Keesha looked weary. "And what are we going to do during this time?"

"I am going to talk. You are going to listen."

Keesha rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "All the wrong people want to beg me for things today."

"I'm not going to beg you for anything," said Roup. "I'm going to tell you a story. It's not one I tell very often, so make yourself comfortable. It may take a while."

"As I said, we will have plenty of time for-"

"Do you want to know why you lost the war, Syra-lay? Truly? I promise you haven't heard this."

Keesha froze, watching him. Well, I finally have your attention.

"Do you want to know how the Shable ended up in Groth?" asked Roup. "I can tell you that, too."

Now, he definitely had the full weight of those fathomless blue eyes. Keesha moved away from the exit to the room. "I'm listening..."

Moro woke among the broken and trampled ghost plants. The sun seemed blinding as he dragged himself out from under the wreckage of his work. No, no, no...

The plants that he'd cultivated with so much effort had been destroyed. Their juices squished under his feet as he staggered over and through the bent and shredded bowls and the woody bases that had been pounded into pulp. Even the fluorescence that had given him such joy when it had first begun to glow in the stems had darkened into lifelessness.

Not too late.

Moro blinked hard. He looked around for the voice, but nothing seemed to be moving in the clearing. When had the sun grown so bright? It was difficult to see properly.

Better under the trees. Better at night.

"What?" croaked Moro. He shook his head. He felt like a swarm of bees had taken up residence there. He realized that he was limping, although he felt no pain. Moro looked down and was shocked to see that something had apparently gnawed on his left foreleg. He could see white bone peeking through. He could also see places were fur had been ripped away, bruises where ferryshaft had trampled him. He could see, but he felt nothing.

I'm in that s.p.a.ce after injury when the body shuts down, he thought. I need to hide and rest.

No. And now he distinctly heard the response as something separate from himself. We must find new hosts. We must hurry.

"Lishties," said Moro aloud.

You are fortunate, said the thing in his head. We welcome you.

Moro flinched. He could feel the thing rifling through his memories. At the same time, he had a sense of darkness and endless seas, of waiting, of longing, of hunger for sight and touch and sound. These are its memories, he realized.

The sensation did not please him. To his horror, he had a sudden, intense memory of a cub he had killed a few months ago...only this time, he was in the cub's head, and its terror nearly overwhelmed him. Moro shrieked. He toppled over and thrashed on the ground for a moment.

Stop! shouted the lishty. You are harming this body! Stop!

"You said," panted Moro, "that we would live forever."

You will, said the voice in his head with terrible sincerity. We treasure all our memories. But yours are strange to us. We must study them.

Moro was not rea.s.sured. "Am I my memories?" he asked aloud.

To his further distress, he found that he was walking towards the lake without meaning to. "No," he said, "stop. What are you doing? Stop!"

We must find the others, said the voice in his head. We must find new hosts.

Something was breaking through Moro's gums. He could feel the points with his tongue, and this did hurt. "I need to rest," he insisted. "I need to heal. I don't want you in my head. We haven't done enough tests yet. We don't know if this is safe."

We are satisfied with the tests, said the lishty. We have crossed into four-legs. We are pleased with you.

Moro wanted to scream, but he seemed to have lost the use of his voice. He was swimming. Once he reached the far sh.o.r.e, he staggered up the bank without shaking the water from his coat. He was dimly aware of deep, visceral pain, as though his insides were undergoing some wrenching change.

Moro whimpered. His vision was flashing on and off. He walked. The wound on his leg opened wider, showing more bone, but he kept walking.

Treace, he thought. Need to tell Treace this was a bad idea.

The fangs pushing through his gums sent saliva and blood trickling down his chin. He did not lick it away. He could not.

Moro died. And he kept walking.

Chapter 22. Tell It All.

"I was raised by ferryshaft," said Roup, "but you know that." Keesha knew, but Roup was certain that at least one person in the room didn't. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Halvery stiffen. Well, now you have a name for the thing about me that you've always hated.

Sharmel didn't react. Roup had always suspected that Sharmel knew or guessed his origins. Sharmel had been an adult when the rest of the officers were all cubs, and he might have heard rumors that Halvery would have missed. He'd been paying more attention than Halvery, too, in those early days when Roup had still made the occasional slip in accent or behavior.

But here's the part that even you probably don't know, Sharmel. "Pathar brought me back to the herd after a raid because he wanted to learn about creasia," continued Roup. "My eyes weren't even open. Coden's mother agreed to foster me, so I grew up right beside him."

Keesha looked impatient. "I knew all this long ago. It does not make me well-disposed towards you. You got your 'brother' killed while he protected you. Did you know that? He made me promise not to kill you."

Roup winced. Of course. Of course he did. "I am telling a story," said Roup. "Shut up and listen."

Keesha huffed. From behind him, Roup heard Shaw snicker. It made him feel a little better. "I had a few friends among the ferryshaft," said Roup, "or at least I thought they were my friends. I realized later that most of the ones who seemed kind were simply curious or anxious to test me. Hardly a day pa.s.sed when a ferryshaft did not threaten to kill me, so I valued those who seemed friendly. They encouraged me to eat things that were not food to see whether I would survive, abandoned me in lonely places to test my tracking skills, dropped me into a tide pool once and let me tread water until I started to drown, and subjected me to a daily series of tortures which, at the time, seemed normal."

Charder stirred from where he was sitting against the wall. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about that. I wasn't in favor of it, even back then."

"It was your herd," said Roup.

"I know," said Charder. He didn't seem to know what else to say and looked at the ground.

Roup felt a twinge of guilt. Arcove has already made you sorry enough. "Coden was the only one who truly had no agenda with me. He defended me when others attacked me and kept me company in my loneliness and during those times when I was injured or sick. We both knew the adults would kill me before I grew big enough to be a serious threat.

"When I was two years old, Coden helped me run away. He took me to the edge of the forest and left me there. We promised to meet again in a year. I could tell that he did not think I would survive. He'd heard all kinds of terrible things about creasia, but I knew almost nothing about my own kind.

"Arcove found me by a stream. It was the middle of the day, but I was on a ferryshaft schedule. Arcove didn't even try to talk to me. He knocked me down. We fought. He won.

"Afterward, I asked whether he had a clique. I meant a clutter, but I didn't know the word. He said, 'I do now.' Then he asked why I sounded like a ferryshaft. I told him. I figured that if he wanted to kill me, he would have done it during the fight. I knew it might be dangerous to tell, but I didn't understand until later how dangerous.

"Arcove didn't comment except to tell me not to talk to anyone else. We went off and found a hiding place to sleep. He curled up around me like I was his only friend in the world. I guess I was."

Roup hesitated. No one said a word. Even Keesha was just listening. "It took me several days to piece together what had happened the night before. Arcove's mother was an attractive female, which doesn't always work out well for females. Not now, and certainly not then. Another male challenged Arcove's father over her. They fought, and Arcove's father was killed. The victor proceeded to kill all of his opponent's cubs."

Storm raised his head. "He...did what?"

Halvery spoke for the first time. "That happened a lot back then."

"Yes," said Roup. "It makes the female come into season faster. Also, it was considered a mark of weakness in those days to raise the cubs of another male. So he killed Arcove's brother and sister, but Arcove turned and fought."

Halvery smiled. Early in their acquaintance, he'd tried to get Roup to talk about Arcove's first fights, and Roup had been standoffish, afraid that he would reveal too much of his own past. Roup's apparent unfriendliness had set the tone for their relationship. Maybe I should have just told him.

"All of Leeshwood knows this story," said Roup, "but it's grown a little in the telling. This part is true: Arcove was only two years old, and he killed a fifteen-year-old adult. Arcove was a big cub, almost as large as some three-year-olds, but he was still just a cub. I've heard cats say that Arcove only won his fights because he's exceptionally large. That's not true. He fought and killed cats many times his size at an age when most cubs are still at their mother's teat."

Halvery was enjoying the story. "The one he killed was an officer, right?"

Roup shifted. "The adult he killed was an officer of the king, yes, and that's where the trouble started. Cats say that Arcove won his seat on the council when he was only two, but they forget that he didn't claim that seat until he was four. At the time, it almost got him killed.

"If the dead cat had been anyone else, the den would have praised their cub's skill and bravery. But many of the officers were bullies, and they were all friends. The den mother feared retaliation, so she drove Arcove away. It was as good as a death sentence for a two-year-old cub.

"That's why Arcove was awake in the middle of the day when I wandered into Leeshwood. He'd never been alone in his life. Now his siblings and his father were dead, his mother had abandoned him, he'd been driven from his den, and he thought high-ranking adults might try to kill him."

Roup took a deep breath. "Then he found me, and I was nothing but a liability. Arcove wouldn't let me talk to anyone else for months. He coached me until I could sound like a creasia. We hunted together-poached game because, with no territory, we didn't have a choice. We lived alone for almost two years. No one wanted to call such a young cub their alpha, and Arcove wouldn't bend his neck to anyone.

"Arcove started forming a clutter a little before he turned four, mostly from rogues. All of them were older than we were. Arcove fought and beat them one by one, and they followed him. He didn't trust them, though. He couldn't afford to."

"But he trusted you," said Storm thoughtfully, "because he knew your secret."

"He knew my secret," agreed Roup, "and eventually I knew all of his. We used to sleep in turns because so many cats wanted us dead. When he turned four, Arcove went to a council meeting and announced that he was claiming his place, having killed Cranow-the one who'd killed his father and siblings. The officers were surprised and amused. Arcove ended up fighting one of them before they'd take him seriously. After that, it was three frustrating years on the council. He knew they were doing everything wrong, that they would never win the war. They didn't even seem to think it could be won...or that it was a war.

"There were only about a hundred adult males of fighting age in Leeshwood back then, and I swear to you that Arcove fought and beat every one of them at some point. Cats call him lucky, and he often was, but he fought for every sc.r.a.p of their loyalty. When he turned seven, he challenged Ketch, the current king, and fought him to the death in the Great Clearing with everyone watching.

"Arcove's first act as king was to threaten death to anyone who killed a cub. He didn't think he could stop them from killing each other over mates, but he told them that if they killed a cub, he would personally hunt them down. He said we needed every single cub, and he was right. He had to enforce that rule a few times before they understood that he meant it. Since that time, it's become common for a male to raise his rival's cubs if he wins a mate in battle. Mortality in fights over females has also decreased. When Arcove escalated the war with the ferryshaft five years later, we had more young creasia than anyone had ever seen."

Roup stopped talking abruptly. Arcove was leaning in the mouth of the pa.s.sage to the upper level. He looked like he'd dragged himself there, mostly with the aid of the wall. Everyone was staring at him, but he was looking only at Roup. In the perfect silence, he said, "What are you talking about?"

"My cub-hood," said Roup.

"It sounded like mine."

"Hard to talk about one and not the other."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"If you will not explain yourself," said Roup, "then I will."

"There's nothing to explain."

"I disagree."

Arcove looked like he'd swallowed something unpleasant. He pushed himself off the wall and walked with only a slight weave across the floor to Roup, where he collapsed, as though he'd just swum the Igby in flood. "Don't make excuses for me," he said in a low voice. "Please."

Roup looked down at him. "Since the day we met, you've stood between me and the whole world, Arcove. My turn."

Arcove dropped his head on his paws with a defeated expression.

Trust me, thought Roup. I am not telling your secrets to hurt you.

"It may sound strange," continued Roup, "but none of this stopped Coden and I from meeting once or twice a year-usually at Turis Rock. Sometimes we just spent a day talking and hunting, but occasionally we made long excursions. Arcove usually came with us. One summer, we went all the way to the Southern Mountains. Coden and Arcove would both say later that they never got along, but it wasn't true. They had some friendly rivalry, but mostly they got along fine."

Keesha drew a long breath. "That didn't stop you from betraying Coden when it was time to choose sides."

Roup considered. "I suppose I did not think that Coden would choose sides. He'd left Charder's herd by then. He and his mate were rogues.

"When we started to engage the ferryshaft herds in earnest, I told Arcove everything I could think of. Their social and migratory patterns, their hiding places, the way they lived, the personalities of their leaders. These days, the ferryshaft have no secrets, but back then, there were many things about them that creasia didn't know or understand.

"But Coden was...not like anyone else." Roup struggled. He didn't know how to say the next part. "Maybe there was something wrong with him. Or maybe it was something right. He wanted to roam from the Great Mountain to the seas beyond the Southern Mountains. He wanted to learn to speak to the ely-ary and swim to distant sh.o.r.es with telshees. He wanted to unravel the secrets of the humans and drink the poison waters of Groth and dream the future. To me, most of the other ferryshaft seemed like bullies and cowards, but Coden..."

Roup shook his head. "I saw Coden kill a shark once. It was trapped in a tide pool-probably chasing a seal-and Coden just waded in and went after it. I kept shouting at him to get out of the water, but he just laughed the whole time."

"Did he kill it?" asked Halvery in wonder.

"Yes!" exclaimed Roup. "And he didn't do it to show off. I'm sure he would have done it even if n.o.body had been around-just to prove to himself that he could. When he was in those moods, it was like nothing could touch him. He thought he could do anything, and often he did. I suppose that's why the herds chose him as their war-time king, but I never saw it coming. I can't tell you how sick I felt when I found out. I suppose Coden was feeling invincible that day."

Arcove spoke at last, his voice a raspy rumble near Roup's feet. "He paid for those highs on the other side."

"Yes," Roup admitted. "When he was down...it was like the whole world turned to chalk and ash."

Arcove's tail lashed. "You couldn't reason with him very well on either end."

Roup wanted to argue, to defend a dead friend. No, he thought, if you're going to tell it, tell it straight. Tell it all. "You're right, but he was usually somewhere in the middle."

"Usually, he was on the way to one end or the other," muttered Arcove. He raised his head and looked at Roup with a fierce, desperate focus. "Do you want me to say he was charming? Of course he was. Coden could convince you the sky was green as long as he was talking...when he was up." Arcove's eyes flicked to Storm. "He was also the sort of person who would decide, out of nowhere, that he must have a dip in the sea this very instant. Somehow, it would all turn into a grand adventure."

Roup smiled.

"So, yes," continued Arcove, "Coden was charming and likeable." He looked at Keesha, and his voice hardened. "He was also completely intractable when it came to everything I cared about. Coden would have had us agree to stop fighting, simply on the guarantee of his goodwill. Even if he had been able to enforce his decisions on all the herds-which I doubt-anyone who knew him knew that he would not lead the ferryshaft for the rest of his life. Coden would have won their war for them, secured that victory, then gotten bored and gone off to ghosts-know-where with you! But not before he put the creasia at an immense disadvantage."