"Take the fela, if you wish," continued Bast-Imret. "Our business is with the other. Go now. You tread in deep places."
Scratchnail, whimpering with some unseen injury, leaped forward and grabbed the unresisting Roof-shadow by the nape of the neck, then turned and disappeared down the dark, cluttered tunnel. Fritti tried to call out after Roofshadow, but could not. His joints tingled with the effort as he tried to pull away and run.
The dark form of Bast-Imret turned-cat-shaped, but sunken in clinging darkness, even while facing the glow at Tailchaser's back. Fritti could not look at its face, at the dark spots that should have been eyes. Head averted, he struggled-and for a moment succeeded. His legs felt like water, but he managed to turn around and crawl agonizingly away from the Boneguard.
"There is no escape," whispered the wind.
No, thought Fritti, it isn't the wind. Run, you fool!
"No escape," breathed the wind, and he could feel himself weakening.
Not the wind, must escape, must escape…
"Come with me now"-it was not the wind, he knew that. He continued crawling. "I will take you to the House of the Boneguard," droned the unfeeling tones of Bast-Imret in the darkness behind him. "The pipes play always, in the darkness, and the faceless, nameless ones sing in the deep places. There is no escape. My brothers await us. Come."
Fritti could hardly breathe. The smell of dust, spices, and earth dizzied him… permeated him…
"We dance in darkness," chanted Bast-Imret, and Fritti felt his muscles stiffening. "We dance in darkness, and we listen to the music of silence. Our house is deep and quiet. The earth is our bed…"
The light seemed brighter. Tailchaser had nearly managed to reach the bend in the tunnel. He blinked his eyes, dazed. Without warning, the dark figure of Bast-Imret was before him, blocking the end of the hallway. A dry, poisonous air seemed to blow out from the Boneguard. Choking, Tailchaser sagged to the floor, unable even to crawl. The creature stood over him, faraway voice crooning unfamiliar speech.
Terror surged through him, hot panic, and somewhere he found the strength to lunge forward. As he struck, he felt the dusty fur give against his momentum. Bast-Imret crumpled with a sound like snapping twigs, clutching at Frkti as he tried, with what seemed his last dying strength, to push past. Beyond the tunnel's edge lay a pool of light. He strained toward it, and the freedom it represented.
But the Boneguard clung, and in the darkness the choking dust and sweet smell enwrapped the two of them like another shadow. Fritti felt the paws of the Boneguard-brittle, but strong as tree roots splitting rock-curl about his neck. The flaking, dry snout quested for his throat. With a final squeal of revulsion, Tailchaser lashed out.
There was a hideous tearing sound as he pulled away from the creature. Great, flayed rags of crumbling fur and skin came off in his claws and teeth- and as he tumbled toward the light he could see the dull wink of old, brown bones, and the grinning skull of Bast-Imret.
As he scrambled up the short shaft he felt a searing pain. The space between his eyes throbbed and burned. When he reached the hovering, gray-blue disk of sky, he turned for a moment-and saw the terrible thing behind him. It was standing in the shadows of the tunnel's base, its skeletal mouth slowly opening and shutting.
"I will remember you until the stars die…" cursed the distant, toneless voice. The fire in Fritti's head flared again, then was gone.
Tailchaser forced himself over the edge of the hole. The light was so bright that spots floated before his eyes. Hobbling, almost falling forward, he struggled away from the hole-away from Vastnir.
The world was white. Everything was white.
Then, everything was black.
CHAPTER 24
O magic sleep! O comfortable bird
That broodest over the troubled sea of the mind
Till it is hushed and smooth!
–John Keats
Pain and weariness battled beneath Tailchaser's fur. High in the sky hung the cold, burning stone of the sun. The world was shrouded in snow; trees, stones and earth mantled in an even, white sheath. Little needles of chill pain pricked Fritti's feet as he stumbled through Ratleaf Forest.
Since recovering consciousness, he had staggered near-blindly, putting distance between himself and the mound. He knew he had to find shelter before Unfolding Dark, when the gruesome shapes would come up from the tunnels below, hunting him…
The snow behind him was dotted with red.
Late afternoon found Fritti still in helpless, unthinking flight. He was weakening rapidly. He had not had anything to eat since what must have been the morning of the previous day; that had been-as was usual for the tunnel slaves-barely sustaining.
Tailchaser had now penetrated into deep forest. Columns of trees pillared the forest roof; the ground everywhere was shrouded in ice. Fatigue and glare made his eyes burn and tear, and from time to time he imagined he saw movement. He would stop, hunker down on the cold snow blanket with pounding heart… but there would be nothing, nothing: a static world.
The life of the old forest now driven out by the foulness growing near it-or so it seemed-Ratleaf made no sound, but silently heard the crisping of his pads; made no movement, but motionlessly observed his struggle.
As the day wound forward and the biting soreness in his nose, ears and paws disappeared, to be replaced by a puzzling blankness of sensation, the illusion of subtle movement would not be laid to rest. From the corner of an eye Fritti glimpsed scuttling, shadowy presences; when he turned his head, though, only snow-laden trees met his gaze.
He was beginning to wonder if he was not indeed mad, as shadow-haunted as old Eatbugs, when one of his sudden glances caught the gleam of an eye. It was gone immediately behind the tree branches that had framed it, but it had been an eye: he was sure of it.
When another minute, peripheral movement caught his attention he did not turn but staggered on, watching with a sort of half-deranged slyness. In the extremity of his weariness he did not even consider the possibility that it might be a stalking enemy. Like a kitten playing with a dangling vine-first coy and uninterested, the next moment leaping for the kill-he could only think of the moving object; catching it, putting an end to the game.
Head down, the crimson drops staining the snow more irregularly now. Fritti saw a brief flash of something dark and swift in the trees to his right. Seeming unaware, he pitched the uneven progress of his body to that side until he was a jump or so from the edge of the copse.
Another flicker of activity just ahead-he had to restrain himself from springing.
Carefully, carefully…
He stopped for a moment; he crouched down and licked one of his bleeding paws, all the time tensing his muscles, ignoring the twinges of pain, waiting… waiting for another movement… there!
Leaping, half-tumbling, Fritti crashed through the underbrush, paws flailing. Something had been knocked from the low-hanging branches and was scurrying before him. With a surge of strength he sprang.
As his paws made contact he cracked headfirst into a tree trunk and rolled stunned onto his side, something small and warm struggling beneath him. Holding whatever it was down with a forepaw, he rose and shook his head. He did not feel injured, he thought-not hurt, but tired… so very tired…
For the first time he looked blurrily down on his prey. It was a squirrel, its eyes bulging in terror, lips drawn away from long, flat teeth.
Rikchikchik, he thought to himself. Something about the Rikchikchik… are they bad to eat? Poisonous? He felt as if his head were buried in snow. Why so cold? Why can't I think? Squirrels. Something I should say to this one?
He thought hard. Every idea seemed another difficult step to be taken. Looking down at the small body and trembling, brushy tail, he felt a glimmer of memory. He lifted his paw from the Rikchikchik, who lay motionless, staring up at him with panic-bright eyes.