3. The road (I)

A small runnel, no more than a few inches across, drained out of the pool. It quickly disappeared beneath the accumulated rubble on the canyon floor, but re-emerged, wider now, a hundred yards on. The cheetah stepped carefully around it, more fastidious than he about wetting her feet. For him the sensation of his shoes slapping on wet sand was a welcome relief after the hard miles of bruising stone. The first saplings appeared, anchored in cavities in the canyon walls where sudden flood waters could never reach, and little colonies of liverworts and moss hung on just above the waterline. A few gnats spiraled in the air, interrupting their frenzied dance as the man and the cat passed through, then resuming it again as soon as they were gone.

It took them most of what daylight hours remained to reach the bottom of the canyon. They were now walking on a broad grassy path, descending gently along a quick and shallow stream a yard across. The air was pleasantly cool and the walking easy enough, though he was worn down from the journey and lack of sustenance. Lucinda had slackened her pace measurably, keeping barely a stride ahead. She had not spoken again, nor had he, not even when they had rested, briefly, to take up water again. At length they were on level ground. The stream soon bent away from them and vanished through the late afternoon shadows into a copse of aspen, catkins bobbing on its surface. When they emerged from the woods, just at dusk, they came to a halt at the edge of a great uninterrupted grassland. Far in the distance ahead of them the sun was setting over dark high mountains. Judging from the reflection there seemed to be a body of water in their shadow, but it was impossible to tell its extent. Not a single tree or rooftop broke the plains; the prospect was terrible but also immensely beautiful.

The cat sat for some time sniffing the air and listening, one alert ear and then the other twitching lightly. A cool breeze was coming up, whistling softly through the blades of grass, and unseen insects were beginning their evening descants. Finally she stood, gestured to the right with her head, and said “this way,” moving on without further explanation. They hiked over featureless terrain for an hour or so, until they came to the slightest knoll in the plain. As they approached he caught an acrid whiff of ash, and when they were settled on the summit he saw that there were the remains of a fire there, in a broad bare ring, still hot to the touch. Patiently, he poked dry straws into the embers until the first wisps of smoke emerged. Covering the spot with his hand he fed in handfuls of dry grass. The fire began to glow and catch, then eagerly awoke, devouring fuel as fast as he could scrabble it up. With his feet and fingers he ripped up hunks of sod, which nourished but also slowed the fire. A few minutes of this and the flame was stable. He continued at his labors, heaping a reserve of thatch and sod in a pile to be ready when he needed it, then sat down, feeling the flickering warmth as it slowly began to dispel the evening chill.

Lucinda watched these maneuvers — with approval it seemed to him — and neither interfered nor assisted. She would not come as close as he to the fire, though she gave no sign of fearing it. He suspected she preferred to separate herself a bit from its roar, the better to listen for noises in the night. The smoke and embers drifted up into a moonless, cloudless sky; he looked above him at an immense canopy of stars such as he had never seen, unbearably high above him, incalculably ancient and remote.

When he awoke the fire was nearly extinguished, glowing but giving scant protection from the frigid dawn air. He rolled over and gazed at the last low wavering flames a yard or so in front of him. Feeling an unexpected warmth and weight at his back, he realized that the cheetah had been sleeping at his side, her body heaving gently and evenly with each breath she took. The soreness and strain he felt in every inch of his body told him how fatigued he had been from the previous day's journey, and also how hard had been the ground that he had slept on. He made no move to rise, and began to drift off again, until all at once he felt the cat tense behind him. She lifted her head, sniffing intently, listened, sniffed again, stood, and strode a few yards off, cocking her head to one side. He sat up, looked around in vain for a stone or anything he could use as a cudgel. Hearing nothing himself but the faint crackling of the fire, he watched for her reactions.

“We have visitors,” she concluded at last. “But it's all right, I believe I know them.”

These words were hardly out of her mouth when he heard an explosion of snarling and squabbling. He rose to his feet. The sounds were coming from a little hollow not far off, where the grass was being bent violently this way and that under the effects of some unseen commotion. After several minutes of this there was a single painful yelp, and then complete silence. A moment later the grass began to stir again, but more evenly; he could see patches of reddish-brown fur advancing up the side of the knoll, and now and then a triangular ear emerged above the stalks.

The newcomers were wild curs, the size of jackals, three of the most ragged and forlorn creatures he had ever set eyes on. Their motley coats, where not broken by bare patches and half-healed sores, were matted with burs and clumps of earth. The one in front, whom he immediately took for the leader, looked reasonably well-nourished at least, though she was slobbering in an alarming fashion through a mouth filled with broken and discolored teeth. The other two, including one who was moping sheepishly behind with a nasty, fresh-looking wound to one ear, were fairly well emaciated and showing their ribs. Too ridiculous to be frightening, but far too disreputable for their sudden appearance to be altogether welcome, they bore no sign of belonging to, or having been descended from, any discernible breed that he was familiar with, though he supposed that their miserable ancestors must have survived in the surrounding wastes for centuries beyond counting.

“Look, boys,” said the leader, lowering her head and peering at Lucinda, but remaining carefully out of the range of her formidable claws, “una lonza leggera e presta molto, che di pel macolato è coverta.” At this, the other two burst into sniggers and pounced on each other, snapping their jaws in an absurd pantomime of ferociousness and spilling each other onto the ground.

The cat seemed unimpressed by their antics. “Very funny, Marta. But a cheetah is not a lonza.”

“A cheetah?” said the one with the bloodied ear. “I hear you all mate with your first cousins.“

This prompted another outburst of highjinks, this time taking in the leader as well. The three dogs circled and tussled until Marta's jaws seized firm hold of the face of the one who had spoken, holding him frozen until he looked up at her submissively from one brown eye. She released him with an admonitory growl.

“It is true that our numbers are of late somewhat reduced and that our opportunities in some regards are narrower than they were in times past. We have been forced to make concessions to difficult times. But I still could crush your throats and make a meal of you were I so inclined,” Lucinda said pointedly, “not that I am likely to be, as long as there is more salubrious game afoot and you don't make yourself even more of a nuisance than you have already.”

This silenced the dogs for the moment, and they fell back to a respectful distance. Settling on their haunches, they occupied themselves with gnawing at their coats, whether in search of vermin or out of nervous habit he could not tell. The cat turned towards him.”

“This, as you have heard, is Marta. Her companions are Pharos” — she nodded in his direction — “and that sorry sight with the indentations of Marta's teeth on his snout is Wawet.”

He mumbled a greeting, which they barely acknowledged with nearly inaudible courtesies. The cat seemed content to leave it at that, but after a moment Marta spoke up:

”Lucinda, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?” she said, with a peculiar emphasis on the last word that he found a trifle unsettling.

”Of course. My apologies,” she said, with as much amusement as condescension. “This is — ” She hesitated, but he interrupted her before she could resume.

“Oren,” he said decisively, surprising even himself. “My name is Oren.”

The cat looked at him rather quizzically, but held her tongue.

“Pleased to meet you, Oren,” Marta responded politely, and her two companions grudgingly echoed her. “Yeah, okay, Oren, nice to meet you.”

May 5, 2007

Copyright © 2007 Chris Kearin. All rights reserved.