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From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz
Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry
Subject: Story: Human Memoirs part 5
Date: 8 Jun 95 23:07:33 NZST
Organization: Wellington City Council, Public Access.
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THE   HUMAN   MEMOIRS
PART II Section A
 
 
 It's no fun
  Being an illegal alien
                GENESIS
 
 
 
 
     I'm a New Yorker, born and bred.
     Well,  maybe not born. Jersey's where I spent the
first few  years of my life.  I was too young to remember
anything but vague  impressions of that time,  and just a
few years later when I  was  four, there was that accident.
     The friends who adopted me were a young couple living
across  the waters in New York,  in Brooklyn Heights,  in
an  established  neighbourhood  near the old Plymouth
Church.  That's a time I  do  remember, quite fondly: the
house was a big old place, built from  old  wood,  crowned
with a steep shingled  roof,  crestings,  and  defunct
chimneys. Birds roosted in the gables and in the huge old
trees  around  the property.  Over the near-century it  had
been  standing,  additions and extensions had sprung up,
some of  them  seemingly  spontaneous  or  whimsical.  You
could  walk  from  a  nineteenth-century  study into a
living room added in the  nineteen  twenties and furnished
in rococo.  In some places there were  two  floors,  in
others three.  I had one friend compare it with  the
Adams' place.  Still,  the place took money to keep and
maintain,  so  with more rooms than we could ever use it
only made sense  to  take in lodgers.
      Until I could legally change it back to my given
name,  my  surname  was Jerald.  Not that I had anything
against  my  foster  parents,  they were as good a parents
any kid could wish for, but  I  just wanted the name I was
born with.  They  both  worked,  my  father  owning  a
bookshop and my mother in a  boutique  over  in  Manhattan.
Still,  even though they were away a lot of the time,  the
house wasn't a dull place by a long shot.  There were
always  the lodgers. We were careful who we took in,
generally preferring  students,  artists,  trampers,  young
couples,  people who looked  like they could be trusted.
My parents were pretty good  judges  of character,  and we
only had a few incidents.  It was a sort of  word-of-mouth
institution,  and believe me,  we got some classics
through there.  It seems strange to say it,  but I became
closer to  some of those people than I did to my own
parents. They taught me  odds and ends:  playing the
guitar,  harmonica, keyboard, also to  draw and paint. From
an ex-bikie I learned to strip down a Harlie  blindfolded
and  I  could  rewire a house  by  the  time  I  was
fourteen.  And they talked; I heard stories of all kinds
from all  over  the country,  so eventually I decided to
see some of  these  places for myself.  Well,  the army
gave me a chance to do  that.  Sort of.
     As  something I grew up with,  the Manhattan Island
skyline  was  mundane,  simply  a  spectacle I could see
every  day  if  I  wished.  When I did sign up for my time,
some of the more  rural  postings  came as a bit of culture
shock.  Still,  I'd  had  more  contact with 'the great
outdoors' than a lot of New Yorkers. Town  or  country;
either  way,  it was a lifestyle far  removed  from
anything any Sathe could imagine.
     As far removed as the life I was living now was from
anything I could have imagined: On the road with an over-
evolved cat, riding a rickety wooden wagon as it crested a
final hill and I was looking at Mainport, lying  peacefully
under leaden afternoon skies.
     There  were  no towering skyscraper or glass-faced
condos  -  I  hadn't  expected  any - but  still  the  city
was  impressive. I guess it's comparable with the feeling
you get when  exploring an ancient human city or medieval
castle: compared  with  modern constructs they're not much,
but you can't help  but be impressed with the strength and
solidity of these edifices that have endured for
generations.
     By Sathe reckoning Mainport was a large city.  Built
on  the  north-western  tip of what I knew as Staten Island
with the  kill  to the north,  The Narrows to the east.
Covering an area of maybe  sixteen square kays,  it was a
huge, bustling metropolis to them.  However  to me,  faced
with what continued to be  my  prospective  home, it was
far less glamorous.  But I had to admit the  Citadel
itself was something else again.
     Towering  over the city proper,  the Citadel was a
gigantic  mass of battlements,  walls,  towers, and
buttresses lying on the  crest of the hill like some
massive reptile sunning itself upon a  rock.
     Once,  long  ago - it was only later I would learn
just  how  long  ago - I supposed the central keep had
stood alone  on  that  hilltop, just a small settlement.
As  time passed the Citadel had grown,  spreading  like
granite ivy on a gargantuan scale down upon the town below
where  buildings been razed  to  make  way for the
encroaching  walls. Against  the  backdrop  of  grey skies,
the  sight was  impressive and - strangely - depressing.
     I had lived here in this place that had once been my
home and now  threatened  to  be  my home  again  I
thought  that  I  recognized  various  marks  in  the
landscape:   Hills,  ridges,  gullies.  Probably  my
imagination.  The geography  wasn't  that  exact: the
Arthur Kill that  normally  separates  Staten Island from
the mainland didn't exist here. Also, New York  was  built
upon a foundation engineered by  humans;  if  nature's
design  didn't fit in with what was on their drawing
boards  and  computer terminals,  it was removed,  so the
landscape I knew was  probably not even natural.
     God, the polluted  grandeur  of New York, the sky-
climbing dreams and schemes of human beings,  the sound of
traffic,  television,  music,  hot  showers,  toilet
paper,  Oreos.  All  those  little things that  make  life
worth  living, all those things I had take to be
inalienable, gone.
     Tahr  tapped my shoulder and clambered over the back
of  the  seat  to sat beside me.  The wooden plank that had
weathered  so  much protested under the extra load.  "Why
have you stopped?" she  asked, then saw my face. "Your
eyes. . . What is wrong?"
     I  blinked back tears and muttered,  "Nothing.  I  was
just  thinking."
     "That wetness is a sign of grief. . . is it  not?"
she  inquired with head cocked to one side.  "Why?  We  are
safe  here. We are home."
     I stared at her. Home?
     "Oh. . . " Understanding flashed behind her eyes,
subdued her,  "I forgot. My home, not yours."
     I didn't say anything.
     From there I could see wisps of smoke rising from
chimneys,  could hear the faint cries of gulls.  At last
Tahr's voice was  a  slow, measured rumble: lower than any
human woman's could be. She  was trying to be gentle but
still businesslike: "I think it would  be for the best if I
drove the rest of the way."
     "Are we doing the animal act?"
     "No," she said.  "Not here.  Just do not do or say
anything  until I tell you, yes?"
     "Yes." Resignedly, I nodded.
     She  flicked the reins and the llamas started plodding
down  the hill, toward the city.
     The  fields  surrounding  the  town  were  many  and
varied,  containing crops and livestock:  goats,  llama,
bison, some even  held  deer behind high split log fences.
>From the air  the  land  would  have  looked  like a jigsaw
of  angular  green  and  brown  shapes.
     The fields and the houses held Sathe, living out their
lives  as they must have done for generations.  Some of
them saw us  and  paused at their chores,  resting behind
their ploughs or  looking  up from butter churns and
gardens.  It was a well-travelled  road  so they would be
accustomed to strangers,  but I was a stranger a few
notches of strange above the rest.
     I  was  so busy rubbernecking back at them that  the
sudden  change  in  the sound of the wagon's  wheels
startled  me.  Tahr  hissed  at my surprise and proudly
pointed out that the road  was  paved and drained. It was
also much wider, in places becoming two  laned!
     Necessary. The nearer we got to the city, the more
traffic. It was like every Sathe from miles around decided
to tag along with us. Gawking at me.
     "Market day," Tahr explained.
     The wall surrounding the city was imposing, reaching
up five  stories  and constructed of huge blocks of stone -
each  about  a  metre  high  and two metres in length - set
with a  precision  to  turn  an Inca green with envy.  As
we drew up to the  barbican  a  disparity  in the age of
the blocks became obvious.  Some  stones  looked  old;
ancient.  Edges and  corners  rounded  and  weathered  from
countless years exposure to the  elements  while other
blocks of granite still bore the chisel  marks  from  the
stonemasons who shaped them.
     The  gatehouse  and barbican were built from the
newer  stonework. The massive supports around the gate were
elaborately decorated with  Sathe  script  and  carvings.
Strange  to  see  aliens  as  the  main  theme  of  a
carving; where you expect to see humans there are bipedal
cats  in  their stead.
     Sathe  guards were everywhere: on the walls, below the
walls, around the gates,  watching  the  steady  stream of
carts and wagons that went past them and looking bored.
Occasionally they would stop one that caught their
attention  and  examine the cargo.
     And of course we caught their attention.
     Three Sathe troopers in leather armour trimmed with
blue and silver moved out to catch the llamas' reigns  and
lead us off to one side of the gate; watching us warily.
They were young, probably younger than Tahr, but even so,
they all carried scars and nicks from past fights. And they
all had one hand draped - almost casually - over  the
pommel of their scimitars.
     "What is your business in Mainport?"
     The one who spoke wore three small  gold crescents on
his cuirass.  If they were badges of  rank,  he  was
superior to the others: they had only one apiece.
     "I  have  business at the Citadel,"  replied  Tahr,
looking  perplexed. "What is this? Why all the security?"
     The  guard  waved  his hand in a shrug and  continued
in  a  conversational manner.  "I am not sure. There have
been growlings  about  trouble with the Gulf Realm.  More
guard duties have  been  assigned and we have orders to
search all strangers entering  the  city." He scratched
under his armour,  then peered at Tahr again.  "The
Citadel  you  say.  Is  there any  reason  they  should  be
expecting you? What is your name? Business?"
     Tahr considered for a second before saying, "My name
is Tahr  ai Shirai. My business is my own."
     "Tahr ai Shirai? THE Tahr ai Shirai?"
     "Is there another?"
     His muzzle wrinkled.  "Ahh. . . Of course, and I am  a
Clan Lord in my off-shift. Is that intended to be a joke?"
     "No."
     Uncertain, he hesitated, then his fur began to
bristle; standing up as if electrified. "You think that is
amusing?! Start laughing, shave you! I could drag you in
for a claim like that!"
     Tahr also began to seethe.  "And I could have you
demoted so  fast your head will spin! I am serious!"
     "Then where is your entourage!  Where are your
guards!  You  look like a goatherd and you smell like. . .
I wonder the llamas can  stand it!" He waved at his
subordinates: "All right, check that wagon out from ears to
toes! And as for you. . . " he levelled a finger at  Tahr.
     His  troops were moving around to start searching the
wagon  and  found themselves staring up at me.  "Uh-uh,
guys," I  said,  then slowly grinned.
     "Ah. . . Sir?"
     "What?!" he snarled irritably and stepped around to
see what  their trouble was.  He stopped and gaped at me,
his ears drooping  like wet facecloths.
     "Is. . . " he swallowed: hard, "Is it dangerous?" he
squeaked.
     "Very," she hissed.
     "Get it out of the wagon. Now!" he yelled at her
reluctance. "You too! Down!"
     Snarling furiously she waved for me to get down and
dismounted herself.  I  took up my rifle as I dropped to
the ground.  She saw me cock  the  weapon  and  shook her
head in a gesture I  could  understand.  I  frowned, but
left the safety on.
     The Sathe looked all the more apprehensive when they
saw  my  size and kept a respectful distance as they
inspected the cart.
     Three Star watched me, keeping himself at a safe
distance  holding  the  llamas'  reigns.  Tahr cast a
glance over her shoulder at the guard searching the
wagonbed, then turned back to their  commander. "You! I
want your name and that of your superior."
     At  that moment,  one of the guards chose to point
out  the  fact that we had weapons in the back.
     Holding   the  sword  by  pommel  and  blade, Three
Star scrutinized the blade just below the cross guard where
Sathe pictoglyphs were engraved. He looked up at Tahr, his
ears slowly  flattening back on his skull. "Weapons. . .
Gulf weapons. And what were you going to be doing  with
these?"
     Tahr  had  just  started  to open her  mouth  when  a
voice  bellowed from the ramparts atop the gatehouse:
     "TAHR!"
     Everyone in earshot looked up at a soldier leaning
over  the  wall,  in serious danger of teetering over.
"You!" he pointed in  our direction.  "Wait there!  Don't
move!" He pulled back out  of  our sight.
     The guards had their swords drawn. If we had wanted to
move it would have become bloody. I think I could have
taken them, but  the archers on the walls would probably
get me.  We all waited in  a nervous tableau,  the Sathe
shifting and sniffing at me.  There  was a racket in the
tunnel, a sprinting Sathe - in all likelihood  the  guy who
was on the wall - dodged around the noses of a  team  of
bison,  prompting  curses from the driver.  He slowed  as
he  crossed  that  sharp  line  dividing  sunlight  and
shadow,  his  flapping  cloak turning from black to grey
and  settling  around his ankles. He was staring at Tahr.
     "By my Ancestors, Tahr! It is you!"
     "S'sahr?" Tahr squinted in the sunlight and dust,
shifting uncertainly, her ears going back. Twitching. She
was expecting something. I shifted the  rifle uneasily,
unsure of what to do.
     The  one  named S'sahr laughed,  that hissing  Sathe
laugh:  "Himself. You can relax, young one. Those days are
past."
     Tahr  relaxed  only a little,  and the  cloaked  Sathe
came  nearer.
     I stared. The scar ran from where S'sahr's right ear
used to  be,  down between his eyes, and ending up on the
left side of his  mouth.  A three centimetre wide strip of
puckered,  furless skin.  None of the others seemed
startled by it.
     However  the officer was thunder-struck,  more by his
words  than appearance.
     "You. . . You  ARE Tahr ai Shirai?. . . I did not
know. . . "  If  he  could  have blanched he would have
gone whiter  than  bleach.  He  looked  back  and forth
from S'sahr to Tahr,  the  captured  Gulf  sword  forgotten
in his hands,  visualizing his  career  slipping  down the
tubes.
     S'shar  strode  forward  until he was eye to  eye
with  the  hapless guard.  "Yes,  saf!   Tahr ai Shirai."
He whispered this,  then bellowed, "YOU DID NOT KNOW?!"
     "Sir,"  the  guard squeaked,  cringing  before  the
scarred  veteran's fury.
     "S'shar," Tahr held out a hand to forestall his anger.
"Leave him. I am too tired for that now."
     The grizzled Sathe dismissed the guard with a
disgusted hiss  and a swat across the ears that tore the
fragile membrane.  Blood  welled and the guard yelped and
scurried back a few steps. One of  his subordinates was
tactless enough to hiss amusement and he  in  turn had his
ears slashed.
     "Young  one,"  S'shar  reached  out  to  clap  Tahr
on  the  shoulder. "Or would High One be more appropriate?"
     As  if she was about to embrace him,  Tahr stepped
forward,  but stopped and hugged her arms about herself.
"No, no. You have  known  me too long for that." She looked
around at  the  watching  Sathe. We were beginning to
attract attention. "Perhaps we should  continue this
later," Tahr suggested,  then glared at the  guard:  "May I
pass now?"
     The guard hastily backed away, bleeding ears twitching
nervously. "Saaa. . . yes, of course."
     "May  I  have the honour of escorting  you?"  S'shar
asked.  Coming  from the torn old Sathe,  the courteousy
was a little out of place.
     Tahr smiled: "I think that I will be able to tolerate
that."
     She climbed up onto the drivers bench. S'shar leapt up
and settled beside her. He turned and stared at me in
surprise when I vaulted up onto the  bed of the cart. "What
is that. . . " he started to say.
     "Hai!" Tahr barked and cracked the reins, getting the
llamas  moving.
     Through the main gate was a broad plaza, paved,
surrounded by buildings and shops. A road main avenue
followed  a winding path up to where  a switchback road
climbed the steep hillside up  to the Citadel.  I was
surpised to see ancient trees overhanging the road, their
roots buckling the cobbles in some places.  I hadn't
expected a  fortress  city to waste space on extraneous
objects like trees. Still, they  looked good.
     If Baytown had been busy, this place exceeded it by a
factor  of ten. Shops and stalls lined both side of the
main street while  vendors roamed, hawking their wares,
selling everything from adze  and abaci to zinc ore and
zaxs.  The buildings the shops were  in  were  usually two
stories high; a ground floor store and  the  first  floor a
living  area. A few buildings were only one floor  and  I
didn't see anything above three.  Lines criss-crossed the
street  from the first floors.  Not power lines:  washing.
Alien laundry  drying in the cool sea breeze above the
streets.
     Despite  the small size of the buildings,  Mainport
was  an  unbelievable  busy  place.  Close on one hundred
thousand  Sathe  lived there and they all seemed to be on
the streets at the  same  time,  all  of them as varied as
those I'd seen elsewhere in  the  Realm.  As I ogled at
them,  many stared back at me and  excited  chatter started
up behind us.
     "If  you wanted to be unobtrusive then bringing your
pet  along  was not such a wise move. What is it anyway?"
S'sahr was staring at me  in bemusement. " I thought I was
quite knowledgable when it came to wildlife, but  this
thing. . . Some kind of freak bear?"
     Tahr  looked back at me - a warning glance - then
told S'shar, "Ah. . . There  are  a few things I will have
to explain, at the Citadel. My. . . pet is one of them."
     Yeah,  didn't want him falling out of the cart in
shock.  Being a freak to every new Sathe I met was getting
pretty tiresome.  It was something I was going to have to
get used to, no matter how it irked me.
     As the Citadel drew closer,Tahr hung a right, taking
us down a side street that wasn't half as spacious as the
main avenue, but was still every bit as busy.
     "You have business at the docks?" S'sahr asked.
     "Yes. There is a ship I have to find. I have some
cargo  due me."
     On the docks she stopped to study a large board with
dozens  of  smaller painted tags hanging from it.  Some
kind  of  directory.  She quickly scanned it.
     "Captain Hafair. . . building five."
     Of  course the docks were bigger and busier than
Baytown's  wooden  wharves.  These were solid stone,  with
an  artificial breakwater  surrounding the harbour.  The
dock had slipways cut into it, for hauling boats into and
out  of the water. Above it all, the walls of the Citadel
had vantages commanding the whole bay.
     During  the  storms of winter ships in  the  harbour
were  drydocked  for  repairs and refitting.  Already
there  were  six  vessels  sitting  high and dry on the
quayside.  Many  more  were  still  waiting  at anchor out
in the harbour,  sheltered  by  the  embrace  of the
harbour walls.  I thought I  recognized  Hafair's  command
out in the forest of masts. No, perhaps not.
     Tahr  was  reading what had to be numbers painted in
faded  black  paint on  boards on the fronts  of  waterside
buildings.  Finally she reined in the llamas outside  one
particular  structure. "This is it."
     "Here?"  S'sahr wrinkled his nose.  "What kind of
cargo?"
     "Just something I have to collect for a friend," Tahr
said. "This  should not take long. Wait here."
     "Hold," S'sahr stalled her. "Tahr, this thing," he
jabbed a finger in my direction, "Is it dangerous?"
     Tahr flashed a scintillating grin and smile at the
same time  and  replied,  "Only  when  provoked." Then she
pushed  her  way  through  a knot of Sathe outside the
front door of the  warehouse  and was gone.
     "Only  when  provoked," S'shar muttered staring  after
her,  then rubbed absently at the remains of his right
ear.  "Ah,  she  has changed. . . dragging pets around." He
sighed and turned to face  me.  "You  have  got to be the
weirdest thing I have  ever  seen!  Where did she dig up
something like you from?"
     I took it to be a rhetorical question.
     He noticed the bulky tarpaulin behind the drivers
bench  and  picked  up a corner,  then threw it aside
revealing the  pile  of  Gulf weaponry: scimitars, daggers,
crossbows, and bolts.
     "One sword I could understand, but all this. . . " His
eyes lit  upon  the M-16 and he reached out a furry paw to
pick  it  up.  I  also grabbed at it and a brief tug-of-war
ensued,  ending when  I  deliberately bared my teeth and
gave him a low growl.  He hastily  released  the rifle and
went for his sword.  I sat still  and  he  hesitated  with
the sword half-drawn,  then looked around at  the
pedestrians  who'd  stopped and were in  turn  watching
him.  He  blinked, then sheathed the weapon and sat
studying me.
     It's  amazing. Even when faced with someting that
walks like a Sathe, wears cloths and has hands, he didn't
even consider the possibility that it might be more than a
dumb animal. Most Sathe wouldn't consider it intelligent
unless  it could actually persuade them it is.  They had
never explored the possibility of other intelligences in
the universe.
     Well. . . give  them some more time and someone
would've  hit  upon the concept.  Until after the
industrial revolution and  men  had  more leisure time,
humans never considered it.  All they  had  was  themselves
and  the  Gods.  The Sathe  did  not  even  have  those,
they  only really lived for the present, and each  clan
was  fiercely proud of being self sufficient.
     We both waited for Tahr to return. She took her time.
 
******
 
     The gates of the Citadel were even more impressive
close up.  Three  sets of huge wooden doors -  each
reinforced with iron  and  covered  with  bronze sheets
beaten onto  astonishingly  detailed  mosaics -  hung
beneath the barbican that had been hewn from large  blocks
of solid granite.  It is hard to describe just how MASSIVE
the whole place was. Built to last for a thousand
generations.
     The Citadel guards moved toward us,  but took one look
at S'shar  and  waved  us on.  There were two more
gatehouses  inside.  The  Citadel  was built like an onion,
layer within layer,  all  with  their own guardposts.
     Tahr had collected my pack. While the wagon rolled
through the streets I'd sorted through it,  making sure
that  nothing  was  missing.  Everything seemed to be in
order and even my customised  cloak  was  still  there.  I
wish I could  have  seen  Hafair's  expression when she
walked in on him.
     We couldn't take the wagon all the way into the
Citadel. I  guess  they  also had their  security,  or
perhaps  just  problems with traffic. The only traffic
going through were goods wagons. S'shar pointed out to Tahr
that she had the right  to  take the wagon all the way to
the Keep,  but she declined, saying  she was just as
capable of walking as any other. After the third barbican
we had to  leave  the cart in a dark stable that reeked of
animals and rotting hay. A stablehand  -  still  a cub -
had the monotony of his day  broken.  Tahr,  still
chatting away with S'shar,  tossed the reigns to the cub
who  was  staring  at  me.  They slapped across his  chest;
his  reflexive  grabbed missed.  I stooped, picked them up
and handed them to him  with a smile. He stared at me, then
at the straps in my hand, but  didn't move to take them.  I
sighed,  pressed them into his  hand  and patted his
shoulder, then took off after the others.
     I  was  rubbernecking like a country rube fresh to
the  big  city as I crossed the yard to where S'shar led
the way up  a  narrow  staircase into a postern gate.  We
walked through  narrow  passages  and  dark  corridors,
occasionally  being  stopped  by  guards.  S'shar  got us
past these.  An old  veteran  supervising  three  younger
guards at a gateway recognized Tahr and  bowed  to  her.
After a moments hesitation, the others followed suit.
     "Excuse me highness, but should you be taking that,"
he eyed  me, "into the Keep?"
     "It is alright," she reassured him. "He goes where I
go."
     The  old  'sergeant' bowed his  head  again,  then
muttered  something  to one of the soldiers who took off
ahead of us with a spattering of claws on worn stone.
     "You  may  pass,  High  Ones."  That  was  a  change,
being  addressed with respect instead of scorn. From rags
to riches. Ah,  the whims of fortune.
     Tahr and S'shar led,  chatting amicably between
themselves,  swapping  titbits of news.  I trailed  after
them,  occasionally  lagging  behind to crane my head
around an open doorway  or  peer  into a cavernous gallery.
This place was humongous!
     But  as  we went deeper into the Citadel I  began  to
stick  closer  to the Sathes' heels.  Hunters' vision had
an  affect  on  Sathe  architecture.  This  far inside the
walls of  the  citadel  windows  were  impossible,  but the
Sathe  didn't  compensate  by  adding more artificial
lighting.  They didn't need to. What lamps  existed were
dim,  widely spaced oil lamps that left most of  the
corridors  in  near-blackness.  Tahr and S'shar had  no
trouble:  their  night  vision was superb.  However in the
worst  of  these  places I could hardly see my hand in
front of my face, and I sure  as hell couldn't see those
steps going down.
     While Tahr collected the M-16, I leaned against the
wall and  tested  my  right  wrist  that had take the
brunt  of  my  fall.  Thankfully it didn't seem broken,
just damn sore.
     I jumped as something patted my shoulder.  "K'hy, it
is me,"  Tahr's voice spoke into my ears. "Are you
alright?"
     I  nodded.  All I could really see of them were vague
solid  shapes  in  the dark,  their eyes catching  and
reflecting  what  little light there was.
     "What?" That was S'shar.  "Who are you. . . You are
not talking  to that. . . ?"
     Tahr ignored him. "What happened?" she asked me.
     "My  fault," I said.  "I cannot see my hand in front
of  my  face."
     There was a hissing sound as S'shar sucked air.
     "Oh,  I keep forgetting." There was a rustling sound,
then a  small  metal  cylinder  was pushed into  my  hand.
I  gratefully  flicked the anglehead on.
     Tahr squinted and threw up her hand to shield her eyes
when  the  white light lit upon her.  I moved the beam and
spotlighted  S'shar  standing plastered against the far
wall of the  corridor,  his  single ear down hard against
his skull and  eyes  wide.  "It  can. . . talk?" he
sputtered.
     "Amazing," I muttered with a shake of my head, " what
powers  of observation."
     "K'hy, hush!" Tahr warned me.
     "Tahr," S'shar almost growled.  "Enough is enough.
What  IS  that thing!?"
     "His  name is K'hy,  something-unpronounceable,  and
he is  a  male H'man.  That is the nearest I can pronounce
his  titles.  Do  not worry, he will not hurt you."
     "That  would be difficult,  he has the teeth and
claws."  I  held up my fingers and wiggled them: longer
than a Sathe's, but of  course without the claws.  It did
little to reassure the veteran.  When we made it to a
better lit section I saw that he did  indeed  have his own
claws out.
     The passage travelled up and down more flights of
stairs and  along  corridors  flanked on either side by
open  doorways.  The  rooms  beyond  were obviously living
quarters; equally obviously deserted for a long time.
Judging by what I'd seen so far they looked plush, with
tapestries,  carved  wood and stone panels, and furniture,
all crumbling, mildewed, and  generally dilapidated.
     "Why is this place so empty?" I finally asked. "All
these empty rooms. You redecorating?"
     Both  S'shar and Tahr looked around as though
noticing  the  abandoned chambers for the first time.
     "These were once servants quarters," Tahr explained.
"As the  Citadel is expanded they move to the new areas,
where  they are needed. These are abandoned. They might be
used again as  the population grows."
     "How long will that take?"
     She didn't answer immediately. "A long time."
     "Then why build all this if you have no real use for
it?"
     S'shar  answered that.  "There is always work being
done  on  the  Citadel.  There  are  plans for a  sixth
wall  outside  the  town. . . "  he wound down as though
suddenly realizing what he  was  talking to.
      "K'hy,  h'mans also build all the time,  do they
not?  You  have told me about your cities. Is that not the
same?"
     "Ah. . . well,  I do not think it is exactly the same
thing." I  replied.
     "Cities?"  S'shar  stopped in his tracks,  then
hurried  to  catch  up.  "Do  you  mean there are more  of
these?  They  have  cities?!"
     "Yes, it is difficult to explain, but there is a whole
world of them."
     S'shar went quiet, his ear wilting.
     We passed another guard post,  the sentries there
expecting  us.  They stiffened to attention as we passed,
but I felt eyes on  my back. A small postern beyond the
guard room opened into bright  sunlight and a vast expanse
of cobbled court.  I stepped out into  the  glare,
blinking.   The  Sathes'  slit  pupils  snapped  to
pinpricks. Despite the pervading odour of animal shit the
air was  nowhere near as oppressive as the dark,  heavy
atmosphere of  the  corridors beneath the walls.
     My first glimpse of the Citadel's Keep: I was
rubbernecking like a tourist.
     It was big, really big: the equivalent of three or
four football fields at least, encircled by three-story
high walls on the outside, the mountain of the Keep offset
at the northern end. A large gate stood open in the
easternmost wall,  admitting the heavy traffic.  To get
into  this  courtyard the llama drawn vehicles would have
had  to  have  entered the main gates,  then gone right,
following the curve of  the wall around,  then through
another set of gates, followed the  wall  further - uphill
all the way - then that  final  gate.  Any  hostile  forces
trying  the  same  manoeuvre  would  have  found
themselves under fire from the battlements all the way.
     As  we  started across the cobbled space I saw that
it  was  already dotted with Sathe: in groups and alone,
carrying barrels or boxes, cutting wood. There were
buildings up against the outer wall: small wooden
structures with tile roofs. Smoke trickled from the chimney
of what looked like a blacksmith's shop, other places must
have stables and sheds for wagons. Anything you wouldn't
want to keep inside. Off to my right I saw clusters of
Sathe in armour standing watching a pair sparring.  Swords
flashed and the noises rang off the walls.  A row  of
archers fired a volley at straw buttes strung up against a
wall;  I didn't see any miss.
     The  doors  to the central Keep - The Circle the
guard  had  called it - were hanging open.  I got a sudden
insight as to  the  scale  of  the  place  when a  small
group  emerged,  a  central  individual  surrounded  by
others.  They  were  dwarfed  by  the  portals. What were
the hinges made of?!
     "Rehr is waiting," S'shar informed Tahr. All I could
see was  an indistinct individual in rust red robes. "You
remember him?"
     "Of course.  How could I forget? Has he changed much?"
     "About as much as the Circle."
     Tahr smiled at that, then spoke to  me.  "K'hy,  stay
behind us and whatever you do,  make no  sudden  moves. I
think you will make them nervous." I slowed down so that
she and S'shar were a few paces ahead of me as we
approached  the  entrance.
     The  huge metal-bound doors hung open at the top of a
short  flight of steps.  All around the portal were
carvings of Sathe in  various  poses  and activities.
Above these towered  the  walls,  leaning slightly away
from us.  That must be Rehr waiting at the top of the
steps.
     He was an old Sathe.  His fawn pelt was peppered with
white  and grey,  especially around his nose and ears and
he was wearing  red robes,  things something like a monk's
cassock. Escorting him  were over a dozen armed Sathe in
blue and silver leather  armour,  their crossbow not quite
aimed at us,  but too many of them  were  eyeing me and
flexing their grips on their weapons.
     The elder said, "Thank you, S'shar."
     S'shar  ducked his head and stepped back into the
small ring of curious  Sathe  who  had gathered to watch.
     "Tahr, your arrival was. . . unexpected."
     She bowed before answering,  "I wished to keep it that
way.  There were. . . complications."
     Rehr looked her up and down for a second, taking in
her worn  and soiled kilt, her matted and tangled mane.
     "Please, this way." He turned and swept through the
gates
     "Follow," she hissed to me, following him.
     Totally  lost,  I did as she bade me. . . Only to
freeze in  my  tracks when about twenty crossbows suddenly
came to bear on me.
     "Let him pass!" Tahr snapped.
     The  soldiers hesitated then lowered their bows and we
were  inside.
     The interior of the Keep was dimly lit,  but enough
light  came in through the open doors and from oil lamps to
let me see.
     A lacquered wooden floor - the polish marred by
scratches from careless  claws - gleamed  in the light.
Columns supporting the roof  were inlaid with elaborate,
seemingly aimless  designs;  tantalizingly intricate,
almost gaudy. Balconies with carved railings looked out
over the floor. Tapestries the size of swiming pools
covered bare stone walls. There were stained-glass panels
concealed above the door, throwing a rose of tinted light
across the hall. I followed the Sathe on automatic, staring
at everything as  Rehr led us up a staircase and  along
passages  that  twisted  and turned,  through chambers and
galleries where  fires  and  torches  blazed,  illuminating
mind-twisting  frescoes  and  carvings  of  Sathe:
playing  instruments,  dancing,  fighting,  mating. . .
     I did a double take. Mating: those were quite
explicit. That was how they did it! Like a cat. Figures.
     There was no doubting this section of the Citadel was
occupied. Sathe bustled everywhere: guards, others carrying
bundles of cloth or wood, others dressed in expensive
finery. They all stood  aside  as  we  approached. I could
feel their eyes on my back, but there was too much else to
look at. The corridors were well lit and clean with
sculptures  every few metres.  One that caught my eye
seemed to be a mass  of  bubbles in blown glass.  I wasn't
quite sure whether it was meant  to be abstract or
representational. Other artifacts were made out  of boned
wood, polished stone, and dark metal.
     Down  a cul de sac a guard opened an inconspicuous
door  and  stepped aside as Rehr entered.  Tahr and I
followed.  The  guards  behind us started to follow, but he
waved them back.
     "No, wait outside."
     "But, Sir," one protested. "What of that?" she nodded
at me.
     Rehr glanced at Tahr who made an obscure little
gesture with  her  hands.  The red-robed elder studied me,
then dismissed  the  guards.  They  bowed and stepped back,
closing the  door  behind  them.
     He  led the way down a short hall that terminated in a
room  full  of what had to be a lifetime of assorted knick-
knacks.  A massive  desk of dark wood sat in front of a
pair of large mullioned windows. The tinted glass let the
light in, but the view through them was rather distorted.
Shelves  and  racks along the walls held dozens of scrolls,
leather  bound books,  polished rocks,  small carvings,
combs and brushes, small widgets made of sticks and string
and other things I  couldn't  name.  Beside  the desk stood
a  crude  spyglass   made  out  of  brass  and  decorated
with   elaborate  scrollwork. A polished copper oil lamp
with three wicks hung from the ceiling above the desk  and,
astonishingly,  a globe on carved wooden stand stood nearby
although only a fraction of the surface had been  charted,
the rest decorated with fanciful.  Dark- red  carpets  were
soft underfoot and several  small  tables  and  chairs were
scattered around.
     A faint but distinct cloying scent hung in the air. I
rubbed my nose. Staleness? No, not quite. Over by the
windows a pair  of globe-shaped ceramic bowls with
perforated lids smoked  gently: some  kind  of  incense.
Whatever it was it smelled sickly sweet, something like
pot. A whiff gave me a lightheaded feeling: I snorted
softly to try and clear the smell. Neither of the Sathe
seemed to notice.
     Settling  into the chair behind the desk,  Rehr
linked  his  fingers  together on the desk in front of him
and stared at  Tahr  out of impassive green eyes while I
waited quietly in the background.
     "Tahr, you look terrible."
     Indeed,  in  contrast  to Rehr - clean and  well
groomed  -  sitting in his study,  Tahr did look terrible.
Her once gleaming  coat was matted,  torn,  and smeared
with the dirt of days on the  road.  The  scar  across her
ribs was very  visible.  I  probably  wasn't any better
off.
     "Yes, High One," Tahr ducked her head.
     Rehr snorted.  "Enough of that, young one. I have
known you since  you were a cub and you may soon be my
superior.  There is no need  for the formalities." He
leaned back in the chair." Did you  know  that you are only
the third heir to arrive."
     Tahr was startled.  "But I left the manor months ago!
I was  sure I would be among the last to arrive."
     "Saaa,  we will continue to wait, but there is not
much time  left," he said,  then gestured at me.  "I take
it you had a  good  reason  for  bringing this along.  Tell
me,  why  is  it  wearing  clothing. Is it cold?"
     "Rehr, he is intelligent."
     He blinked. "Intelligent? You did say 'intelligent'?"
     "Yes, Rehr. It is quite a story. We have been
travelling together for some time and been through a lot.
He has kept my hide intact several times."
     "She has been able to return the favour," I added.
     Rehr stared.
     "Rehr,  this is K'hy, a h'man. K'hy, this is Rehr,
Adviser to  the Born-To-Rule, to the Shirai."
     I  bowed:  "I am honoured to meet you." Straightening,
pink floaters flashed in my eyes. I was feeling strange.
The  atmosphere seemed stifling,  the sweet,  sickly smell
in the  air  was unbearable. I blinked and took a deep
breath. It didn't  help
     "Tahr, where did you find such a. . . person."
     I  listened  as well as I could while Tahr once  again
went  over the story of how we had met. As she went on it
got harder to concentrate. Her voice, a low, steady
susuruss that began to merge with the pulse of  blood  in
my ears. Listening, but not hearing, not feeling anything.
As though through a heavy sheet  I heard my voice.
     "Tahr?. . . I think I am. . . "
     And the room reeled.  I felt myself hit the floor. Not
pain,  just  the  pressure,  a dull thud through my bones.
Then  I  was  sprawled  on cold wood,  Sathe feet - all
toes - in front  of  my  face.  I was rolled over and
Sathe,  ten kilometres high,  loomed  over me. I was
choking in that smell, smothered in pollen.
     If someone was trying to speak to me,  I didn't hear
it.  I  wasn't even aware when it went dark.
 
******
 
     It was dark.
     I opened my eyes.
     It was still dark and there was a heavy metal concert
going into a drum solo behind my eyes.  For a while I just
lay  quietly, breathing lightly to stop my head exploding
and it was a few minutes before I felt like taking stock. I
was  lying in my shorts in the dark on a bed, a real one:
bowl-shaped, but with a real mattress and soft sheets.
Sitting up made my head pound.  I  groaned  and  clutched
my throbbing skull. Something had died on my tongue.
     There was moonlight enough to let me see as I lurched
to  my  feet and half-walk,  half-stagger across the wooden
floor to the open window, almost tripping on the edge of a
rug in the process.
     I  clung to the windowsill and breathed deeply of the
cool,  clear night air. That helped to clear my spinning
head a bit.  I could see that I was in one of the highest
points of the Citadel,  looking down on all of Mainport.
     The  clouds  that  had blocked the sun during  the
day  had  dissipated,  scattered by the winds to reveal the
stars  sprawled  in all their glory across the sky. Beneath
me, bathed in a bluish  moonlight,  lay  the dark streets
of Mainport.  The  harbour  was  still,  the  waters
reflecting the moon in the heavens  and  the  occasional
lantern on the dockside.
      I didn't hear the latch lift,  nor the door swing
open.  It  was  the pool of light spilling through from the
other  room  that  startled me.  Turning too quickly and
the room wallowed like a ship's deck. I just managed to
catch myself on the window sill  before I hit the floor
again.
     "K'hy!" Tahr hissed.  She moved to help me off my
knees  and  back to the bed where I sagged down.  She sat
down beside me  and  stroked my brow. "I am glad to see you
are up. You are feeling better?"
     "Uhnn," I croaked.  My throat hurt.  I worked my jaw
to  get  some saliva flowing. "W. . . What the fuck
happened?"
     She pressed a damp cloth to my forehead,  wiped my
face with  it. "I am not sure. We think it was the thamil."
     "Huh? Hamil?"
     "Thamil," she enunciated. "Rehr was burning it in his
study.  It  is just a scent. . . usually." I could see her
eyes glowing  in  the starlight. "It seemed to have a more
adverse effect on you."
     I groaned and rubbed my face.  My head felt as though
it was  full of guncotton.  "You can say that again.
Please,  is there  any water?"
     Tahr  lifted  the cloth away and padded across  to  a
chest  beside the door.  There was the gurgling of liquid
being  poured.  She  returned and pressed the mug into my
hands:  "Here." It  was  water: cool and wet.
     A minute later I felt ready to make another effort to
stand  upright.  "No, I am all right," I protested,
shrugging off Tahr's  hands. I made it back to the window
on my own, "Where am I?"
     "Safe  now." Tahr stood beside me at the  window,
ready  to  catch me if I collapsed again.  "These are your
chambers now. You  are officially my guest here."
     I  didn't  know what to say.  I hedged  around  it:
"It  is  beautiful out there."
     Her head moved to look,  a slight breeze ruffling the
fur of  her mane.
     "Thank you for everything, Tahr, but I do not know how
long I  will be able to stay."
     There was a second's silence.
     "You want to find other H'mans."
     I nodded, aware of how hopeless that sounded; "If
possible." I turned back to the window.
     "They  must be out there, they've got to be."
     There  was more silence,  then needle sharp claws
caught  my  shoulder, squeezed gently. When they released
me I slipped my arm  around the warm figure beside me.
     We stayed like that for about a minute,  then she
disengaged  from my arm and silently padded over to the
door.
     "Will you be all right?"
     I nodded.
     "Then you should sleep now. Good night, K'hy."
     As  the door closed behind her,  I  smiled  slightly.
'Good  night'. She'd picked that off me.  I stared at the
mug in my hand, then tossed back the final mouthful of
water and clambered back  onto the bed.
 
******
 
     I  ignored the hand that was gently shaking me  until
claws  started to dig into my shoulder. "Ouch! Christ!" I
rolled and squinted into the sunlight streaming in through
the window.
     "Good  morning," Tahr smiled down at me.  "Are  you
feeling  better?"
     I began to answer, then squinted at the Sathe, not
quite so sure. "Tahr?"
     It was her. The bedraggled young Sathe  from Rehr's
study had washed and brushed her fur until it shone with a
glossy sheen I'd never seen before, turned to a silver
nimbus by a sunbeam that touched her. Her breeches were
immaculate: green with intricate gold trim. In the months I
had known her I'd never seen her looking like this.  She
looked  like. . . royalty.
     She preened, pretending to examine  a claw. "You
like?" she asked.
     "I like," I confirmed.
     She batted a hand against my cheek,  then stood and
went  to  stare out the window, her back to me. From the
slant of the sun I  guessed  it was about nine o'clock.  I
glanced at  my  wrist;  my  watch was gone. "You were
talking in your sleep last night," Tahr  said. "Your
noises."
     "Oh," I said. I didn't remember anything.
     She  turned to lean against the window sill.  "Do  you
feel  like walking?" she asked. "There is someone who wants
to see us."
     Again: "Oh? Who?"
     She smiled then, blinking peacefully in happy
reminiscence, "Someone special. Someone I have not seen in
a long time."
     "Ah,  for you I think I can manage that." I unfolded
myself  from  the bowl-shaped bed,  muscles unused to
sleeping on such  a  shape and softness protesting.
     The  room  was not as small as it had  seemed  the
previous  night. The bed was the largest piece of furniture
in the room and  stood against the south wall,  opposite
the door.  The window  in  the east wall admitted both
light and cold air.  Woollen rugs in subdued earthy shades
lay across the wooden floor. A large metal-bound chest
stood near the door.
     "Where are my clothes?"
     Tahr  opened the chest and drew out a pair of  blue
Sathe  breeches and my customised cloak. "Wear these."
     That didn't really answer my question. The breeches
were too short in the legs and the crotch and the cloak
hung open,  exposing my scarred chest.  I had  to hold it
shut with one hand.
     "I feel ridiculous," I muttered.
     Tahr looked me up and down. "You will need some more
clothes  made for you. Those do not exactly flatter you."
     "Understatement of the year."
     She smiled. "Hurry, or we will be late."
     Through the door was another room;  a study. A desk
stood in  front  of a window in the east wall and there
were empty  shelves  along the far wall. A fireplace with a
stone slab hearth stood in  the northeast corner,  a small
pile of wood beside it.  A door in  the  west wall led to
the corridor.  I walked beside Tahr as  she  stalked  along
the passage with feline grace.  She  pointed  out  another
door down the hall. "My chambers," she told me.
     We  moved deeper into the maze of the Keep's
corridors,  meeting Sathe everywhere. Most greeted Tahr and
gave me dubious looks.  Carved slabs of stone,  reaching
from floor to ceiling, decorated  the halls. Like the
passages in the outer walls, some stones looked new  while
others  were obviously ancient.  In one particularly
ancient  carving, something  seemed strange about the worn
Sathe figures  etched  into it,  but we passed before I
could make out exactly what.
     There were     more stairs, then a guardroom. A Sathe
was there waiting for us; a servant decked out in simple
brown breeches. "High One," he greeted Tahr. "Please,
follow me."
     Weird. He hardly spared me a second glance.
     Beyond that the halls changed. The walls were panelled
in wood, the floor covered in carpets decorated with
curlicues to rival any Persian rug. Heavy, metal-reinforced
doors stood every few metres, with guards posted
alternately, like statues in blue and silver armour,
sheathed swords in hand, their heads turning to follow us
as we passed by. Halfway down our guide stopped us,
directing us through a doorway.
     "Here?" Tahr sounded surprised. "What about the royal
chambers?"
     The servant ducked his head. "They have not been used
for some time."
     "Why?"
     "The Lord has not had need of them."
     I saw the wrinkles across Tahr's brow. Something was
puzzling her.
     These might not have been the royal chambers, but they
were plush enough,  and big. Paintings hung from the  walls
and blown glass sculptures decorated shelves.  A large  map
of  the  eastern States - the Eastern Realm I should say  -
hung  from a wall behind a desk. The entire floor was
covered by a huge  rug woven in complex geometric patterns
and curtains  partitioned  off other areas of the chambers.
Something made from moving metal  parts, wood, and water
dripped away in a corner. A clock? I  whistled softly.
Whoever lived here would have to  be  a  real bigwig. The
Lord, the servant had called him.
     "Please, wait," the servant bowed, then disappeared
through the curtains.
     "The Lord?" I whispered to Tahr.
     "The Born Ruler," She smiled. "My Ancestors, it has
been a long time."
     The curtains rustled and Rehr stood there, still
wearing the red robes. Tahr bowed to  him, and I imitated
her.
     "High one." He bowed to Tahr, then studied me, up and
down. "I hope you are feeling better. I never thought
thamil would have such  an  effect  on  anyone." He turned
and parted the drapes.  "Please, he is waiting  for both of
you."
     I followed Tahr through the curtains.  It took a
second  for  my eyes to adjust to the gloom.  Some light
filtered through  the  drapes that had been pulled across
the window and I saw the  room  was dominated by the
typical bowl-bed favoured by Sathe.
     "That would be Tahr."
     I  heard her hiss of breath,  then she was kneeling
by  the  bed,  clasping  the hand of the shrivelled and
grey-furred  Sathe  lying there, her ears canted sideways
and a mournful expression  on her face. With his free hand,
the old Sathe on the bed reached  out and gently felt her
face;  the sides of her muzzle,  her ears  and  the silver
ring there.  I realized with a start that he  was  blind.
     "Father!. . . I did not. . . When did this happen to
you?"
     Father!?
     The torn ears twitched in a smile.
     "Months ago. An attempt on my life."
     She hung her head. "I never heard."
     "I  did not want you to know." He sank back on the
cushions  with a sigh that seemed to come from his bones.
"I was afraid it  might affect your studies."
     She lifted one hand and oh so softly batted the side
of  his  face. He smiled up at her. "You are well?"
     "I am fine."
     "How is Saerae?"
     Pushing the subject away from himself,  trying to
spare  her  thinking about it. But of all the things on the
face of the planet, why did he have to ask about Saerae?
     Tahr flinched back; in shock, perhaps in memory. "You
knew?"
     "Saaa,  daughter.  You think I would not know when you
chose the one to sire your young?"
     I slowly shook my head. Oh, Tahr.
     "But you did not know that he is dead."
     The Shirai was silent,  his milk-white eyes closed.
"No. . . I did  not know. I am so, so sorry. How. . . "
     "On our way here,  Gulf mercenaries. . . They knew
Father! They  knew. It was only through coincidence that I
escaped."
     "Yes, I have heard about your 'Coincidence'," he
murmured
     Tahr  laid her head on his shoulder and was silent.  I
felt  like an interloper.  As quietly as I could, I pushed
back through the heavy draperies.
     Rehr was at his desk,  scratching away with a quill
pen.  He  looked up as I left the room, but said nothing.
     God,  she  was daughter to the old king or whatever he
was.  She  had  never  told me.  That word they used  to
describe  her  position 'candidates'.  I thought she was
just a nominee  running  for the position of Shirai.
     Shirai:  not  just a title but a name.  I hadn't known
that  either.  I had a recollection of the dark-furred
Hymath,  and the  questions she asked me about Tahr,  about
her clan name. I hadn't  realised.
     And for a homecoming,  to find her father dying.
Christ! How  many of those closest to her had she already
lost? How many more?  Why?  There were  circumstances
beyond  my  control,  and  they'd  already drawn me in out
of my depth. How much further could I go?
     We'd had an agreement,  Tahr and I. There was that
afternoon  on the hill above Traders Meet when I'd agreed
to help her get to  Mainport.  Now  my part of that
agreement had been fulfilled  and  things were still
changing.  There was something happening here I  didn't
understand.  Someone was trying to kill her,  had tried to
kill her father, had perhaps killed the other Candidates.
     Would she still need me?
     In  my mind I recalled what we'd been through,  how we
met,  some of those early summer days when it had almost
seemed a  game  to  learn about one another.  It had
changed.  We had grown  from  that simple childhood state.
My life back home - if I could call  it  home - now seemed
like something far removed.  It had been real, I had lived
it,  but somehow it was starting to feel like nothing more
than  an elaborate memory. And this. . . this craziness,
this was reality.
     Shit. You could drive yourself mad thinking like that.
     I  wandered  across  to the room to  stand  and  study
that  tapestry covering a wall:  an ornate, pictorial
representation of  the Eastern Realm.  The brilliant
colours,  idiographic text, and  seemingly  abstract
designs that meandered their way  across  the  fabric never
obscured the actual land that was being portrayed.
     And  I  knew  that  land.  I'd  been  staring  at
pictorial  renditions  of  that  land throughout high
school  and  college.  Perhaps I'd had some doubts when
Tahr scratched her crude map  in  the dirt, but now. . . I
couldn't doubt any longer.
     There was the east coastline,  florida,  and the area
around  the Gulf of Mexico.  There were graphics
representing cities  and  towns,  mostly scattered up and
down the east coast,  around  the  northern area of the
Gulf,  and around the Gulf of Saint Lawrence  where  Canada
should be;  There were hardly any  settlements  in
Florida.
     That was all there was - the east seaboard of the
states and  Canada,  the Florida peninsula, and the Gulf of
Mexico - the rest  of the map was a blank. Terra Incognito.
     Exactly  what had happened to me was a mystery I was
sure  I  was never going to unravel.  This WAS earth,  but
yet it  wasn't.  This WAS America,  yet again it wasn't.
An alternate earth where  the  big  cats  of  the Americas
had  ascended  well  beyond  the  threshold of simple
animal awareness.
     They were well the equal of any evolved ape.
     On  that  subject,  what had happened to the  apes
over  in  Africa?  What  had  they  been doing while the
Sathe  were  busy  evolving?
     I  didn't have the answer to that either.  Well,  the
Sathe  would  definitely be interested in sending ships
east across  the  Atlantic.  A  whole  new world over there
to  explore,  with  new  produces, animals, and deposits of
precious metals. That would be  bait enough to tempt the
most sceptical soul.
     An alternate earth,  as if every time a choice,  a
decision,  was made,  a new reality was created.  If I were
to flip a  coin,  would  that  create universes in which it
landed  heads,  tails,  perhaps even a universe where it
landed on edge?
     Could an action as frivolous, as inconsequential, as
tossing  a coin create worlds?
     Or perhaps it took an event that could change a world,
such  as  a pseudo-cat overcoming its fear of a lightning-
struck  fire,  using it for warmth on a cold night,
learning to feed the flames  to keep it alive.
     "You are not going to collapse again?"
     I wheeled at the voice.  Rehr was hovering beside his
desk,  dithering between perhaps helping me or making for
the  door.  He  gestured towards me: "You do not need
help?"
     "No," I shook my head. "Thank you, but I will be
alright."
     "You  have  been  standing there  for  some  time. . .
You  are  familiar with maps?"
     "Yes,"  I nodded and gestured at the  illuminated
tapestry.  "My people use them. Same things. Ah. . . How
old is this one?"
     "That  particular  one,"  Rehr  nodded  at  the
illuminated  tapestry, "was woven by Methres ai Ch'athr,
not four years ago."
     "I can see you have still got a lot to explore."
     "What do you mean?"
     I shrugged. "I have seen maps that are more. . .
complete."
     "Of our lands?  Tahr told me you said you came from
another  world. 'One that is ours but not ours'. I cannot
quite comprehend  that. You mean your world's geography is
identical to ours?"
     "Very  similar," I said.  "I can look out the window
in  my  room and see the area where I was raised,  but it
is not the same  place at all."
     "A strange idea."
     "Yes."
     Rehr was quiet for a second, ears twitching in
thought.
     "Is there anything out there?" he finally asked me.
     I looked at where his claw had jabbed the map,  about
where  England would be.
     "Well,  if  it is consistent,  there should be lands
to  the  south of this one,  below the Gulf Realm, a
continent bigger than  this one over to the east,  and
another one down here  somewhere.  Also on the top and
bottom of the word." I pointed them out as  I  spoke. "The
world is a big place."
     Some time later Rehr was still staring at the map when
Tahr  laid a hand on my shoulder. I hadn't heard her come
out.
     "He wishes to. . . see you," she said.
     "Why did you not tell me he was your father."
     She gave me a small,  sad smile.  "You never asked.
Go now,  quickly."
     I  pushed  the drapes aside as I stepped back into
the  dim  room and stood for a second, blinking.
     "You must be Ka. . . K'hy," said the gruff voice.
     "Yes, High One."
     There was a slight pause.
     "She said you are not Sathe. You sound different."
     He was sitting propped up against his cushions. His
rheumy eyes were wandering sightlessly,  but his ears were
locked on  me  and twitching.
     "I am. . . different. Quite different."
     "Please, come here." A hand patted the left side of
the bed.  I went and knelt down beside him.
     He  reached  to  touch  me  and  I  pulled  back  a
little,  forestalling him. "Sir, you are sure that you want
to do that?" I  asked,  for some reason worried he might
have a heart  condition.  "I am not Sathe. You may be. . .
startled."
     "Tahr told me what to expect," he assured me.
     He touched my hand and in that instant his pads
touched  me,  I saw him flinch, then relax again. For a
while he just touched my skin, then he began mapping the
shape of my hand, examining the  fingertips and nails,
which way my fingers bent. He ran his fingers up my arm,
feeling  the light hair that grew there, the pads on the
undersides of his  fingers cool and dry and slightly rough
against my skin.
     I managed not to flinch when he reached my face and
explored  that;  feeling the bone structure,  my nose and
lips. He followed  the  contours of my ears and felt the
bristles of  my  beard.  He  finally  ran his fingers
through my hair, feeling the shape of my  skull.
     "I  would  never  have believed it,"  he  murmured
and  sank  back against the cushions.
     "I suppose I do take some getting used to," I said.
     "Huh!  Hearing  about  you is  one  thing.  Actually
seeing  you. . . "  he  smiled then,  "So to speak,  it  is
something  else  altogether. You are truly from another
world?"
     "In a way; yes I am."
     "Yes,  Tahr  did try to explain," the old Shirai
sighed  and  turned those blank eyes my way. "I wish I
could see you. She told  me  so  much. . . For what you
have done for my daughter I will be forever grateful."
     "High One. . . " I started but he cut me off with a
wave of his  hand.  "I  know  the  sacrifices  that you
have  made  for  her;  willingly and otherwise.  I do not
care what you look  like:  you  have the heart of a Sathe."
     "I. . . "  Shit!  I didn't know how to put it  into
words.  "I  thank you, High One."
     "You  have  known Tahr for several  months;  have
travelled with her,  fought with her. You would know,
better than  I. . . "
     "Know what?"
     He gave a small smile.  "I am not going to deny I am
dying,  but  it would make it easier if I knew. . . Would
Tahr make  a  good  successor?"
     Dumbstruck,  I floundered for a response. "I. . . ah.
. . I do not  think that I can be the judge of that.  I am
not sure that I know  what abilities a Sathe ruler must
have, High one."
     He snorted faintly. "Just tell me what you know of
her, what  you have seen in her."
     "Sir. . . I  can honestly say that I have never  known
anybody  like her. Being able to call her a friend is
something I can take  pride in.  She is warm, caring,
loyal, intelligent, and brave. If  those are qualities you
value, I think that she would be a worthy  heir."
     "Thank you," he murmured and was still for a time.
Then: "Do  you feel the same way about her as she does
about you?"
     "I  do  not understand," I said,  although I already
had  a  glimmering of what he was getting at.
     "She has told me about her Time and I am curious to
know how  you found it."
     "Uh. . . You. . . " I stammered to halt and swallowed
hard.
     The  Shirai's blind eyes closed and he hissed in
amusement.  "My Ancestors! She was right:you are shy!"
     I felt the flush crawling up my neck.
     "No," he calmed down again.  "Do not worry about that.
Tell  me: what do you think her feelings for you are?"
     I floundered for words:  embarrassed.  "I. . . I know
that  she  does  not  hate  or  fear  the  way  I  look,
but  as  for  what  happened. . . she could not help
herself then. . . could she?  There is  no way that she can
think of me as a Sathe."
     "She  cares  for you a great deal,  Strange  One,"
the  old  Shirai  was  staring  sightlessly at the low
ceilings  with  its  massive  rafters.  "She  knows that
she can never have you  as  a  mate,  but still she cares
for you.  You have her friendship, and  her love."
     I shook my head.  I had believed that night in the
cave  was more. . . hormones than anything else.  I tossed
things over  in  my head;  The times I had woken up from
dreams and she was there,  the times she cared for me when
I was ill and no-one else  would,  the time in the sun-
warmed grass when she had bitten me.
     "Well?" he asked. "Am I wrong?"
     "No." I bit my lip; unable to deny it. "I think not."
     He smiled: "Good."
     "Good?"
     "Yes."  Those blind eyes turned in my direction.
"Sometimes a bitter looking fruit hides a sweet centre. She
cares for you, a great deal, no matter what you look like
on the outside. I know my daughter and she is no fool. I do
not know you as well, but from what I have heard she judged
correctly.  If she can continue to do so well, I think she
will make a worthy successor. No?"
 
******
 
      I sank back in the hot water with a grateful sigh and
closed  my  eyes  as  the tendrils of steam wound their
way  across  the  surface of the pool. The water I
disturbed slapped lazily against  the sides before settling
back to quiescence.
     Whether  by luck or design the citadel had been  built
over  natural hot springs and the Sathe were not reluctant
to make  use  of them.  Several rooms in the lower levels
of the Keep had  been  built as baths, with receptacles the
size of small swimming pools  cut into the stone floors and
filled with deliciously hot  water.  Benches  hewn  into
the sides of the pools were worn  smooth  and  clean by
water and Sathe behinds.  In the centre of each of these
pools stood a large,  dark stone like Sathe's fang with the
edges  chiselled sharp, a half-metre poking above the
water. Decoration?  It reminded me of a shark's fin.
     The water was clean,  with no algae or deuterus.
Light came  from oil fires burning in niches in the walls.
I had one of  the  rooms  for  myself and that probably
wasn't normal.  Had  it  been  cleared for my befit or the
Sathes'?
     Whatever. I wasn't going to pass up the chance for the
first  hot bath in half a year.  I dunked my head and held
my breath  as  long as I could while giving my head a good
scrubbing,  hoping to  kill or dislodge any passengers I
might have picked up  over the last couple of weeks.  When
I surfaced, Tahr was sitting  on the edge of the pool,  her
feet trailing in the water.  Beside  her sat my boots.
     "They were not happy to give them up," she said.
     "Who and what?" I asked.
     "Scholars."  She stood up and began shucking  her
breeches,  still  talking.  "Engineers,  smiths.  They  are
examining  your  possessions. . . They have not made much
progress."
     Her clothes lying in a pile behind her, she slowly
descended  the steps into the pool.  I watched the water
slowly climbing her  body  - her fur billowed out in a ruff
at the waterline  -  until  it stopped at her neck.  She
hissed in pleasure and sank onto one  of the benches.
     "But  do  they have to examine my  clothes?  They  are
just  cloth."
     She snorted. "Just cloth! Some of the cloth is
recognizable,  but  most of it is an enigma.  The tightness
of  the  weave,  the  strength. . . They have never seen
anything like it."
     I  slouched  lower  into the  water,  staring  at  the
worn  stonework on the far side of the pool.  In the centre
of the bath  there was that large piece of jagged rock
sticking up out of  the  water,  roughly triangular in
shape.  Sathe have strange artwork,  but still it didn't
resemble that.
     "What is that?" I asked, staring at it.
     For an answer,  she stood and waded out to the stone.
There  was  an underwater dais around it,  bringing the
water up to  her  shoulders.  She leant her back against
one of the chiselled edges  of  the monolith and started
rubbing against it like a  housecat,  her eyes closed and
her ears back in a smile.
     A backscratcher.
     "Come, join me." She grinned at me.
     I grinned back and waded across the pool and leaned
against  the rock.  The surface was rough behind my back,
like sharp-edged  pumice. Not unpleasant. I laughed at the
sensation.
     "Nice. But is this all they're for? Backscratchers?"
     "Nice?" Tahr moved around in front of me,  mane
plastered across her  shoulders, bemusement wrinkling her
brow. "Is that all it is to you?"
     "Huh? What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding
     She kicked my feet out from under me and when I got my
head  above water again and sneezed the water out of my
nose,  she  was  sitting against the side of the pool.
     "What was THAT for?" I implored.
     "You  are impossible.  You are just so different.  I
try  to  treat  you as though you are normal male," she
raised  her  hands  and  rubbed the side of her muzzle,
wetting the fine fur  there,  "but you do not ACT like a
normal male." She dropped her hand and  it splashed into
the water.
     I pushed my way through the pool to sit beside her,
silent.
     "What did you and my father talk about?" she asked.
     "Uh. . . You."
     "I thought as much. What about me?"
     "He  wanted  to  know if I thought you  would  make  a
good  successor."
     "Do you?"
     "Definitely."
     She smiled and cocked her head delicately to one side:
"I am  pleased someone has faith in me. What else did you
talk about?"
     I  felt the corners of my mouth twitch.  "I think
that  you  already have an idea."
     "Ah," she nodded slowly. "And what did you say about
us?"
     I  leaned  my  head back against the edge of  the
pool  and  stared  up  at  the ceiling.  There were things
her  father  had  said. . . I  wanted  to know if they were
true.  Were  her  feelings  towards me something I could
understand,  or were they a drive so  alien  that  they
could mean the world to  her  but  nothing  to  me?
     "You know," I finally said,  "your father cares a
great deal  for you."
     "I know," she said. "And I for him."
     "After what you told him about us, he wanted to know
how I felt about you: did I feel the same for you as you do
for me."
     "And do you?"
     I  lowered  my  head  and  spoke  to  the  water's
surface:  "I. . . cannot say. I do not know. . . what you
feel."
     Tahr's eyes widened,  then her ears danced.  "Did that
night  in the cave not tell you?"
     I shrugged,  sending ripples right across the  pool.
"Tahr,  you do not understand me and often I cannot
understand you.  That  night. . . I  do  not know if you
made love to me  through  want  or  NEED. You did not seem
to be. . . yourself."
     She was quiet for a while then she said softly,
"Times  are  difficult for us,  but I knew what I wanted. I
like that term you  used, 'making love'. For me that is
what it was."
     Oh Jesus!
     It went that deep.  Damnation,  couldn't she see it
wouldn't  work!  How  could  she have feelings like that
for  me?  We  were  different species! How could she love
me?!
     And why was I so hurt by the realization it was
impossible?
     "K'hy,"  she  touched my arm.  "I know that  you
cannot  be  everything  a  Sathe  male is:  I know that
you  cannot  replace  Saerae.  But  there  are other paths
of friendship:  you  are  my  companion,  you have saved my
life and you have lived with me and  loved with me. K'hy, I
love you as a friend."
     She leaned against me and I could feel her fur moving
in the  gentle currents in the water.  I felt her breath
against the side  of  my  face a split second before she
touched her  mouth  to  my  cheek in her version of a human
kiss.
     When she pulled her lithe and dripping form out of the
bath,  the temperature of the liquid seemed to drop
slightly.  She dried  herself  by shaking and rubbing down
with a piece of cloth off  a  pile by the door. I got out
soon after she left the room. It's not so much fun by
yourself.
     That  evening  I waited for my food to arrive as it
had  at  lunch,  delivered by a wide eyed cub who
practically dropped  the  food and ran.
     I  was  sitting on the desk staring out the  window
at  the  lights  of Mainport and humming disjointed
snatches of dimly remembered songs. What Tahr had told me
earlier echoed in my head, but  the  warm  feeling  that
conjured shared  rent  with  a  nagging  foreboding: could
friendship be stretched too far?
     When  the  scratch at the door pulled me from my
reverie  I  went to answer it,  getting ready in case he
dropped the tray  as  he had earlier. It wasn't room
service.
     "Tahr. . . " I broke off and stared.
     She  was  dressed in bright red breeches tied  with  a
cord  inlaid with silver thread.  Her tan fur had been
brushed until it  glowed  and  her mane was strung around
her shoulders  in  artful  disarrangement.  Around  her
neck,  she wore a necklace  of  fine  silver  wire twisted
and woven into fine designs.  On  her  right  wrist she
wore a light bracelet of a similar design, but this had  a
large blue stone imbedded in it: a single bluebottle
trapped in a silver filigree web.  Hanging from her left
hip was  a scabbard made of laminated walnut and inlaid
with  silver.  The  protruding scimitar handle was bound
with some kind of dark twine  with a dark stone mounted on
the pommel, set in silver.
     I swallowed. "You have outdone yourself."
     "Thank you," she smiled and pushed passed me into the
room.  Tucked  under her arm was bundle of green cloth with
what  looked  like  a scabbard rolled up in it,  she spread
the lot out on  the  desk.
     "I  am  sorry that I have not had time to find a
tailor  to  make you some proper clothes,  so these will
have to do in  their  stead." She waved a hand at the
undersized breeches I was wearing  and said, "Get rid of
those and put these on, we have a dinner to  attend."
     My fatigue pants were there,  as well as my shirt,
belt, and  sheath knife. I was right about the scabbard: it
was wood, coated  with black lacquer, and definitely
contained a sword.
     I  stripped off the five-sizes-too-small pair of
breeches  I  was  wearing and pulled on the trousers.
They'd been washed  and  ironed  or pressed,  but not
starched,  so the seams were not as  crisp as they could
have been; likewise with the shirt. Also, the  cleaning
couldn't do anything about the faded and worn cloth, nor
the repaired tear,  but it was a great relief to get into
clean,  comfortable clothes again.
     I  buckled  on the belt and clipped the knife  to  it,
then  hefted the sword gingerly.
     "Do I wear this?"
     "Yes. Here, on your belt. That is right."
     After  that came my boots - cleaning them up with a
bit  of  spit  and polish.  Not exactly parade ground
standard, but  better  than nothing.
     Tahr eyed me critically.
     "Not too bad. . . sit down." I did so.
     She  stood  behind  the chair and began to  rake  her
claws  through  my hair,  straightening it,  pulling  it
back.  Another  advantage of claws: built in combs.
     Sitting  with another person combing your hair is
strangely  relaxing;  built-in social grooming habits I
guess.  I could have  easily  dozed off,  but she finished
quickly,  and with  a  final  flick of hair, she stood back
to examine her work.
     "Much better. You look presentable. Come on."
     "Where are we going?"
     "Dinner."
     "And for that I need a sword?"
     "Oh, bring your knife also."
     I grabbed the knife and slipped it into a pocket,
snuffed out the oil  lamp, and  followed her out the door,
slamming it behind me.
     As  we  marched down the corridor,  I  patted  the
scabbard  banging against my leg. "What am I supposed to do
with this? I do  not  even  know  how to use the thing.
Would  not  my  rifle  be  better?"
     Tahr waved a 'no'.  "There should be no need to use
it.  The  sword in any case is purely ceremonial. Offer it
at the door, but  keep  your  knife.  Stand against the
wall,  directly  behind  my  chair.  Do  not speak unless
spoken to directly,  and  always  be  courteous."
     "Tahr, why am I doing this?"
     "I need an escort. You are the only one that I trust
enough.  The others will have escorts from their personal
staff.  You  are  all I have."
     "Sorry to disappoint you."
     "I did not mean it like that."
     "Who are these 'others'?"
     She  smoothed  down a bit of fur on  her  chest.
"Why,  the  returned heirs of course."
     We stopped in a small antechamber,  opposite a set of
heavy  wood doors with guards posted. They opened the doors
for us.
     The  room wasn't the grand hall with huge banquet
table  I'd been half-expecting.  A low ceiling was
supported by  massive  wooden  beams.  Through twin
archways in the far wall  a  balcony  commanded a view over
the outer Citadel walls towards the  forest  and  farmland
to the west.  There was a table and  at  least  it  wasn't
too different from what I'd imagined.
     Massively  built.  Dark  wood,  polished  to  a  high
sheen  anchored  upon  a strangely carved central
pedestal.  Out  of  a  possible fourteen places five had
been set;  two on each side and  one at the far end.  A
conical brass candelabra with three  tiers  of   candles
sat  in  the  centre  of   the   table,   providing
illumination. Two seat at the table were occupied.
     The two Sathe - one male, one female - sitting
opposite each  other  at the table turned to face us as we
came  in.  The  looks  they gave Tahr were definitely not
friendly and the one she  gave  in  return  told me there
was no love lost  between  them.   When  their  eyes turned
to me it was obvious that they forgot  about  Tahr there
and then.  Nostrils  and  eyes  flared  wide  as
neurological  hardwiring tensed them against possible
threat.
     Following  Tahr's  example I left my sword on a  side
table  covered with a red velvet cloth beside the door.
Tahr  leisurely  selected  a place on the right side of the
table,  opposite  the  other female. I pulled her chair out
and held it while she seated  herself,  then  stepped back
into a shadowed niche in  the  wall,  settling into an at-
ease stance.  Behind each of the other heirs,  in similar
niches,  were two more Sathe: escorts. All I could see  of
them in the shadows and dimness was that they were large.
     "I am surprised to see you here,  Tahr," one of the
heirs  -  the male - said.
     "Really?  Is  there any reason you thought I might not
make  it?" Tahr asked. "Perhaps you thought I may have an
accident."
     "Perhaps," the other agreed with the merest twitch of
a lip.  "There have been a lot of them going around."
     Tahr hissed. The male smiled and said, "Control
yourself."
     "I think you speak too lightly of others' misfortune,"
Tahr  retorted acidly.
     "I  am afraid she is right,  Schai," the female  said.
"But  Tahr,  I  am curious about your. . . companion.  Have
you  taken  to  travelling with animals now? It will not
foul the floor?"
     "He  is not. . . " Tahr began,  but her retort was
interrupted  when  the door opened and the final heir
entered.  That  was  one  Sathe  I  figured I wouldn't have
any trouble  recognizing  in  a  crowd: his fur was a
shocking, almost-metallic silver. His escort  was  also
different  from  the  others. . . Well,  perhaps  not  as
different as Tahr's escort, but for a bodyguard she was
extremely  small. Her eyes would perhaps be level with my
chest.
     Behind  them Rehr flowed in like a red bishop and
turned  to close the heavy doors.
     The Advisor wasn't surprised to see me.  He hardly
spared me  a  glance as he swept past on his way to the
seat at the head  of  the table.  The other two seemed more
startled: they stared for a  second  before Silver Fur
removed his sword and laid it  on  the  table, closely
followed by his diminutive consort.
     As  he took his seat opposite Tahr,  he gave her  a
cordial  nod, "Tahr, it has been to long."
     "R'rrhaesh."  She returned the nod.  "You have  not
changed  much."
     The  other  female chose that moment to add  her  two
cents  worth. "True. He still refuses to dye his fur!"
     Tahr turned and hissed at her with ears down,  but
R'rrhaesh  stopped her.
     "Do not trouble yourself, I am quite used to it."
     I felt a twinge of sympathy for him,  of course I know
what  it's like being a misfit, but surely the colour of
his fur didn't  matter that much?  Huh!  A human should
talk! Across the room the  glow  of  candlelight  reflected
from a pair of  eyes  caught  my  attention. The small
female who'd had come in with R'rrhaesh was looking  at me.
No. . . not looking, staring. She was eyeing me from head
to  foot as though weighing me up.  For R'rrhaesh to have
chosen  her  for  an escort,  he must have had a good
reason.  Looking at  the  heavies the other two had
brought, she was a striking contrast.
     She  must have been only about four foot  eight.  A
pleated  leather skirt with suspender-like straps criss-
crossing her chest was her only clothing, her fur like
chocolate with swirls of milk through it.  She carried
herself  with  poise  -  inherent  in  Sathe  -  but  I
got  an  impression  of  exceptional grace about her.  When
our eyes met and locked she huffed, fur  bristling, and
gave me a stare I could almost feel, daring me to look away
first.
     I  wasn't  about to try outstare a Sathe. I flashed
her a wink and turned my attention  back to the table.
     Rehr  waited until everyone was settled before
standing again.  There was no need to call for  attention;
all  eyes went to him.
     "Four. Only four." Rehr looked at each of the heirs in
turn.  "This should be a time for rejoicing. The youth, the
offspring of  the  realm's  Lords,  the  best  of  their
Clans,  returning  to  demonstrate  their prowess and
ability in the  final  Challenge,  choosing  from among the
best the one who is to rule  our  lands.  Instead, there
are too many Clans who have been mourning the loss  of
prized youth."
     He sighed and sank back into the chair, looking old.
     "To those who are here tonight.  Old friends, young
friends,  I greet you. The Shirai clan greets you. Their
food is yours, their drink is yours, their roof is yours."
     As if this was a signal, servants seemed to
materialize from the shadows.  Platters of veal,  spare
ribs,  corn,  bread,  and  goblets of ale were set on the
table and the Sathe set in with  a  will.
     Watching  a Sathe dinner party isn't a sight you
forget in a hurry.  I'd become somewhat immunized to the
spectacle of Sathe eating  over  the past months,  but
mealtimes made sure that I would  not  overlook the
differences in physiology.
     The  meat was usually done rare,  at the best.  Large
bones  were never wasted,  powerful jaws and sharp teeth
splintered them  then  the marrow was fastidiously picked
out.  Sathe do not  have  the  molars that humans use for
masticating their food and it  is  impossible for them to
keep their mouths shut while chewing.  Any  Sathe  meal  is
accompanied  by  the  sounds  of  loud  chewing,
swallowing,  and  bone crunching.  They were eating things
they  probably  considered  delicacies,  but  to  me
looked  suspiciously  like  internal   organs  of  various
animals.   One taste treat I found particularly distressing
were the rabbits brought in, pinned down on boards, still
alive. They actually screamed when the  Sathe  slit them
open for the steaming organs.  I saw Tahr use her  jaws  to
crack open a skull and scoop out the brains.
     Shit, you think you know someone. . .
     Fighting a roiling stomach, I stood there and suffered
the twofold punishment of watching them eat, and smelling
the aroma  of cooked food that filled the room.  When Tahr
had said that  we  were  going  to dinner,  I,  for some
strange  reason,  got  the  impression that I might be
eating as well.  Still,  watching them eat pretty much did
for my appetite.
     As  the meal progressed I could see their  attitudes
toward  one another.  They all seemed to be mutually
distrustful of  each  other, although Tahr and R'rrhaesh
did not seem to be as cautious  towards each other as they
towards the others. The other two, the  male and the female
were called, respectively, Schai and Eaher.
     Throughout Rehr stayed neutral. In conversation he
took care  not  to  become  involved with either side,  and
of  course  the  obvious subject came up; Me.
     "Tahr," said R'rrhaesh,  "I am curious,  where did you
find  your escort."
     "Actually it was he who found me," she replied. "He
saved my  life after I lost my staff."
     I think she said more than she had meant to then.
     "So,"  Eaher  put  in thoughtfully,  "THAT  is  your
entire  staff?"
     Tahr's ears twitched in annoyance.
     "He is quite adequate."
     "Exactly what is it?" asked Schai.
     "He calls himself a 'h'man'," Tahr replied.
     "Really?"  Eaher asked in what had to be a  sarcastic
tone.  "Of course,  how foolish of me, I should have
realized it TALKS."  She snorted the word.
     Tahr's  jaw muscles twitched in a barely restrained
hostile  grin. "Oh yes, he talks."
     Eaher looked at me. "You talk do you? Say something."
     I remembered Tahr's warning to be polite,  so I bowed
my head  before saying. "Is there something you would like
to hear me say,  High One?"
     Tahr's  ears  twitched  in  a smile  as  everyone  but
Rehr  expressed various degrees of surprise then rapidly
tried to  hide  it.
     "I did tell you he spoke Sathe," she said.
     "Why  is it. . . he wearing such strange  clothing?"
R'rrhaesh  asked. "Looks like a walking bush."
     "That is his own clothing," Tahr replied.
     R'rrhaesh,  sitting opposite Tahr, lifted his spouted
goblet  to his mouth and took a swallow, staring at me over
the rim.
     "Do you know where he is from?"
     "No,"  Tahr plucked something out of the rabbit
carcass  in  front of her and popped it into her mouth,
"not really."
     "'Not really'," Schai echoed, "Has he not told you?"
     "He has told me,  but it is difficult to comprehend.
Imagine  a world that is ours, but not ours."
     "You  talk in riddles Tahr," said R'rrhaesh.  "How can
that  possibly be?"
     Tahr attempted to explain my theory of what had
happened.  A  theory  that  was only a patchy framework
built from what  I  had  seen  and experienced.  Her
audience listened  sceptically, taking  occasional
draughts from their cups. When she finished, there  was
silence for a few seconds.
     "Huh. . . you  expect us to believe that," Schai
snorted  into  his ale.
     "Believe what you will." Tahr picked a bone off her
plate."  He is here,  and that is the best way I have heard
of  explaining  his presence." She bit into it with a loud
crunch.
     "Have you not thought of the fact that he may have
come from  across the sea?" Eaher asked.
     "Yes. . . and I prefer the other explanation. You have
not seen  some of the devices he has with him,  they are
far in advance  of  anything we can produce. He says his
people are warlike and I for  one would far rather have
them on another world than on the other  side of a stretch
of water," Tahr replied smoothly.  She used her  tongue to
lick the marrow out of the bone.
     After the last bone had been split,  Rehr leaned back
in his  chair surrounded by his red robes.  He must have
been hot in them  even though for me it was a cold night.
     "You have all been summoned here as the guests of
Shirai. He  knows  that he does not have long to live and
so he  has  ordered  that the Ceremony be held whilst he
lives.  Now, as in ages past,  on  the  eve of the winter
[solstice],  you shall meet  for  your  final trial, the
Challenge to determine who shall rule."
     On the delivery of this cheerful note, Rehr rose and
brushed  out of the room.
 
******
 
     Walking   alone  down  the  dim  corridors  was  a
strange  experience.  The only light came from the
occasional torch in its  sconce  or  the dim glow from
under closed  doors.  My  footfalls  echoed loudly.
Occasionally I would see a Sathe who would  hurry  past me.
I started whistling softly, then hastily stopped as the
sound was amplified eerily in the stone halls.
       I  found what I hoped was the right spiral
staircase  and  came out on what I recognised as my floor.
When I arrived at  my  door I put my hand on the latch,
then hesitated.
     "Ah. . . what the hell. . . "  I sighed.
     I  knocked on the door just a few steps down  the
corridor
     "Come in K'hy," Tahr said, her voice muffled by the
wood.
     Her room must have been one of the first class guest
rooms. Wooden furnishings that fairly glowed with age and
polish,  ample  lighting, colourful rugs on the floor.
     She sat at her desk,  a quill pen in one hand and
sheaves of parchment on the desktop in front of her. The
jewellery had been  removed and her fur was ruffled, as
though she had  been  running  her hand through it.  She
cocked her head to one side as I stuck  my head in.
     "I  will  leave if you are busy,  it was not
important,"  I  said.
     She leaned back in her chair.  "No. Please, come in. I
could  use a distraction."
     I closed the door behind me and went over and perched
on the  side  of  her  desk.   The  parchments  were
covered  with   the  streamlined scratches of Sathe script.
     "Sometime I will have to learn to read," I said.
     She looked surprised for a second. "I had forgotten
that you  cannot. Do you have a written language?"
     "Of course."
     "Could  you  show me some of your script?"  she
asked,  and  handed me the quill and pushed an inkwell
across the desk.
     I  took  up the quill awkwardly.  Tahr had to  show
me  the  proper  way  to hold it and dip it in the ink.  As
neatly  as  I  could, I wrote on a scrap of parchment
     'KILROY WAS HERE'
     Tahr eyed the text curiously, but didn't ask what it
meant.
     "Can you spell my name in your language?"
     I spelled her name as well as I could: phonetically.
Alongside it, she scratched something in Sathe.
     "That is my name."
     It looked vaguely like a Pi symbol preceding a
trident.
     "Tahr, Rehr said that only four heirs have made it.
How many  were there supposed to be?"
     Tahr  glanced  at me,  then gave a  body  wracking
shudder.  "K'hy. . . there should have been twelve heirs
tonight."
     "What do you think happened to them?"
     "What nearly happened to us."
     "Dead? Eight of them?"
     She  waved  an  affirmative  miserably.  "Eight  plus
their  staffs."
     I was silent for a while.
     "But they were your rivals.  I saw how you did not get
along  with the others tonight."
     "True.  They  are  my rivals,  but I grew up  with
them.  I  get. . . got  along with some of them better than
I did  with  those  fools Schai and Eaher. . . K'hy, some
were my friends."
     I didn't understand it.  "But why kill them?" I asked.
"Why  try to kill you?  The Gulf Realm again?  What does
the Gulf Realm  have to gain from that?"
     "Confusion," Tahr began to explain.  "Perhaps more
land. All  the  heirs  hail from the most affluent Clans,
the  Clan  Lords'  offspring. On the night of the Choosing
only the best will be the  High  Lord  of the Eastern
Realm,  and their Clan name  shall  be  their title - as
Shirai is my Father's." Tahr dipped her quill in  the
inkwell  and  wrote a few  characters  then  began
absently  tapping the nib on the paper.
     "Should  the  Gulf  realm succeed in  killing  us
all,  the  hierarchy that the Eastern Realm is built upon
will be undermined  for a time.  Other Clans, less-
reputable clans - undoubtedly some  of  the  southern
families sympathetic to  Gulf  causes  -  will  squabble
for  the opportunity to send  Candidates  to  Mainport.
There  would be clashes between clans and the possibility
of  the  Realm itself being fractured, the centre of power
being dislodged  from Mainport."
     Tahr  dipped the pen again.  "If the Gulf wanted to
invade,  they  could  not pick a better time.  For a long
time  the  Realm  would be staggering around like a
headless bird. . . " she left that  scenario for me to
finish off.
     "But  they have not killed you all," I said.  "What
happens  now? You know the Gulf Realm is behind what has
happened."
     "At  the best?" her ears drooped.  "I do not  know. .
. At  the  best I see the Gulf Realm being sanctioned by
other Realms  until  there  is a reduction in military
forces and then as  a  goodwill  gesture handing us the
disputed territories along the  Borderline  River.
Temporary.
     "At  worst  they  deny the  accusations.  They
continue  to  stockpile  troops  and weapons along the
Borderline  River  while  playing  for time.  When they are
ready they will fabricate  some  excuse  and invade anyway,
'to reclaim lands snatched  from  their  ancestors'!" Tahr
snorted in disgust and jabbed viciously at  the  paper. A
wonder the quill didn't break.
     "What about your army?" I asked. "Allies?"
     "Our army cannot compare with theirs!" she spat.  "We
could  perhaps  match  the numbers with conscripts,  but
the  number  of  well trained and equipped personnel would
be on their side.
     "As for allies. . . Perhaps the Lake Trader coalition.
They are  an unknown,  but as things stand now the Eastern
Realm is a  warm  coat  of fur between them and the chill
of the Gulf  Realm.  They  would be reluctant to lose us,
but how reluctant I do not know."  She  slammed her hand
down on the paper.  Now the quill  snapped,  the feather
fluttering to the floor.  Tahr's nose wrinkled at the  mess
of ink-blots she'd made on the paper.  "Now  look:  I  have
ruined  a  perfectly good piece of parchment," she  said
with  a  strained smile that rapidly vanished.  Her head
dropped into  her  hands.  "My Ancestors,  K'hy!  All I see
is war!  Do I want to be  High Lord?"
     I  didn't  know  what to say.  I got  up  and  stood
behind  her,putting my hand on her shoulder.  Her muscles
were bunched up  like steel knots under her fur.
     "Hey, whatever happens I believe in you."
     She  leaned forward and moaned softly.  I could
sympathize.  She had come home to find her father blind and
dying and most  of  her childhood friends dead. I couldn't
advise her. I  felt useless.
     "Tahr," I stroked her shoulder, the fur, "there is
something  my  people  do to relax.  Relieve some tension.
And it feels good. I am not sure  if  it  would work on
you, but do you want to try?"
     She reached up and softly batted my face. "Why not."
     "Can we use your bed?"
     Her eyes widened. "K'hy. . . "
     "No, no," I hastened. "It is not that."
     "I should have guessed," she smiled. Sadly?
     We moved through to the bedchamber,  Tahr starting to
light  the lamp.
     I caught her hand.  "I do not think we need that.
Just  lie  down, on your front."
     She  did so,  leaning on her elbows,  and I knelt over
her,  making myself comfortable.  I didn't have any oil,
besides,  her  fur would make that messily impractical.
     She twitched and yipped in surprise when I took hold
of  her  shoulders and started kneading the muscles.
     "Hai! What are you doing?" she yelped at the first
pinching.
     "Just  relax," I reassured her.  "It is supposed to
hurt  a  little."
     She was tense. Hah! Understatement. Under her fur her
muscles were like knots in steel cable. She didn't work out
and still had musculature like an athlete. I really had to
work at it, but as I continued I could  feel the tightness
slipping out. She sighed like a  deflating balloon, put her
arms to her side, and fell lax.
     Rubing steadily, kneading, slowly squeezing muscles
between  my knuckles,  running my fingers along the
vertebrae and shoulder  blades, pushing folds of skin with
the heel of my hand.
     Her  furry  back felt really strange  under  my
hands,  the  muscles  not where I expected them to be. As
she relaxed, her skin softened, rolling under my hands in
loose folds. I was no  professional  masseur,  but a girl I
had once known back home had shown me  the  basics.  No, I
was no pro, but I learned as I worked. Her muscles  were
strange and it took me time, reading the ridges and
hollows,  making a map in my mind.
     Tahr lay there,  eyes closed,  breathing softly and
steadily  with a deep burring sounding faintly in her
chest. After about twenty minutes or so she stirred hersefl
to say, "I thought you  said  that this was not to be
sexual."
     I hesitated.  "It is not," I said, confused. Only then
did I  remember  how  she had acted in the pool.  Rubbing
her  back  got  her. . .
     "No, don't stop," she murmured in a dozy, slurred
voice as I  faltered in indecision. A rumbling purr escaped
her. "Don' worry,  not in the mood. . . " her voice drifted
off.
     "I think I am glad to hear it," I whispered.
     I kept up the massage for another half hour,  at the
end  of  which her closed eyes, steady breathing, and
gentle purrs told me  she was asleep. She stirred slightly
as I eased off her expensive  breeches,  folded  them
carefully,  and covered her with  a  thin  sheet. Calm
again, she didn't stir.
     I  tiptoed out of her room,  pausing in the doorway to
look  back and wonder what her dreams were like.