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  She nudged her heels into the mare’s side, bringing her to a trot. In a few hours, Clara would discover her empty bed and everyone would know that she was gone. She had to reach Portsland in time to sail for Alliana—before they could stop her.

  A breeze sent thick banks of mist into silver swirls around the tree trunks. With a rush of freedom she began to hum an old Tabrekian song that her grandmother had taught her. The mare kept a steady pace, bringing her closer and closer to Portsland. Every now and then Catherine caught a glimpse of the sea sparkling in the moonlight. She could already smell the salt in the air. Then the trees thickened and the dappled silver water disappeared again.

  From now on I am Kenneth of Gant, a stable boy sent to buy spices from Alliana.

  When she reached Alliana she would take up her own name again, buy a house overlooking the sea, hire some servants, and settle into a comfortable life where no one could tell her what to do. Her parents would see that she had made the right choice after all. Catherine bit her lip and blinked hard.

  Suddenly, the mare jerked her head up and came to a stop, jolting Catherine out of her musings. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of movement amongst the trees. What was that? She pulled her dagger from the scabbard and searched the forest. A leaf bobbed.

  Catherine patted her horse’s neck and looked through the bushes and weeds lining the trail. The mare pranced sideways.

  “Be brave, my sweet,” Catherine murmured. Whatever was lurking in the forest, the sorrel did not like the smell of it. Catherine put the blade between her teeth and focused on the trail ahead. Portsland.

  She leaned forward and snapped her heels into the mare’s sides, whipping the long reins back against her hindquarters. The frightened sorrel launched into a dead run, hooves pounding the trail.

  Out of nowhere a huge, white-headed cat leapt from the woods, claws reaching for the horse’s flank, its fierce yellow-gold eyes fastening onto Catherine’s for an instant. When it saw her, the cat twisted away in surprise. Catherine looked back and realized with horror that it was giving chase. A fairrier cat? With that white head and black-and-white spotted body, it can only be a fairrier cat!

  All her life Catherine had hoped to see a fairrier cat. No book, no scroll provided by her tutors had ever examined this legend, much to her frustration, and now—at the worst possible time—she was getting her wish. Only, in her wish the cat wasn’t about to kill her. Catherine urged the sorrel faster.

  The horse’s hooves thundered down the narrow forest trail. Catherine cast a quick glance backward to see if the cat was tiring when she saw it leap. The horse dodged under a branch and Catherine was yanked from the saddle and thrown into a heap on the side of the trail. Her right shoulder and upper arm took the brunt of the impact and her head landed with a vicious thump on a tree root, spilling her blonde hair over the damp forest earth. Before she lost consciousness Catherine heard the mare neigh in terror.

  Catherine didn’t want to open her eyes. Every part of her ached. Her cold fingers curled around something. A leaf. Why is there a leaf in my hand? A pain shot through her head and neck. It hurt to breathe. She opened her eyes and saw pale blue sky through the canopy of trees. The sound of a rhythmic rumbling was coming from nearby. She tried to turn her head and gasped with pain.

  “Moving is a bad idea,” said a low voice. Catherine was so startled that she ignored the pain and lifted her head to see who had spoken.

  “Curious boy-girl, aren’t you?” said the same guttural voice.

  Catherine summoned her most regal tone. “Show yourself!”

  “You are in no position to be commanding.” Catherine detected both amusement and warning in the response. Cautiously she moved her legs. They seemed fine. Then she moved her hands and arms.

  “Aagh!” she moaned. The trees were spinning. Her right shoulder and arm were throbbing.

  “Please... help me,” she pleaded.

  “You had only to ask,” said the voice, again with that strange rumbling sound. She felt something clamp down on her coat and begin to drag her into the forest. The throbbing was now more that she could bear. The last thing she saw was the blur of the forest swirling around her.

  Slowly Catherine opened her eyes. A wonderful warmth pressed against her, vibrating gently with a strange rumbling sound. When she stirred, the rumbling stopped. So near it surprised her, the voice asked, “Awake?”

  “Yes,” Catherine murmured. “I’m thirsty.”

  “I will get you water. But before I do, I must tell you not to run. You will only faint and I will have to drag you back here.” The warm pressure at her back moved carefully away. Catherine looked up into the smiling jaws of the fairrier cat.

  “You!”

  “Surprised, but not panicked. Good, boy-girl. I am impressed.” The fairrier cat’s low voice sent out unusual vibrations. “Now I will bring you your water.” With that the cat padded away into the forest. It returned with the water skin and dropped it next to her head.

  Catherine slowly reached for the skin, pulled out the stopper, and lifted it to her lips. After sucking down several gulps, she replaced the stopper and let the skin drop. It had taken enormous effort, but she felt better.

  “Who are you?” she asked the cat.

  “I know who I am. The more important question is, who are you, boy-girl?”

  “Why I am... Kenneth. Kenneth of Gant. Off on an errand. Yes. Kenneth of Gant.”

  “Kenneth-With-The-Long-Blonde-Hair-Who-Wears-The-Ancient-Onyxes. Very interesting.”

  Catherine suddenly remembered the velvet sash around her waist and instinctively grabbed for it.

  “Gone. The thieves took it. Nice jewels, Kenneth-Of-Gant-Off-On-An-Errand-Who-Wears-The-Ancient-Onyxes.”

  Catherine let her head drop to the ground and groaned. All her precious jewelry gone! What would her grandmother have said? She felt the shame of her failure in the pit of her stomach.

  “My horse?”

  “Gone.”

  “The thieves?”

  “No. Me. I was hungry and the horse was slow.”

  “You ate my horse?” Catherine yelled. She found the strength to sit up. Her stomach twisted in a spasm of nausea.

  “Fairrier cats eat slow horses,” he said without remorse. “Of course there is still some left if you are hungry.”

  “No, thank you,” moaned Catherine, thinking of the gentle mare who had been alive and well that morning. She put her throbbing head into her hands.

  “Why didn’t you eat me?”

  “I wasn’t that hungry and it would have been bad luck to eat the wearer of the Onyxes.”

  Catherine felt the silver chain of the necklace inside her shirt. “But how...”

  “You are still shining with a bright light, although it is faded now. Don’t you see it?” asked the cat incredulously.

  Catherine examined her hand, which looked perfectly normal, and shook her head.

  “Neither did the thieves. Robbing you will bring them very bad luck. They were thinking of killing you so I gave them a little scare.” The fairrier cat’s eyes now glinted green in the forest light. Its large round pupils were jet black, and the outer edges of its eyelids were black as well. It looked as if it were smiling.

  “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life, but none of this would have happened if you hadn’t attacked in the first place. I would still have my jewels and be on my way to Alliana.”

  The huge cat snarled and Catherine shrank back. The cat’s long, thick black-and-white spotted fur ruffled out as it paced back and forth in front of her. Its eyes now flashed yellow.

  “Al-li-a-na.” The cat spat the syllables out like curses, its ears flattened and eyes narrowed. “A place of murdering pelt merchants. Men do not deserve to wear the black and white.” The fairrier cat continued to pace. “And if you bring a slow horse into my forest you are offering me a meal, boy-girl, even if you are the wearer of the Onyxes. Remember that it was not me who harmed you. Yo
u rode into the branch.” The cat’s face was very close to hers and she could feel its hot breath. Far back in its mouth Catherine could see a bit of flesh stuck between its large sharp teeth.

  “Oh, what’s the use.” Catherine slumped back to the ground and cried out with pain. “I have no more jewels, no horse, no home.” She looked at her feet. “No more boots?” Her riding boots were gone!

  “The thieves took them, along with your bright things.” The cat’s eyes were green again. Catherine reached for her dagger and with panic realized it wouldn’t be there. She had been riding with it between her teeth when she had been knocked off the horse.

  “Looking for this?” The cat brushed its paw over the dagger lying on the ground.

  Catherine sighed with relief and reached for the dagger, its sharp blade exposed. She stared at her family’s emblem, noting the embedded amethyst crystal that formed the blossom of a thistle. The silver bolster at the end of the handle also had the form of a thistle blossom and the cross guards of the blade were fashioned like spiky leaves. The thieves had taken the jeweled scabbard and belt but at least they hadn’t gotten the dagger.

  “You are welcome.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you for finding it and bringing it here,” she said tersely, wondering if the cat realized it had ruined her life.

  Her eyes stung with tears but she refused to cry in front of the beast. Never had she heard of a fairrier cat talking before. Stalking, yes. Talking, no. Perhaps no one has lived to tell. But then she didn’t know much about real fairrier cats. They were exceedingly rare. Legend had it that no wearer of a fairrier cat pelt had ever been murdered, killed in battle, or died of sickness.

  “You should eat now. I will bring your food bag.” Before she could say anything the cat disappeared into the forest. Catherine didn’t know if she felt better or worse with the cat gone. She looked around and saw huge scratches gouged into the bark of a tree to her left. Behind her was the opening of a large cave.

  Her stomach rumbled. She had eaten nothing all day. Mother and Father must know I’m gone by now. They’ve probably searched the castle and the grounds already. Perhaps right now Sir Gavin and Father are riding on the Portsland Trail. Which way is it? If only she had been conscious when the cat had dragged her away from the trail, she would know how to find it again.

  Catherine began to shake with silent sorrow, tears finally running freely down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and her throat was still tight when the cat padded back to the den, holding the food bag in its mouth. She took another drink from the water skin. It was hard to swallow.

  “Thank you, fairrier cat,” Catherine mumbled as the cat dropped the food bag in her lap. She tore it open, and took out a piece of cheese, and started eating it.

  “You may call me Spelopokos. Pokos, if you want.”

  Catherine surveyed him (for she was sure it was a him) and noted the tufted coat of black and white. His huge head was mostly white with tiny little oblong black markings that got bigger and more numerous toward the cat’s massive shoulders and back. Somewhere in the middle the coat was equally black and white and toward the tail the pattern was reversed; the fur was mostly black with white oblong spots. The end of his tail was pure black. He was as big around as a horse, but not quite as tall.

  The fur looked very soft and she wanted to touch it, but didn’t dare. Underneath the coat the cat was well muscled. His teeth were quite large and she knew that his claws, now tucked away, were just as deadly.

  “My name is Catherine of Crystallia,” she said in resignation. She was too tired to lie any more about who she was. Her dreams of a life of security and freedom on the island of Alliana had evaporated with the theft of her jewels.

  The cat’s pupils widened, his body stilled. “You admit it then. You are not only the wearer of the Onyxes, but also the heir of their secrets. I knew your grandmother.” Pokos began to pace with excitement. “To think that I saved the life of Catherine... the one destined to... but then, perhaps you really do not know.” The cat shut his mouth and looked at her inscrutably.

  “Destined to what?” she demanded between mouthfuls of cheese.

  “One should not tempt fate with too much knowledge of one’s destiny. It could be dangerous. You might not be ready. Perhaps there was a reason your grandmother...”

  The cheese lay forgotten in Catherine’s lap. “Tell me, Pokos!”

  His tail twitched and he regarded her coolly. “Used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

  “Please tell me,” she pleaded. “Otherwise I might just as well return to Crystallia.”

  “Your grandmother would not have given up so easily.”

  “Easily!” she yelled. For the first time Catherine got to her feet. She didn’t care that pain was shooting down her right arm and her shoulder was throbbing. “Easily!” The cat bowed his head under her icy blue glare. “I’ve nearly been killed! Robbed! My horse is dead and I have no boots!” His image swam as she fought more tears of frustration and exhaustion. “All because I am expected to marry some horrible old king and sacrifice my happiness so that my people will be safe.”

  “The prophecy says that Catherine of the Onyxes—” Pokos stopped abruptly and looked intently into the forest.

  “What?”

  “Silence! There is someone coming,” he snarled.

  Catherine strained her ears. In the distance she heard a dog bark. Wolfy!

  “That’s my dog!” She started to move toward the noise but Pokos jumped in front of her with a single soundless bound. She shrank back and instinctively raised her hand as a shield.

  “Well now, Catherine of the Onyxes, you must decide.”

  She stood up straight and forced her hand to her side. The way the cat looked at her sent a shiver across her shoulders.

  “Do you want to pursue your destiny or go back home?” the fairrier cat demanded.

  Catherine looked out into the forest to see if she could catch a glimpse of her father, Sir Gavin, or Wolfy, then she faced the fierce eyes of the fairrier cat.

  “You haven’t told me anything at all, Pokos. It is not a fair choice,” said Catherine. Wolfy’s bark sounded closer.

  “Leave now with me and I will tell you of your destiny. If the dog gets any closer I shall have to kill it.”

  Catherine gasped and thought of her dear Wolfy trying to protect her. She sputtered, “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Wolfy is my dog and you aren’t to touch him!”

  “If you insist on saving the beast then climb on my back and we will leave before they get any closer. They are following your scent, not mine.”

  Catherine gathered the water skin and the food bag. She put her dagger into her coat pocket and approached the fairrier cat. As she had noticed before, he wasn’t quite as tall as a horse, but his girth was similar. There was no saddle—nothing to hang onto except his fur. Wolfy’s bark was getting closer still. Catherine, who had ridden Charger bareback many times, took a deep breath and hurled herself on top of the cat.

  “I’m going with you. Because I wish to do so. You will tell me of this destiny, Pokos.”

  He growled softly. “Hold onto my fur at the neck!” Catherine grabbed the fur, which was long and luxurious. Pokos sprang forward, more powerful than she had imagined. He moved in fluid bounds, darting left and right and leaping over smaller bushes and logs. Even in the forest he ran as fast as a horse. The sorrel hadn’t stood a chance, she realized, as the trees whipped past her in a blur.

  Pokos ran and ran. Just when Catherine thought she could hold on no longer, he slowed and stopped. His sides were heaving with effort. She slid off his back onto the ground.

  “Feed you well, do they?” Pokos panted.

  “You think I’m weighty?” asked Catherine, worried. She was tall and slender, and had been since she was about nine or ten, but she was careful about what she ate. He didn’t answer.

  Pokos stretched out on the ground and looked satisfied. Finally he said, “No. It’s just that I h
aven’t done that in many years. I’d forgotten how heavy princesses are. You are a good rider.” The cat started licking its fur and then proceeded to nestle into a bed of leaves. “Join me if you want. It will be dark soon and they cannot travel the forest at night. You should rest.”

  Catherine looked at Pokos’s soft, thick fur. She considered her dead horse, killed and eaten by this huge cat. Then she remembered how he had lain next to her, while she had been unconscious, keeping her warm—how he had chased off the outlaws when they had talked of killing her. The air was frosty and the forest dark and forbidding. Catherine cautiously found a spot next to him. Soon the ache in her arm and shoulder became more than she could bear. She closed her eyes and felt the cat’s warmth through her thin coat. She fell asleep to the deep rhythmic vibrations of Pokos purring.

  Catherine was alone and cold. Dawn was breaking and somewhere in her thoughts a dream receded, leaving behind an intense feeling of dread. Her pulse still raced.

  There had been sand and moonlight. Then the sand had erupted with thousands of hideous flat, white creatures, ridges running across their bodies. No bigger than a finger, each one had countless legs and sharp front claws. She had stood there in front of them, her grandmother’s pendant in one hand and her dagger in the other, as if somehow that would help. It had been such an odd dream. She shivered. The creatures had seemed so real.

  She sat up and looked around her. Pokos had piled leaves on top of her and these had provided some warmth, but she was still stiff with cold and her whole right side ached wretchedly. It’s a wonder I slept at all. Slowly she peeled away the coat, then unbuttoned her shirt with her left hand and glanced down. Her right shoulder was purple with bruises.