hoof beats made her open them again. A pair of black forelegs moved into her field of vision. Cat rolled partway over and saw Ramsall grinning down at her from horseback, sword in hand. "No!" she cried, her voice hoarse and weak. She threw up her left arm to ward off the blow. It never came. Lowering her arm again, Cat stared. A huge black horse stood there, snorting and tossing its head. Cat's eyes were fixed upon the pale horn spiralling out of its forehead.

The unicorn snorted again, pawing at the ground. Cat flinched and shielded her eyes. She heard the animal move off at a canter, its hoof-falls quiet on the forest floor. She looked up, but it was as if the unicorn had never been there.

Her eyes closed of their own accord.

At the edge of consciousness, she heard a soft rustling, felt a gentle touch. She tried to open her eyes, but her lashes seemed gummed together. Fear trapped her heart against her rib cage. She tried to call out for Dirk, but the moment his name reached her lips, it died. A cool hand touched her fevered brow, and Cat slipped into unconsciousness again.

Sometime later, she opened her eyes and thought she saw faeries. She blinked, and they disappeared, replaced by a boy with a cup in his hands. He offered it to her. She wanted to reject it, to tell the child to go away. but her overpowering thirst made her open her mouth. Warm liquid that tasted of herbs flowed over her tongue and down her throat. She coughed, nearly choking, then she heard a soft mewling sound. It took a moment for her to realize that she was sobbing.

Cat drifted in and out of awareness, never sure of when she was awake and when she was dreaming. Strange creatures invaded what passed for reality. She whimpered and cowered; she screamed and lashed out. She dreamt of faeries dancing around her, saw unicorns fighting dragons, heard Ramsall's voice calling her out to her doom.

Thirst and hunger, old enemies, woke her. Cat lay still, eyes half closed. She seemed to be resting on a pallet of some kind; someone has spread a soft blanket over her. Not far from her, she could see a small fire-pit. Dim light glowed; Cat moved her head a bit and found its source, an opening that looked out onto the forest. With a start, she realized that she was in a cave.

A shadow moved; Cat lifted her head. A boy stood there, wide eyes fixed on her. They stared at each other for a long moment, Cat hardly daring to breathe. The boy looked to be around nine or ten years. His dark hair hung to his thighs; to her surprise, it appeared relatively well kept. He wore no more clothing than simple modesty demanded, and Cat had the feeling that if he hadn't been in her presence, he'd have cast off even those garments. He carried a wooden bucket in one hand. Cat eyed it. "Water," she said, her voice rasping in her dry throat.

The boy took a step back, then, seeming to think better of his reaction, made his hesitant way to where Cat lay. Setting down the bucket, he fetched a wooden cup from somewhere, dipped it into the bucket, then offered it to her. Cat tried and failed to sit up. The child knelt beside her and supported her head while she drank.

She drained the cup three times. Her thirst slaked, she lay back. The boy left with the bucket, then returned. Cat noticed he had the greenest eyes she'd ever seen in a human face. "Who are you?" she asked. The boy blinked at her. "Where am I?" She paused, but he gave her no response. "How'd I get here?" The child watched her, but said nothing. Cat sighed. "Well, then, is there anything to eat? I'm famished."

If he hadn't responded to her request for water, she'd have thought the lad deaf, for he just stared at her for several seconds after she asked for food. Then he left her.

Cat strained to see where he'd gone, but gave up when her head started to spin. Lying back, she pulled the blanket over herself again. That was when she saw the poultice on her hand.

When the boy returned, she held out her injured hand. "Did you do this?" He nodded. Cat stared at him, wondering how such a young child could know any healing arts. "You saved my life," she whispered. "Thank you."

The boy did an extraordinary thing then: he smiled. It was a shy, gentle expression that nearly took Cat's breath away with its purity. He sat beside her and offered her a bowl. Easing herself up on one elbow, Cat looked and found it full of nuts and dried fruit. She ate her fill, then lay down again. As she drifted into sleep, she felt the boy touch her lightly on the brow; somehow, she knew that this slumber wouldn't be disturbed by nightmares.

~*~

With the boy's care, Cat quickly regained her strength. By the second morning after she'd woken in the cave, she was able to get out of bed. The boy had left earlier, after removing the poultice from her hand, but where he'd gone, she had no idea.

She made for the cave entrance, tottering a little. Outside, she eased herself down onto the grass, feeling a bit light-headed. Sunlight dappled the forest floor, making a patch of small white flowers a few yards off seem to glow. Cat could hear a stream running somewhere. She tilted her head, trying to pinpoint the direction, but the sound seemed to echo in a peculiar manner. She frowned, noticing for the first time that the sunlight seemed to change, that the trees moved in subtly wrong ways. She felt suddenly that she had walked into a fairy-story, been bewitched into a magic realm.

Cat pushed herself to her feet again, determined to shake off those feelings, and she walked away from the cave. Within a few yards, the light grew dim; the air seemed chill. Her disquiet increased; Cat all but ran back to the cave, sinking to the ground in a trembling ball. A few minutes in the sunny glade, and she could hardly remember what had sent her away from the cave in the first place.

Hours passed. Cat found a bowl of fruit and nuts for her midday meal, though she'd begun to wish for something more substantial. She sat outside in the warm sunshine; somehow, there was always a patch of it, hard by the cave's opening. She amused herself by whittling on a bit of wood with her dagger, thinking she might make a whistle for the boy. Tiring of that, she idly plucked at the grass, tossing leaves into the air to judge wind direction. They fluttered to the ground near her hand.

Choosing a particularly broad blade, Cat pressed it between her thumbs and put it to her pursed lips. She grinned to herself at the sounds she produced.

A figure appeared, ahead and to her left. Cat looked up to see the boy standing by the white flowers. He stared at her with a curious expression. Cat smiled, even though her heart was jumping like a frightened rabbit. "You're as quiet as a mouse," she said, pressing her thumbs to her mouth again and blowing a squeaky note.

The boy approached her with care, eyes fixed on her hands. He sat beside her. Cat glanced at him from the corner of her eye. At last, she stopped. "What?"

The boy put a hand on her wrist, pushing her hands back towards her mouth. Cat gave him a sly grin. "What, this?" She blew into her cupped hands. The boy's eyes went wide. He reached for her hands, prying between her thumbs with delicate fingers. Cat laughed. "Have you never done this, Mouse?" she asked. "I used to, all the time, when I was your age." She felt a sudden pang for the girl she'd once been, then pushed it away. "Here." She selected a blade of grass for the boy. "Hold it like so." She took his hands and arranged them. "Now, take a deep breath ..." She demonstrated; he copied her example. "... and blow!"

It took several tries; when the lad finally produced a squeak on the blade of grass, Cat chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "There you are, Mouse!" He grinned at her, clearly delighted.

They dined together; the boy had brought some wild carrots and other edible roots from his day's foraging, and Cat lit a fire to cook them. After dinner, she settled down with her whittling again. "Who takes care of you, Mouse?" she asked after a time. "You're awfully young to be out here alone." The boy stared at her, a slight frown creasing his brow, then he shook his head. "Do you mean you are alone? Or you just don't want to say who helps you?" The boy nodded. "All right, then. Everyone's entitled to secrets." Cat smiled and turned back to her carving.

She was putting the final touches on the whistle when her knife-hand started to tremble. Dropping her dagger with a sharply indrawn breath, she rubbed at her right hand.

The boy, who'd been drowsing nearby, moved to her side, taking her injured hand. "It's just cramping a little," Cat said, seeing his concern. The scratch still looked angry and red, but the swelling had diminished. The boy turned her hand gently this way and that, then he traced a finger over the laceration. Cat saw the cut fade, and her eyes widened. She snatched her hand back. "You--you," she stammered. "I--gods and demons, Mouse, what are you?"

His eyes clouded by something that might have been sorrow, the boy gazed at her, then turned away. Cat caught his shoulder, letting go as soon as she'd touched him. "No--I'm sorry. It's just--you startled me, is all. Where I come from, magic ..." She trailed off, wondering how to explain Lord Rhodan's Arcadia to this child of the forest. "People don't use magic to heal," she said at last. "I don't think they know how." In her mind's eye, she saw the blood at Dirk's dark throat, and she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming.

The boy gave her a long look, then moved close again. This time, he put a hand near her heart. Cat shook her head. "Sorry, Mouse," she choked. "I don't think all the magic in the world will fix that." The boy wrapped his arms around her. Cat fought hard against the threatening tears, embracing him in return. "There's somewhere I have to go," she whispered. "Will you help me?" Head nestled against her chest, the boy nodded.

~*~

At daybreak, they left the cave together. They walked for most of the day, pausing to eat at midday. By dusk, Cat could hear water, not too far off. She smiled. "The river," she murmured.

She started past the boy, who'd been leading the way. He caught her hand, stopping her. Cat turned. "What is it?" The child gave her arm a tug and led her a few paces away, then he stopped and pointed. A trail, so faint as to be almost invisible, ran off in a southerly direction.

Cat looked from the path to her companion. "Does this lead to the road?" The boy nodded. She crouched in front of him so that their eyes were on a level. "Thank you," she said. The boy put his arms around her neck. Cat hugged him. "You take care of yourself," she said. He nodded and let go of her. She stood straight again and looked at the path ahead. When she glanced back, the boy had gone. Not even a leaf trembled to show her which direction he'd taken. "Goodbye, Mouse," she murmured.

Squaring her shoulders, Cat stepped onto the path.

© Catherine Thompson, 2003. All rights reserved.

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