Shapechanger's Birth Read online

  "This visit was one long-planned, to discuss some serious business. And the visitors were honored greatly but were, of course, seated at the table below the one where the bards sat. But even a little bit of attention to someone else displeased the bard king. And he sulked and turned away food, saying that it was poorly made."

  Mary waved a hand imperiously as if sending food away, her head turned up and away, nose wrinkled as if she were smelling something awful. There was more laughter.

  "On the third day, as the bards were being escorted to the table, a cat ran across in front of them, perhaps chasing a mouse. Now, as you should know if you don't, cats are very important because they hunt mice and other small animals — "

  "Rats!" "Bugs!"

  "Yes, all that. All things that can eat up our food and make us starve. So the escorts of the bards stopped them to let the cat go by. And it angered High Bard Senchan something fierce that anyone or anything would be allowed to go before him, and impede his progress."

  Mary waved her hands all around as if furious, and there was much laughter.

  "And the High Bard began to declaim a satire. Which, as you should know if you don't, is made up of very harsh, insulting words. And the satire was against the Cat King, who Senchan thought was a myth."

  "Is he?"

  "Well, you would think that, wouldn't you? He was supposed to be a cat as big as a bull, and ten times strong as a bull, with red eyes like coals of fire. But Senchan —" She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. "— was wrong. There is a Cat King, and his name is —"

  She said it very slowly, with much hissing sibilance, "— Ir-u-san."

  There were "Oohs!" and "Aahs!" and much mutual hugging at that.

  "But as luck would have it the Cat King could not come and punish Senchan. He had been hurt when a mountain fell on him, and he was in his bed in his snug cave, being nursed by his Cat Queen. And all his sons were far away on important business for the Cat King."

  Mary paused and looked all around.

  "But as luck would have it the King's daughter was only a hundred miles away. When she heard he was hurt she raced faster than the wind and gave a great leap and joined her father in his warm, comfortable cave. Her name was Bearach ." She said the word very clearly, BAYER-ock, giving the end the Gaelic harking sound like the German "ach" sound.

  "In English her name means Sharpclaws. Now her father told Sharpclaws about the great insults spoke by Senchan. She was very angry and said she would go and bring this man to him for punishment. And he gave her permission and she leaped from the cave and rushed to Connaught Castle .

  "She leaped over the castle walls and raced up the stairs to the dining hall and shouted —" Mary put on a growly hissing voice, "'Where is Senchan?'"

  Mary paused to let them imagine the scene, then continued.

  "The bard king cried out in terror and called to the warriors present to protect him. But not a one moved, because Princess Sharpclaws was a terrifying sight to even the bravest man."

  "What did she look like?"

  "Bearach is a bean chaitt ," she said, giving it the Gaelic sounds: BAYAN-cot, the hard C having the "kh" sound.

  "This means 'cat woman' because the Princess could be a woman or a cat or in-between. The English call this kind of person a werecat. However, in English you must always call Princess Sharpclaws a 'cat LADY' because she is royalty. Anyway, she is tall as a man, and ten times as strong. Most of the time her body is a woman's but with cat ears and stripes like a tiger's. They start from her eyes, very narrow, and get bigger as they go back and down her body."

  Mary put her hands in front of her eyes, fingers together, then drew them outward and back. She slowly spread her fingers to give them some idea of what the tiger stripes looked like.

  "She has fur over all her body and claws instead of toenails and fingernails. Her teeth are sharp."

  All the little girls were clutching each other in a delight of terror and even the older girls were having a hard time keeping their blasé façades.

  "Sharpclaws grabbed the bard king and raced away with no more effort than if he had been a mouse. But even a cat lady tires a little when carrying a man, so she stopped at a village to rest, near a forge. And the blacksmith at the forge was none other than Saint Kieran.

  "Seeing frightened Senchan and scary Sharpclaws he asked the bard what was the matter. The bard told the saint that he was about to be murdered. Kieran became wrathful at this and pulled a sword blade out of the fire, all red with heat, and he struck Sharpclaws through the heart!"

  There was a great chorus of Ohhhs from the listeners, sounding disappointed and sympathetic to poor Sharpclaws.

  "Or —" Mary held up one hand. "He tried to. But if a cat is nimble, you can imagine that a cat lady must be ten times, a hundred times, as nimble.

  "And she turned her body aside so that the sword passed by her, and grasped the saint's wrist and took the sword from him as easily as if he were a baby. And she dropped the blade and at the same time —"

  Mary lifted one hand and curved her thumb and fingers as if they were clawed, then made a sharp downward slash in the air.

  "— cut that red-hot blade into a half dozen pieces as it fell. She laughed and explained the situation to the saint, saying that the bard was to be punished not killed or tortured, for she knew that her father was a just man. But she also scolded the saint, saying he should remember to get both sides of a question before he acted.

  "Then she took the bard on to her father's home. There he was put to hard but honest work, and fed plain but wholesome food. And everyone was courteous to him even when he spoke to them in insulting ways. For a year and a day he was kept in her father's domain.

  "Then Senchan was told to bathe all over and wash his hair, and they gave him oil for his hair to make it glossy. He was given new clothes, styled as befit his station, and of better cloth and cut than any he had ever seen. Finally he was allowed to go home, and was astonished as cat people lined the road away from the Cat King's cave, waving goodbye. He shed tears as he left the cave far behind, for to his surprise he had unwillingly come to feel that it was his home. And he was courteous and kind to everyone throughout all the days of his life.

  "And the moral of this story is that everyone, no matter how exalted, how high, should be polite, even to cats."

  There was much quiet for a minute or so, then everyone sighed in satisfaction.

  "Now, to bed everyone," Bridget said, positioned under the last lit kerosene lamp.

  However, before anyone could do anything little Sophia took her thumb out of her mouth and spoke up. "Is," she said.

  Mary blinked. "What did you say, honey?"

  "IS!" repeated Sophia, an exasperated look on her little face.

  Barbara was not at a loss. "She means, 'You kept saying the cat lady IS this, or IS that.'"

  Of course, Mary thought. "Yes, the cat lady is still alive, out there somewhere." She waved toward the walls. "Maybe even right outside, just beyond the doors."

  All the girls in the dormitory looked at those walls, and in imagination through them. Some shivered, two or three cowered under their covers, one giving a little shriek, but most only looked wondering.

  Mary said, "Don't be afraid. Remember that the cat lady never hurt anyone in the story? If she is outside, it is only bad things that must be afraid. And she is protecting us from them."

  Meanwhile Barbara had gotten off Mary's bed and was leading Sophia to Sophia's. The narrow bed seemed huge when her little body was tucked under her covers.

  As Bridget doused the last kerosene lamp Barbara was crawling into her own bed. Somehow, in the last week or so, the bed beside Sophia's had become Barbara's.

  As Mary rolled onto her side and snugged her covers about herself, she wondered if Barbara knew that Mary had aimed the bedtime story and its moral about politeness toward her.

  Dropping into dreamland, Mary decided that she must.

  Then her eyes opened wi
de, for some deep part of herself had just realized that Mary's last words, after the story, were directed at her own self. She had told the truth, except about the location of Princess Sharpclaws.

  The cat lady was she herself, and she was inside the dormitory. She was protecting all the girls, and the boys, and the members of the mission. This was her home — for the next few years, anyway — and this was her family.

  And with that the cat lady fell easily into sleep.

  Danger Road

  Summer, 1856

  Mary McCarthy loped easily through the forest. After a time she detected what she sought: a rabbit's scent. She stopped and faced into the wind, not very strong here under the green canopy of the trees, but strong enough for her to detect the animal and tell its — very approximate — distance.

  She began to walk toward it, into the wind, her motion smooth and gliding, like a great cat on two legs. While running the soles of her feet had been tough and thick to protect them. Now she thinned the soles to better feel her footing and avoid making noise .

  As the smell of the rabbit grew stronger she slowed, began to take cover behind tree trunks, and peer around them. Until finally she knew her quarry was very close. Her motion became very slow.

  There: at the edge of the meager forest where it merged into the green farm fields beyond were bushes, and under one was a grey-furred rabbit nibbling something in the grass.

  With one hand Mary carefully took two small rounded stones from the folds of the scarf that served as both belt and pockets. She transferred one to her opposite hand. She lifted her throwing hand slowly, then whipped it forward, releasing the stone. As it left her hand she transferred the second stone to her throwing hand and poised that stone ready to throw.

  It was not needed. The first stone struck the animal's head with a loud crack. The force of the strike spun the animal around in the air. It lay still except for one jerking leg. After a few moments the rabbit became totally still.

  Mary moved forward toward the animal, nose, ears, and eyes alert for a second rabbit. It was not likely. Rabbits were solitary creatures except when mating or caring for young.

  She did detect another animal though: a man. Perhaps fifty feet to her right stood Edward Timmons, one of the Quaker missionaries who operated the orphanage where Mary lived. He was lowering a bow and an arrow as he stepped from behind a tree. He put the arrow into a quiver at his waist and began walking toward her.

  Mary was annoyed. When he told the rest of the mission staff about her she would no doubt be turned out. This was not a disaster, since she had learned all they had to offer and she'd insured that everyone at the mission was healthy. And when she had arrived in Kilrush she had buried a goodly sum of money under a hedgerow. Since then she had also saved up quite a bit from the allowance given her for her work. But these last two years the mission had become home for her.

  She walked forward, picked up the rabbit, and turned to face Mr. Timmons. His brown skin and the subdued brown outfit that he wore blended into the surroundings as well as she did. Glancing at his feet she magnified her vision briefly. He wore moccasins with thin soft soles.

  Well, that figured. Edward Timmons was an American Indian who had been raised as an orphan by the Society of Friends. His speech and values were those of the United States in this year of Our Lord 1856. But evidently he retained something from his Indian heritage.

  He was examining her outfit. It was very indecent by the standards of Ireland and the rest of the British Empire. Her flaming red hair ran down her back in a single thick braid, most of it covered by a light brown scarf. Her dark green dress was folded just above the knee and tucked into the folded scarf around her waist.

  To her surprise he said nothing about the fact that her skin was a light brown rather than its usual pale white with freckles, nor even seemed to notice it. Instead as he came up to her he laughed and shook his head.

  "Well, it looks as if I will have to hunt further afield to catch my dinner tonight."

  The laughter and the tone of his voice were not unusual for Edward Timmons. He was as unlike the long-current stereotype of the stoic Great Savage as could be. Though if his students misbehaved he could assume a frown that was as frightening as any purveyor of stereotypes might wish.

  If he was going to be nonchalant Mary could match him bland for bland.

  "You won't have to look far. This area has scores of rabbits."

  "Perhaps you will let me accompany you for a while."

  "You'll slow me down."

  "Perhaps. Let's try it, anyway. If you are right, I will drop behind and not bother you."

  "You'll scare away the game."

  "I do have some woodcraft, Miss McCarthy."

  She could not insist further lest she lose his apparent acceptance of her oddities. Mentally she shrugged and trussed the rabbit to her belt by a noose around its neck. Then she began to run silently through the woods.

  She really had no reason to run other than the joy of it. A stealthy walk would have made more sense if she were just hunting. But perhaps it would serve a second purpose now, of discouraging her tag-along.

  After perhaps a hundred yards she glanced back at him. He was running easily and as quietly as she, a bit behind her and a little to one side. He seemed not to feel any effort; his shortness and apparent overweight were deceptive. Though that was no surprise to her. She had long known that his blocky body had much muscle and little fat.

  Soon Mary detected another rabbit and stalked it as before. As she neared where she estimated it was she motioned Edward Timmons ahead of her to take a shot at the rabbit. He was as stealthy as she could have hoped any ordinary human to be. He was also a good shot with the bow.

  "Why don't you use a gun?" Mary said as they walked to retrieve his rabbit. "Is it because you're an Indian?"

  He laughed. "No. It is because bows and arrows are quiet."

  After a moment he added. "If I were after deer I would have brought a gun."

  Within the next hour or so they had each killed three rabbits. When Mr. Timmons would have stopped at the third Mary asked him to kill another.

  Walking away from the forest down a gently sloping pasture she told him why. "The owner of the land lets me hunt on the condition that he gets a fourth of the game."

  "I did not know I had to get permission to hunt here."

  "You must not have been doing it long. Or they'd have caught you and punished you."

  He was silent for long enough to cause her to look at him. His face had taken on hardness entirely consistent with the Great Savage myth.

  Mentally she amended her statement, They'd have TRIED to punish you.

  Then his good humor returned. "I would certainly have given them all the rabbits and negotiated a similar deal."

  The local landowner and his wife received Mary with good cheer and met Mr. Timmons's self-introduction with an offer of hospitality. Edward thanked them and said that he needed to escort Mary back to the city, Kilrush. The answer seemed to puzzle the husband and his wife, but they gave Mary and Mr. Timmons a good day when they left.

  On the dirt road leading to town Edward Timmons said, "I would have expected him to act differently. He saw you come in with no weapon. And he made no demur when I showed up and left with you, a much older man with a young girl. I thought I understood the Irish, but..." He shook his head.

  "It's simple. He thinks I'm a bean chaitt ." The Gaelic probably sounded like bon cot to him. "A cat woman."

  He looked at her in puzzlement.

  "An Irish legend. A woman who becomes a big cat when she wants to. Or becomes half-cat, half-woman. One of the first cat women was supposed to be Sharpclaws, the daughter of the Cat King Irusan.

  "Oh, and you must always say cat lady." She laughed. "One must never be disrespectful of werecats! They are all royalty since they are descendents of royalty."

  "I see," he said. "Not the sort of creature who needs weapons. Or a guardian."

  They walked
in silence while he thought this over. Mary let him. She was enjoying the view.

  Here in the gently sloping hills above Kilrush she was high enough to look across the several-miles width of the River Shannon to County Limerick and the grey-green sliver which was all she could see of the land there. The land nearer her was all green, having been washed in the almost daily showers of spring. On the nearest slopes she could see the lines of darker green made by bushes that had grown around the stone fences that separated property. The lines made a skewed checkerboard of the land. She could see the white dots of sheep in some of the squares, brown dots of cows in others.

  The Shannon was a dark blue reflecting the light blue of the sky with its puffy clouds. The river swept far from the left to the right, where after a dozen miles it opened into the Atlantic Ocean. From that direction the setting sun cast golden light over the land. In the river sailboats swam, most of them heading toward shore. A three-master forged downriver, tacking into the western wind off the ocean.

  Cast like dice along the near shore were the buildings of Kilrush, where the Society of Friends maintained the orphanage and mission where she lived — for a few days more, at least.

  "Are you?"

  "What?" Mary had forgotten the thread of the conversation.

  "Are you a cat woman? Excuse me, a cat lady!"

  She glanced teasingly at him. "Do you believe in such things? I thought you were English?"

  "American. And many legends have some truth in them. "

  They were coming to a road winding down the hill from the right toward Kilrush. Soon other people would be able to see them, so Mary loosened the hem of her dress from her scarf-belt and let it fall to a modest length around her ankles.

  She must tell him some of the truth. A complete denial would do no good. "I do have some of a werecat's qualities. I can change my skin color. That's something like growing fur, I suppose."

  No need to tell him that she could grow fur if she wanted to.

  "I'm as strong as a man." She was much stronger than any man could be. So two years ago she had told her bones to grow denser, stronger, and more flexible. Otherwise exerting her full extrahuman strength would tear her body apart. She had also ordered her body to grow taller and her shoulders and hips to widen to give her more leverage when exerting her strength. That had been the source of the teen-age "growth spurt" that left her as tall as most men.