"It is!"

"It's me," said Storm, still without taking his eyes off Sauny. Then bodies were all around him-pushing, sniffing, licking, shouting. He heard Kelsy's exuberant laugh and Tracer's jubilant yip, but Sauny didn't move. After what seemed an eternity, she walked slowly around the body of the creasia. The other ferryshaft grew quiet. Storm stepped forward, and Sauny sniffed noses with him.

She swallowed and finally tried to smile. "I knew you weren't dead," she whispered.

No, you didn't, thought Storm.

But Kelsy was speaking beside him. "She did. She kept saying so."

Sauny came right up to him and rested her head across his shoulders. Storm could tell that she was fighting the urge to rub her face in his fur just to convince herself that he was real. She was trembling. "Please talk," she whispered against his ear. "Please talk to them."

Storm didn't know what to say, but he knew that Sauny needed him to fill the awkward silence. "What happened here?"

"They've been coming all summer," muttered Kelsy, "sneaking around the edges of the herd at night, grabbing orphans and loners and young foals who wander. Everyone said it was a new kind of raid-a punishment because...well, because of you."

Storm stared at the body of the creasia-its fur a deep ocher, stained black with blood. "How did-" he began. "How did this-?"

"Sauny thought of it," said Kelsy.

For the first time, Storm looked around at the little crowd of ferryshaft. "Thought of what?"

"She said that if they were coming alone, we could kill them. She was right."

More than a dozen ferryshaft were gathered round them. Storm didn't recognize all of them, but he had caught sight of Kelsy's three mates, Tracer, and Valla. They were staring at him as though he had grown a second head. "I can't believe you're alive," whispered Tracer.

A ferryshaft whose name Storm did not know gave an abrupt whoop. "This is it!" he exclaimed. "This is what we need to move the herd! Storm alive? They'll fight now!"

A babble erupted from the others. Ferryshaft began shouting and laughing and prancing with excitement. "The foal that Arcove couldn't kill!" someone called. And another threw back the cry. "The foal that Arcove couldn't kill!" They were pushing forward again to touch him, to lick him, to congratulate him, to ask questions.

Storm felt overwhelmed. He caught Valla's eyes over the press of bodies. She grinned at him, but he thought there was hesitation behind her smile. "Please, everyone calm down!" he said, but they wouldn't listen.

"Vearil," someone shouted, "the doom of cats!"

"Vearil, the doom of cats!" chimed the others.

To his consternation, Storm realized that the crowd was growing. "Come on!" Sauny seemed to have mastered her shock at his appearance. She was beaming now. "They need to see you. Come on, Storm!"

Storm looked around for the curbs, but they had vanished. Kelsy and Sauny stayed right beside him as the group swept them along with its momentum. "That's only the third creasia we've killed," Kelsy tried to explain, shouting in Storm's ear. "The group was already excited. You just walked up at the right time."

"We've been practicing," Sauny said from his other shoulder. "We've gotten about thirty foals and young adults involved, but we need more." Sauny turned to the pushing crowd and shouted. "Get back! Give us room to walk!"

To Storm's shock, they obeyed her. They didn't listen to me. Or even to Kelsy. He glanced sideways at his sister. She'd grown taller, though she was still obviously a foal. Her tail had filled out, and she held it high as she walked. Her red-gold fur was almost the same color as Kelsy's, but her eyes, when she turned to look at him, were pale gray...as gray as those Storm had seen in the Ghost Wood. What are you becoming, Sauny?

Their riotous company began to pa.s.s little groups of sleeping ferryshaft, who stared at them blearily from their gra.s.sy nests. "Storm has returned!" chanted the group. "The foal that Arcove couldn't kill! The doom of cats!"

Charder stared at Arcove in the gloom, his voice pleading. "The way these raids happened...it was almost as though we were being baited. Cats coming alone? Cats raiding in secret? Carrying off live foals? Were you trying to-?"

Arcove finally spoke. His voice was flat. "I didn't send them."

Charder let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I thought-"

"a.s.sume for a moment that I am not trying to bait your herd into fighting so that I can annihilate it," said Arcove. "Because I'm not."

Before Charder could fully appreciate his relief, Arcove started talking again. "How many cats have they actually killed?"

"Only one that I know of," said Charder, "but these raids happen so secretively that there might be more-"

"Did you recognize the cat?" cut in Roup. "Did you recognize any of them?"

"No," said Charder. "The ones I saw looked like young adults, but I didn't see most of them. The dead one was...mauled. Don't ask me who killed it, because I didn't see that either. The situation is getting out of my control. The younger ferryshaft are very angry." He didn't think he needed to point out that opportunities to kill lone creasia would only increase their confidence, skill, and determination.

"Are they still talking about Storm?" asked Roup.

"Yes," admitted Charder. "They whisper about him. These odd raids have gotten a lot of them asking whether Storm might have had the right idea."

Roup was muttering furiously in Arcove's ear. Charder thought that, behind his calm faade, Arcove looked worried. Charder raised his head and dared to be blunt. "You asked me whether I've lost control of my herd, Arcove. Have you lost control of yours?"

Chapter 16. Homecoming.

Storm talked until sunrise amid a comfortable nest of clover and long gra.s.s by the lake. In spite of the fact that it was midnight, so many ferryshaft came to listen that several fights broke out on the edges of the group among those straining to hear. Storm implored them to calm down. He would tell them everything if they were patient.

I'll try, anyway. During the long, dark days in Syriot, Storm had frequently imagined himself sitting comfortably with half a dozen friends in the sunshine, gleefully relating his adventures. The idea that he might have to tell his story to a shoving, chattering crowd in the middle of the night had not figured into this vision.

Storm felt like running. Instead, he held his head high, raised his voice, and told the story as best he could. He talked about stumbling through Groth, about finding a strange blue stone, about being rescued by an ely-ary. He told them about recovering in the care of telshees, how the telshees were their allies and not their enemies. He told them about Shaw, about Keesha, about the Battle of Chelby Lake and the fortress that lay locked beneath Kuwee Island.

Most of those who sat listening to him were young-less than ten years old. He recognized many of them as Kelsy's friends and supporters. They were clearly riveted to his story-shocked by things they had not known. However, Storm also caught sight of a few older ones in the crowd-even an elder or two. They did not look surprised, only grim. I'm not telling you anything about the past that you didn't already know, thought Storm.

When he paused for breath, one high-ranking female of perhaps thirty years stood up and said loudly, "It's a lie."

The whole group went quiet. Many turned to stare at her. "Rocks that open caves, ely-ary that rescue ferryshaft, telshees that heal wounds with singing, secret codes scratched in stone..." Her voice was heavy with contempt. "It's a fine story by a fine trickster."

A low rumble of talking broke out, but she continued more loudly. "Storm Ela-ferry, we all know how you escape from hunters. You hide. You're good at it. You hid from Arcove, and it was quite an accomplishment. However, you left us to take the punishment for your tricks. We've been punished all summer because of you. You were too afraid to return here and face the creasia, so you've been hiding while we suffered. You've had plenty of time to work on this story, and now you think it's safe to return and tell your fable. You think we'll welcome you like a hero after all the death you've caused."

An angry murmur swept through the group. Storm went rigid. Here it comes. This is the part where they try to kill me. He spoke desperately. "You know that's not true. You're old enough to know. Why do you want to keep these things from the young ferryshaft? Do you think it will make us safe? It hasn't for fifteen years."

The female looked at him with an expression of undisguised hostility. "If your story is true, where's the proof? Where are these curbs that you supposedly returned with? Do you have a single telshee, ely-ary, or mysterious blue stone about you?"

Storm had to raise his voice over the mounting babble from the crowd. "I think the curbs were frightened by a group of ferryshaft capable of killing creasia!"

Storm knew, as soon as he said it, that the cat's death was news to the older adults. The female's eyes went round. "You are fools, all of you."

"No, you are!" someone shouted. Storm realized with a jolt, that the hostility building in the crowd was not directed at him. The younger ferryshaft were glaring at their parents and elders. "Storm isn't the coward who stood by while the creasia killed us for years! You are!"

"Death to cowards!" a voice screamed. "Death to cowards!"

Oh, no. "Stop!" Storm shouted. "Please, everyone, calm down!"

Beside him, Kelsy was shouting, too, but it was Sauny who waded into the maddened crowd and got between several young males and the older female who'd been speaking. "Enough!" she barked. Valla had very quietly inserted herself beside Sauny, and Storm saw several other members of Sauny's clique coming forward. "All of us have been cowards," said Sauny, "but it's creasia we must kill, not ferryshaft. The next time they come to raid, we will be waiting. We have killed them before; we will kill them again. They could not kill Storm, and they will not stop us!"

"They could not kill Storm! They will not stop us!" chorused several excited foals. "We have killed them before! We will kill them again!"

"And we'll kill anyone who gets in our way," snarled one of the young males, staring over Sauny's shoulder at the elder.

Storm felt a thrill of excitement. This is really happening.

Charder woke to the sound of his name. Dawn light was streaming into Arcove's den. Arcove stood silhouetted against it. He dropped something on the floor in front of Charder-a dead rabbit. "I'm sending you back," he said. "I've a.s.signed a cat to go with you and make sure no one attacks you. Eat that, and you can be on your way."

Charder scrambled to his feet. He'd gone to sleep last night with the mutter of Arcove and Roup talking in the background. They sounded almost as though they were arguing. Charder had never heard them argue before, and he did not think it was a good sign. "What are you-?" he began.

"I have sent for my officers," said Arcove. "We will travel to the ferryshaft herd and attempt to capture one of these raiding creasia. I will learn what is going on and deal with it."

Charder felt a measure of relief. "The cats who were killed-"

"If your herd was only defending itself from unlawful raids, I will ignore that," said Arcove. "If they seem inclined to continue breaking the treaty, I will make an example of some of them. First, however, I need to know why this is happening. We will probably leave tomorrow evening. I think you should be gone by then."

It was as generous an agreement as Charder thought he was likely to get. Still... "All of your officers?" That seemed excessive. Arcove didn't usually bring all of his officers unless he wanted them to witness something. Like Storm's death. He surely didn't think he needed all of them to catch one or two rogue creasia or to deal with a few angry foals.

"You think one of them is behind this." Charder spoke his thought aloud. He did not voice the following thought. You really have lost control of your subordinates. Ten or fifteen years ago, the idea would have filled him with vengeful glee. Now, however, Charder thought it unlikely that civil war in Leeshwood would have a good outcome for the ferryshaft.

Arcove did not answer. "Eat that," he repeated. "Before a cub does." Several cubs were, indeed, eyeing the rabbit.

Charder glanced down. In their long acquaintance, Arcove had never offered him food. He started to say that summer gra.s.s was plentiful, but thought better of it. Grazing took time. Eating meat was quick-a fact that Arcove had surely considered. He wants me well away before his officers arrive.

Charder devoured the rabbit in a few bites, crunching through the smaller bones, but leaving the head and part of the back legs. He tossed the remainder to a hopeful-looking black cub. You better hope your father knows what he's doing. Or you won't eat many more rabbits.

Changes of power in Leeshwood were legendarily b.l.o.o.d.y. The officers of an ousted king were often killed, along with their young cubs. Sharmel was the only officer in Arcove's administration who'd served under the previous king. Charder gathered that the cats thought this innovative and unusual. He wondered if a new creasia king would keep Arcove's promises to the ferryshaft. He did not want to find out.

For Storm, the following days pa.s.sed in a blur. He'd become so accustomed to living in the dark with telshees and staying awake at night with curbs that he found the return to a daytime existence jarring. If he'd been allowed to readjust in peace, he might have taken delight in the summer sun and found peace in the waters of the lake, but there was nothing peaceful about his days as an endless stream of ferryshaft came to stare at him and follow him about.

At any given time, Storm was surrounded by at least fifty ferryshaft-most of them young adults and foals-all straining to hear his every word. Kelsy, Sauny, Valla, and a collection of Kelsy's friends stayed close and kept the crowd from actually hara.s.sing him, but Storm found the situation unnerving.

Tracer told him loudly-and at length-that his own quest to acquire a second mate had met with success "because I grew up with the infamous Vearil, doom of cats!" Tracer then seemed to forget that Storm was a year younger than him and proceeded to tell him far more than he wanted to know about his recent first attempts at mating.

Leep turned up on the second day, grinning, to introduce his awed mate, Silfa. You were afraid to introduce her to me before, thought Storm, but now I'm a status symbol.

He wanted to say, "It's just me, Leep! Tracer, we used to race across the ice. We used to joke about how we'd never get mates. Don't you remember?" But their eyes looked so bright and dazzled that he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Very late on the third night, Storm woke when someone lay down beside him. He thought, at first, that it was Valla, because she draped her head across his shoulders, but then he woke up a little more and recognized the scent. Storm's eyes snapped open, though he didn't move. "Tollee?" he whispered.

She gave a little sniff that was hardly an answer. Storm thought that she must have crept in with extraordinary stealth to avoid waking any of the others.

Storm didn't know what to say. He was afraid that if he moved, she would disappear. "I didn't see you earlier," he ventured. "Were you in the crowd?"

"No," her voice was barely a murmur. She said nothing for a long moment. "But the whole herd is talking about you. Such stories... You must be tired of repeating them."

"I'm not," Storm heard himself say, although he certainly was.

Tollee let out a long sigh against him. He couldn't see her face at all, but he felt the warm stir of her breath against his fur. "Tell me?"

Storm did-in his softest voice, unhurried, and without the pressure of staring eyes or eager strangers. He told her things he had forgotten himself-how he'd felt, what he feared, and the wonder of it. Occasionally, she would give a soundless laugh or a snort of disgust or amazement, but she mostly just listened. Towards dawn, her breathing changed, and Storm realized that she'd fallen asleep. He wasn't offended. For the first time since he'd rejoined the ferryshaft herd, Storm felt as though he'd come home.

Chapter 17. Respite.

Later, when he looked back on that period, Storm realized that he had been happy. If he had known, then, what a brief period it would be, he might have reveled more.

Storm was the darling of his peers. They treated his every observation as though it were wisdom carved on the walls of Syriot. They told and retold his stories. Storm grew so tired of correcting their exaggerations that he finally stopped and let them think what they wished. He heard repeated a.s.sertions that he'd fought with Arcove and won. That story bothered him, but most ferryshaft listened to the truth with an indulgent expression-as if they thought he was being modest.

Sauny was euphoric. Indeed, she often stayed up talking to her friends and allies late into the night. Storm worried that she did not sleep at all. "We have to be ready," she told him. "When those cats we killed don't come back, Arcove will send a bigger group. We have to be ready for them."

Sometimes she sounded so old that Storm wanted to ask her where his little sister had gone. On other occasions, she sounded distressingly naive. "Sauny, killing a clutter of creasia will be very different from surprising and killing a lone cat. You realize that, don't you? I want it as much as you do, but you do realize how difficult this will be...right?"

"That's why we've got to practice!" she told him. "We can kill a clutter, Storm. We can kill Arcove. I know it."

Sauny brought Storm to the evening sessions in which young ferryshaft attempted to learn how to kill creasia. Upon Storm's arrival, these sessions swelled from about thirty to well over two hundred, with more showing up every day. An activity that had previously been covert now became public. No one dared tell them to stop.