“The cat was my mother’s special treasure, her refuge. She would stroke the cat on her lap as she wept quietly when my father was gone. The cat seemed to absorb her pain and her sorrow. Somehow that restored her in a way that no one else could. It wasn’t magic,” Bannon said, “but it was its own kind of healing.”
Nathan finished eating his grouse and tossed the bones aside, then leaned forward, listening intently. Nicci hadn’t moved. She watched the young man’s expressions, his fidgeting movements, and she absorbed every word.
“The cat had a litter of five kittens, all mewling and helpless, all so cute. But the mama cat died giving birth. My mother and I found the kittens in a corner the next morning, trying to suckle on the cat’s cold, stiff carcass, trying to get warmth from their mama’s fur. They were so plaintive when they mewed.” He squeezed his fists together, and his gaze was directed deep into his memories. “When my mother picked up the dead tabby, she looked as if something had broken inside her.”
“How old were you then, my boy?”
Bannon looked up at the old wizard, as if trying to formulate an answer to the question. “That was less than a year ago.”
Nicci was surprised.
“I wanted to save the kittens, for my mother’s sake. They were all so tiny, with the softest fur—and needle-sharp claws. They squirmed when I held them. We had to give them milk from a thimble to take care of them. My mother and I both drew comfort from those kittens … but we didn’t have a chance to name them—not a single one—before my father found them.
“One night, he came home in a rage. I have no idea what had angered him. The reasons never really mattered anyway—my mother and I didn’t need to know, but in some dark corner of his alcohol-soured mind we were to blame. He knew how to hurt us—oh, he knew how to hurt us.
“My father stormed into the house, grabbed a sack full of onions hanging on the wall. He dumped the onions across the floor. Even though we tried to keep him away from the kittens, my father grabbed them and stuffed them into the empty sack one at a time. They mewed and mewed, crying out for help, but we couldn’t help. He wouldn’t let us.” Bannon’s face darkened, but he didn’t look at his listeners.
“I tried to hit my father, but he backhanded me. My mother begged him, but he just wanted the kittens. He knew that would be a far more painful blow to her than his fist. ‘Their mother’s dead,’ he growled, ‘and I won’t have you wasting any more milk.’” As he spoke, Bannon made a disgusted sound. “The idea of ‘wasting’ a few thimbles of milk was such an absurd comment that I could find no answer for it. And then he slammed open the door and stormed out into the night.
“My mother wailed and sobbed. I wanted to run after him and fight him, but I stayed to comfort her instead. She wrapped her arms around me and we rocked back and forth. She sobbed into my shoulder. My father had taken away the last thing my mother loved, the last memory of her beloved cat.” He swallowed hard.
“But I decided to do something, right away. I knew where he was going. There was a deep stream nearby, and he would throw the sack there. The kittens would drown, wet and cold and helpless—unless I saved them.
“No matter what I did, I knew I’d get a beating, but I had suffered beatings before, and I had never had a chance to save something I loved, to save something my mother loved. So I ran out into the night, following my father. I wanted to chase after him, shouting and cursing, to call him a lout and a monster. But I was smart enough to remain silent. I didn’t dare let him know I was coming.
“The cloudy night was dark, but he was drunk enough that he didn’t notice anything else around him. He wouldn’t dream that I might stand up to him. I had never done it before.
“He reached the streamside, and I saw the sack squirm and sway in his grip. He didn’t gloat, didn’t even seem to think about what he was doing. Without any apparent remorse, he simply tossed the knotted onion sack into the swift water. He had weighted it with rocks, and after bobbing a few times as it flowed along in the current, the sack dunked beneath the water. I thought sure I could hear the kittens crying. Sweet Sea Mother…” His voice hitched.
“I did not have much time. The kittens would drown in a minute or two. I didn’t dare let my father catch me, and if I went too close he would reach out and grab me with those awful hands. He would seize my shirt or my arm, and he would slap me until I collapsed. He might even break a bone or two—and worse, he would prevent me from saving the kittens! I hid in the dark for an agonized minute. My heart was pounding.
“He didn’t even pause to savor his murderous handiwork. He stood at the streamside for a dozen breaths, then lurched away into the night, back in the direction he had come.
“I bounded as fast as I could run along the stream, stumbling and tripping on the rocks and low willows. I followed the cold current and tried to see in the dim moonlight, searching for any sign of the bobbing sack. I scrabbled along the banks of the stream, splashing and stumbling, but I had to hurry.
“After the spring rains, the water ran high, and the current was swifter than I remembered it. I couldn’t see how far the kittens had drifted, but up ahead around a curve in the stream, I spotted just a flash of the onion sack bobbing up before it sank down again. I tripped on the mossy rocks and slick mud, and I fell into the water, but I didn’t care. I splashed deeper, wading along, sweeping my hands back and forth ahead of me as I tried to grab the sack. I caught weeds, cut myself on a tangled branch, but the sack had drifted along, still under the water. I couldn’t hear the kittens anymore, and I knew it was too long, but I kept trying. I sloshed forward and dove ahead until finally I caught the sack, wrapped my fingers around the folds of rough cloth. I had it!
“Laughing and crying, I yanked it out of the water and held it up, dripping. It was waterlogged and heavy. Rivulets of stream water ran out of it, but I stumbled to the shore and sprawled up on the bank. With my numb, bleeding fingers I couldn’t pull open the wet knot closing the sack. I tore at it with my fingernails, and finally I ripped the fabric. More water gushed out, and I dumped the kittens out onto the streamside.
“I remember saying ‘No, no, no!’ over and over again. Those poor, fragile kittens flopped out, slick and wet, like fish from a net. And they weren’t moving. Not a one of them.
“I picked them up, pressed gently on them, blew on their tiny faces, trying to get them to respond. Their perfect little tongues lolled out. I couldn’t stop imagining them mewing for help, trying to breathe, dragged under the cold water. They were so young and hadn’t even known their own mama, so I knew they had been crying out for me and my mother. And we hadn’t saved them—we hadn’t saved them!”
Bannon hunched his shoulders and sobbed. “I ran as fast as I could. I tried to get the sack from the water—I really tried! But all the kittens were dead, all five of them.”
Nathan listened with a compassionate frown. He stroked his chin as he sat on his rock next to the campfire. “You tried your best. There was nothing else you could have done. You can’t carry that guilt around with you forever. It’ll kill you.”
As Bannon wept, Nicci watched him intently. In a low voice, she said, “That’s not what he feels guilty about.”
The old wizard was surprised, but Bannon looked up at Nicci with remarkably old eyes. “No,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Not that at all.”
He laced his fingers together, then unraveled them again as he found the courage to go on. “I found a soft spot under a willow near the stream, and I dug out a hole with my bare hands. I buried the kittens and placed the wet sack on top of them, like a blanket that might keep them warm in the cold night. I piled rocks on top of the grave, so that I could show my mother where I had buried them, but I never wanted my father to find out where they were or what I had done.