Chapter One:
Whisehitel
The first memory Captain Ror could ever recall was opening his eyes and staring into the dark green emerald jewels that hung above him. As with all faded memories everything was blurry, except for the emeralds. They were clearer than anything else he could recall afterward. At the time he didn’t know what they were only that they were shiny and pretty, glistening in the dank torch light filling the room.
A tiny bony structure reached out and blocked his viewing of those emeralds. It angered him that something would dare come between him and the jewels. Ror realized that the bony structure belonged to him and he’d longed to touch the pretty emeralds. Whatever his mind thought the small bony items were, he knew now they were his own fingers.
His fingers touched something soft and plush…something wet. A warm wet, slippery and fresh running down the flesh underneath. The tiny fingers then dug deep into the soft flesh until another liquid poured out. A shrill sound echoed around him, scaring him into hysteria. He began to cry until he realized that one of the shiny green emeralds was now closer to him inside the small bony structure.
He brought it close and stared at it trying to figure out what it could possibly be. His young mind could not contemplate what it was, only that it shined and was very slippery. It tried to escape his grasp several times and each time it slipped the bony structure would close tighter around it, only forcing it to slip further away. At the last possible moment of escape the bony structure closed tightly around the emeralds causing red liquid to squish out between his knuckles.
Opening his eyes, Ror stared up into the darkness of his hut. He could see the etchings on the ceiling as if the room were filled with brilliant light. Turning his head to the left the heavy blanket once covering his body had slumped into a damp heap on the floor.
His fingers traced the length of the furry material now twisted beneath him. Soaked through again. Sighing, Ror’s hand came up to his forehead and wiped away the remaining sweat from his brow. Looking at his fingers, they appeared slimy in the darkness; thankful that the dark hid color.
Getting up from the bed Ror grabbed his pants from the nearby chair and fastened them quickly. Heading out of the hut an overcoat hung by the door. It was the only reminder he had left of Sarah before she disappeared into the portal. Dropped to the floor, discarded. That was his memory of her departure, that she just discarded Whisehitel, their problems. Him.
Sarah. She’s been gone… five months now. Don’t think about her.
Lifting the covering that worked as a door he stepped out into the soft light of the torch lit night. More than seventy huts around him had two torches blazing, for warmth not light. It was bitter cold. The visitors called it winter. Whatever that meant. He knew it as cold. Always constant cold. Always.
Pulling the coat up to his chin, the material was nothing he had ever seen before. Thick like the fur garments they themselves used but softer. It was the thickness that made it warmer. A strange material of Sarah’s world. No one had bothered to ask Sarah what the material was called but it was decent enough to wear. Too long for either of them and much too big around his middle, it just fit into his shoulders. Sarah had often said it had been too big it was on her as well but she justified by stating she wasn’t the original owner.
He spit into the dirt pathway beside him, clearing his nose and throat in the same movement. Icy chill was nothing new to him. It was freezing cold most of the time in this land, Northern Domain. Sarah didn’t understand how there could not be snow when it was this cold. Ror did not know what snow was but from what Tim described it was not pleasant.
Walking up the dirt path towards the edge of the settlement he pulled the coat up around his neck and cheeks. It was warm. That’s all that mattered.
Not far ahead close to the edge of the tree line Ror saw his two foot tall friend Gremon sitting with his youngest son. The boy’s cat ears were perked up and he stared in Ror’s direction upon his arrival. Ror knew the boy could hear him. Probably heard him leave his hut and walk the distance towards them.
Gremon said something to his son and the boy looked up into the tree before them. Leaving his father’s lap the boy stood at the trunk of the tree waiting. Ror looked up just as the bird started to sing. It was a small bird. Finch. The colors hid it well in the dark of the twilight before them but the cats could smell it.A small sweet melody filled the air around Ror. Tenor. Beautiful. It was soothing and charming, promising safety and comfort. Music that beckoned those around to come closer. The bird’s head twitched slightly then moved down to the next branch closer to the ground. At the same time the boy started to slowly climb the tree up toward the bird.
Ror stopped moving. The music grew softer and softer to the point where Ror could no longer hear the music. He knew what was going to happen. It was how Gremon’s people caught their food.
The bird only got down a total of six branches before it disappeared into the darkness of the tree trunk. A second later the boy was back on Gremon’s lap with the bird chirping between its paws. Oddly, the bird was the same size as the boy’s head. Gremon’s youngest would never be as big as the other children. It was born small.
“Join us for dinner captain?” The brown square muzzle flicked as his whisker pad moved back and forth. Gremon had a slim figure with a strong chin, slight rounded head with thick round tipped ears.
“No, Gremon. Already ate.”
“Don’t know what you’re missing, capin.” His son had a similar body structure but took the flat face of his mother; short muzzle and large buggy eyes.
“Actually, he does. Captain’s the only one of the Black Hairs that’s eaten food with the cats.”
Ror smiled as much as his face could behind the coat. The wind blew chilly around him, forcing him to keep the collar closer to him. Darkness made it colder immediately.
“Rat tastes similar. Should try it.”
“Only when mum’s not around. She don’t like rat.”
“It’s a delicacy.” Ror chimed in. The little boy’s ears perked up in surprise by the white-haired male’s knowledge. His head cocked to the side inquisitively. “Acquired. Definitely acquired.”
“Brecht’s at the post tonight. Alex was joining him. Bet they are both there now. Nearly mid of night now.”
“Dud, he don’t have black hair. How is he one of them without black hair?” The boy gave curious glances up and down Ror’s body. “Black hair somewhere else? Rear end like mum?”
“Never you mind that Junne. Come. Let’s get inside and mum will prepare supper.”
“Yay! Yay! Supper.”
“He’s getting very good at the sly hunting.”
“Yes. He’ll carry on after I’m gone. Old dud saw that one already. Believes him to be the best in our clans.”
“He’s four. His fate could change.”
“Nah. He likes this life.”
The covering over the hut shut behind the boy as he slipped through it. The only difference between him and his brothers was his height. The boy had all the markings of his mum and dud. Dark fur behind the tall cat ears. A goatee of silver fox hair. Beauty marks of the cat tribes.
“He admires you. You only Black Hair that comes around and talks with him. Others treat him like a pet. Especially Simon.”
“Simon’s an idiot. Don’t pay him heed.”
“Never do.”
Ror stood quiet for a few minutes before nodding his head. Gremon knew it to be his traditional acknowledgment for good-bye.
Heading down the dirt path once again Ror’s thoughts betrayed his own judgment. His mind would not stop thinking about Sarah. Perhaps it was the bad dream or the fact he wore her overcoat more and more regularly.
Whatever the real reason he was still bloody cold tonight walking through Shadow Falls. He pulled the coat tighter around his neck once again and kept walking. The distance to the tower was not far now and Alex would be waiting for him.
Some fate. Queen. Nah. She’s gone. Five months now. Not coming back. Discarded.
