It was midday when he awoke, for the sun was shining in a bright bar well into the cave mouth. The ledges of the elders were empty, but he heard noises in the parts within. As he turned his head one of the younger females almost touched noses with him, she had been sitting so close, her eyes regarding him unwinkingly.
“Furtig.” She spoke his name softly, putting out a hand to touch a patch of the now dried leaf plaster on his shoulder. “Does it hurt you much?”
He was aware of aches, but none so intense as earlier.
“Not too much, clan sister.”
“Mighty fighter, in the cave of Grimmage—“
He wrinkled a lip in a wry grimace. “Not so, young-ling. Did I not lose to the warrior of the westerners? San-Lo is a mighty fighter, not Furtig.”
She shook her head. Like him she was furred with rich gray, but hers was longer, silkier. He had thought Fas-Tan was rare because of her coloring, but this youngling, Eu-La, would also be a beauty when her choose-time came.
“San-Lo was chosen by Fas-Tan.” She told him what he could easily have guessed. “Sister Naya has taken Mur of Folock’s cave. But Sister Yngar—she took the black warrior of the westerners—“ Eu-La’s ears flattened and she hissed. Furtig guessed. “The one I battled? He is a strong one.”
“He hurt you.” Eu-La shook her head. “It was wrong for Sister Yngar to choose one who hurt her brother. She is no longer of the cave.” Once more she hissed.
“But of course she is not, sister. When one chooses, one is of the clan of one’s mate. That is the way of life.”
“It is a bad way—this fighting way.” She chewed one claw tip reflectively between words. “You are better than San-Lo.”
Furtig grunted. “I would not like to try to prove that, sister. In fact it is a not-truth.”
She hissed. “He is strong of claw, yes. But in his head—does he think well? No, Fas-Tan is a fool. She should pick a mate who thinks rather than one who fights strongly.”
Furtig stared at her. Why, she was only a young- ling, more than a season away from her own time of choice. But what she said now was not a youngling kind of thing.
“Why do you think so?” he asked, curious.
“We”—her head went up proudly—“are of the cave of Gammage. And the Ancestor learned many, many things to help us. He did not so learn by fighting. He went hunting for knowledge instead of battles. Brother, females also think. And when I grow trail-wise I shall not choose—I shall go to Gammage also! There I shall learn and learn—“ She stretched forth her thin furred arms as if she were about to gather to her some heaping of knowledge, if knowledge could be so heaped and gathered.
“Gammage has grown foolish with time—“ He spoke tentatively.
Once more she hissed, and now her anger was directed at him.
“You speak as the Elders. Because some do not understand new things they say that such are stupid or ill thought. Think instead on what Gammage has sent us, and that these may only be a small part of the great things he has found! There must be much good in the lairs.”
“And if Gammage’s fears are the truth, there may also be Demons there.”
Eu-La wrinkled a lip. “Believe in Demons when you see them, brother. Before then take what you can which will aid you.”
He sat up. “How did you know I was minded to go to Gammage?”
She gave a soft purr of laughter. “Because you are who you are you can do no other, brother. Look you.” She brought out from behind her a small bag pulled tight by a drawstring. Furtig had seen only one such before, that being much prized by the females. It had been made, according to tradition, by Gammage’s last mate, who had had more supple fingers than most. But it had not been duplicated since.
“Where got you that?”
“I made it.” Her pride was rightly great. “For you—“ She pushed it into his hand. “And these also.”
What she produced now were as startling as the bag, for she had a pair of hunting claws. They were not the shining, well-cared-for ones which had been his. There were two points missing on one set, one on the other, and the rest were dull and blunted.
“I found them,” Eu-La told him, “in a place between two rocks down in the cave of waters. They are broken, brother, but at least you do not go with bare hands. And—this I ask of you—when you stand be-fore the Ancestor, show him this—“ She touched the bag. “Say to him then, shall not a female of the cave of Gammage not also have a part in the learning of new things?”
Furtig grasped both bag and claws, astounded at her gifts, so much more than he could have hoped for.
“Be sure, sister,” he said, “that I shall say it to him just as you have said it to me.”
Furtig crept forward. It was not yet dawn, but to his eyes the night was not dark. He had chosen to cross the wide expanse of open space about the western fringe of the Demons’ lair by night—though a whole day of watching had shown no signs of life there. Nor had he, during this patient stalk across the grass-covered open, discovered any game trail or sign that aught came or went from the buildings.
But the closer he approached the lairs, the more awe-inspiring they were. From a distance he had been able to judge that their height was far greater even than that of the cliff which held the Five Caves. However, he had had no idea how high they were until he neared their bases. Now he had almost to roll on his back to see their tips against the sky.
It was frightening. Furtig felt that to venture in among those banks of towering structures would be to set foot in a trap. As Gammage had? Was it death and not the reception afforded his unwelcome ideas which had kept the Ancestor silent these past seasons?
Though his sense of smell was no way near as keen as a Barker’s, Furtig lifted his head higher and tried to distinguish some guiding odor. Did Gammage’s people mark the boundaries of their territory here as they would forest trees, though with scent not scratches? He could detect the scent of the dying grass, got some small whiffs of the inhabitants of that flat land—mice, a rabbit. But nothing seemed to issue from the lairs, though the wind blew from there, rippling the grass in his direction.
On all fours, Furtig advanced with the stealth of a hunter creeping up on unwary prey, alert to sounds.
There was a swishing which was the wind in the grass, some rustlings born of his own movements, which could not be helped unless one could somehow tread air above the blowing fronds. A frantic scurrying to his left—rabbit.
The grass came to an end. Before him was a stretch of smooth stone—almost as if the lairs had opened a mouth, extended a tongue to lap him in. There was no hiding place beyond. He would have to walk across the open. Reluctantly, Furtig rose on hind feet.
It was well enough to creep and crawl when one had the excuse of keeping to cover. But he did not in-tend to enter the lairs so. There was something in him which demanded boldness now.
He paused only to slip the claws over his hands. They were inferior, and did not fit his hands smoothly, but he had worked them into the best condition he could. And, while he never ceased to regret the loss of his own fine weapons, he was deeply grateful to Eu-La for her gift. Armed, he was now ready.
A quick dart took him across into the shadow by the first wall. There were regular breaks in that, but set so high he could not reach any. Surely there must be some guide to Gammage, some trail markings to lead in a newcomer. For it was well known that Gammage welcomed those who came to him.
Furtig continued to sniff for such a marker. There was a smell of bird. He could see streaks of droppings on the walls. But nothing more than that.
With no guide he could only work his way into the heart of the lairs, hoping to pick up some clue to those he sought. However, he went warily, making use of all shadows he could.
And, as he went, awe of those who had built all this grew in him. How had they piled up their cliffs? For these erections were not natural rock. What knowledge the Demons had had!