Shia, satiated now, was growing drowsy. “It’s a long and incredible tale,” she began dreamily, when—
“Come out, coward, and fight!” The cry of challenge—a long, blood-freezing yowl—echoed from outside the den. Shia snarled; her hackles rose along her spine. “I knew it would not take her long,” she said quietly. Stiffly, she got to her feet, “Usurper—I come!” she roared.
When Steelclaw had been blasted, the force of the destruction had hollowed out the center of the peak, leaving only the clawlike splinters of rock to snatch vainly at the sky. Beneath their shadow lay a bowl-shaped depression like the palm of that great grasping hand, its bottom humped and twisted in places by smooth runnels and strands of melted and recongealed black lava.
Unnoticed on his high perch, Khanu sat licking his wounds on a ledge above the canyon that for countless generations had served as the meeting place for the females of the Colony. He should not have been here, of course—this was no place for males, especially young, unimportant males—but Khanu’s furiously wounded pride had been eased by his small act of defiance. Today, he had tried, ambitiously, to mate with Gristheena, First of the females, whose usual mate had been slaughtered in the last attack of the Skyfolk. To his utter dismay, he had battled his way through a melee of older, more experienced suitors, only to be ignominiously, and painfully—Khanu winced as he tried to stretch his tongue out far enough to lick at the smarting claw-marks on his nose—rejected by the female herself.
Dusk was filling the snowy arena of the canyon with shadows, but Khanu, cold as he was, made no attempt to move away. He had something else to chew on besides his humiliation at the First Female’s hands. With his rejection, and Gristheena’s open mockery, had come the crushing realization that he was not as important to his Colony as he once had thought himself.
“But I don’t understand!” Khanu muttered sulkily to himself. “Males are bigger—males are stronger! We take our pick from the first fruits of the hunt, and the females stand aside until we have eaten!” While the young bachelors lived in a loose-knit group until they succeeded in winning mates of their own, each of the older, stronger males selected and served his own cluster of females—or so Khanu had thought until today. Now, it seemed, his world had turned upside down.
Males did not hunt, and provide for the Colony, Males did not sit in the meeting place, and make the laws for the well-being of all. Males took no useful part in the rearing and nurturing of the kits. Males, it turned out—and Khanu flinched from the memory—did not even select their mates. Oh, they battled fiercely for the privilege; but the final choice, as Gristheena had impressed upon him most forcefully, was always that of the female.
Following his rejection, Khanu had gone to talk with his own sire, Hzaral. A scarred, near-toothless oldster now, the veteran of many mating fights, Hzaral had long ago decided to withdraw from such fierce battles as attended the mating of a First Female. He was happy with his own two aging mates, one of whom was Khanu’s dam, and kept to himself.
“Is it true?” Khanu had demanded, bristling—and the whole bitter tale had poured out.
Hzaral shook his heavy, gold-shot ruff, and turned his massive head away to groom the dappled gold sunbursts on his flanks—the distinctive markings that his son had inherited. “What if it is?” he said indolently, turning to pierce the younger cat with his topaz gaze. “Think,” he told Khanu. “We are males. Why trouble with hunting, when females do it for us? Why waste time fussing with their ridiculous laws, or wearing ourselves out minding unruly, squalling kits? If females believe such nonsense makes them more important, who are we to want to change things? We do very well as we are!”
“But we don’t do anything!” Khanu had protested. “Especially in these times of hardship, we should be—”
In a blur of speed, Hzaral’s great paw lifted, and cuffed him, the force of the blow sending him rolling over and over.
“Learn wisdom, youngster!” Hzaral snarled. “The males are happy to have things as they are—and so, I suspect, are the females. Can you imagine Gristheena allowing you to meddle with her authority? Everyone has their place—how dare you try alter that! Do you wish to end up Chuevah?”
Khanu was mulling unhappily over these matters on his ledge when he heard the harsh, discordant yowl of Gristheena’s challenge. Within moments, the meeting place began to fill with females: emerging from the triangular tunnel-mouth in the southern cliffs of the bowl, leaping with dark, fluid grace down the rocky cliffs, and pacing with dignified haste along the top of the spur that jutted out into the crater. Like a breaking wavefront, the gigantic spur of black and glossy lava ran down from the northern rim of the natural arena, coming to an abrupt and jutting end almost within the very center of the bowl. Here, perched in every niche and cornice in the rippled stone, the females congregated, brought together by Gristheena’s strident call. Though he could make out few of their words, Khanu could hear the swelling background murmur of their excitement. One word, however, was repeated again and again.
“Shia!” they were saying. “Shia has returned!.”
Khanu had been about to creep quietly away, afraid of being discovered by the females in their own forbidden place. On hearing their talk, however, he abruptly changed his mind. “They have no right to keep me out!” he muttered rebelliously to himself. “This is as much my affair as it is theirs!” He shrank down instead on his shadowy ledge, to make himself inconspicuous, and trembled with excitement. This was one contest that he meant to witness!
The meeting place was entered from below by means of a dark twisting tunnel that snaked through the cliffs at the southern end of the crater. Shia paced in stately fashion through the darkness, not hurrying, conserving her scant energy, tilting her head at an awkward angle to maneuver the Staff through the narrow space between the crowding walls. Hreeza followed, muttering imprecations under her breath.
The last of the gray twilight was glaring to Shia’s eyes as she emerged into the meeting place. Though silence from the watchers was the rule on these occasions, she heard a murmur of amazement, and, if she was not mistaken, delight from the females on the spur, who were invisible in the shadows, except for a scattering of golden pinpoints where their eyes reflected the last light of day. Their joy changed swiftly to protest and consternation as they noticed the eldritch, pulsing glow of the Staff of Earth that she carried. I could have done without this—any of it! Shia thought wearily. Swiftly, she set her burden down at Hreeza’s feet. “Take care of this for me,” she said softly. Hreeza gave the Staff a skeptical look. “I’ll guard it for you, Shia—as long as I don’t have to touch the hideous thing!”
Then Gristheena was there. The First Female stalked into the center of the crater: fit and muscular, and as heavy and big-boned as a male. Shia remembered that even as a kit, the younger cat had been a swaggering bully with scant concern for others and an even shorter temper. According to Hreeza, little had changed.
As Contester and Chuevah, it should have been Shia’s place to speak first. Instead she remained obstinately silent, never taking her eyes from the hulking figure of the First Female, holding Gristheena’s glowering eyes with her own. Long minutes stretched by. The floor of the rocky bowl sank deeper into shadow. The two great females, hackles raised, stood eye to eye and glaring like raptors.
As Shia had expected, Gristheena was the first to weaken. “Chuevah!” She spat the word in contempt. “You do not belong here on Steelclaw, the territory and home of the Colony! Either fight or begone!”