Refugees Read online

  “How will the emperor reward me for flier’s claws?” the king solemnly asked as he removed his fingers and gazed into the water. When he realized Metlan had entered, he looked up abruptly.

  Metlan bowed to his father.

  “Who let you in here?” roared King Maltan.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Metlan lowered his chin and his eyes, and paused. “I did not know you were performing the Ktistai.”

  “You have spoiled the reading,” his father growled, turning his bowl upside down and spilling the water onto the dirt floor. “Why are you here?”

  “I have come to ask your permission, Your Majesty.”

  “Permission for what? I have better things to do than cater to your whims.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir.”

  “Stop wasting my time!”

  Metlan gathered up all his courage and spoke. “I hope to bring honor to you by riding ahead with the scouts.”

  “I am already honored above all. I don’t need you to bring me honor."

  “You are indeed honored above all.”

  “So what do I need you for?” derided King Maltan with a laugh.

  Priest Leipold and Jortan made the mistake of laughing along with their king.

  “What are you laughing at? This is my son! You will not laugh at my son!”

  The two men instantly grew grave. Metlan waited. This was the break he was looking for.

  “My son belongs out in front,” proclaimed the King. “Metlan, at dusk, I order you to ride with the scouts.”

  “As you please, as you order, so it is done,” Metlan replied.

  “Make sure you bring the flier’s claws to me,” the king added.

  “Yes, sir.” Metlan bowed to his father and backed out of the tent. The meeting had gone even better than he had dreamed the day before. Tonight I ride with the scouts to the Ancient Forest, he thought excitedly.

  Metlan walked back to grab his belongings. Pergassi was stretched out sleeping beside them. She opened her eyes sleepily as Metlan came near.

  “Have I got news for you!” he announced cheerfully to the cat.

  She stared intently into his face, as if waiting for the news.

  “We’ve been promoted to scouts!” Metlan walked around to her side, climbed onto her back and stroked her next to her ears. “Up, girl,” he instructed, and the cat rose.

  Her fur was soft and easy to grab onto, so no saddle or reins were needed. He simply held onto the long fur on her neck and when he wanted her to go to the right he tugged gently on the fur on that side. She would even go backwards if he tugged on the fur on her back behind where he sat.

  He directed her toward the hills, past numerous tents set up in the grasses of the main camp, where men and their cats were still eating, drinking, sleeping, or lazing around. They journeyed beyond the margins of the camp, into hilly plains, where the vegetation began to increase. Before long, following smoke rising from the woods ahead, he came upon a small camp in a clump of trees at the fringe of the forest, where a group of men were busy brushing their cats, checking their short bows, sharpening their curved swords, and packing food supplies to prepare to ride. Metlan had brought his own weapons. He was wearing a short leather tunic and trousers and carried a water bag slung over his shoulder. He had brought along a rolled up cloth filled with dried food supplies for several days' travel.

  Metlan was thrilled to think that he would be joining these men as they ventured into the woods and up into the mountains. As he approached the makeshift camp, the scouts’ lions lifted their heads. A few twitched their ears. One smaller lion stood and began a flat lashing of her tail, which let Metlan know she was nervous about their approach.

  “Pergassi, hulj!” Metlan said, issuing the Samalitan command to stop.

  When the men recognized Metlan, they spoke to their cats in calming tones. Metlan dismounted and then waited patiently to be sure that the scouts’ lions would obey their masters and not respond to Pergassi with aggression.

  Metlan started wondering if his idea was a good one after all. He did not know a lot about the fliers, so he was having second thoughts.

  “Can we come closer?” A boy, walking alongside a cat, was approaching.

  Metlan lifted his hand, palm facing toward the boy, in a gesture of friendship. “I’m Metlan.”

  The boy, whose large ears poked out of his long stringy hair, responded in kind. “I know who you are: Prince Metlan. I’m Sholfo,” he said in a voice that cracked, as it was still a little high. Metlan guessed Sholfo was a bit younger than him, though the boy was already as tall.

  They watched as their lions approached each other with their feline tails lifted high in greeting. After rubbing heads, both cats continued forward, rubbing each other’s sides with such power that Metlan thought Sholfo’s lion might fall over.

  “That’s Telski,” the boy said.

  “My cat is Pergassi.” Metlan was relieved that Telski appeared to recognize and accept Pergassi. “The king gave me an order to join the scouting party into the Ancient Forest.”

  “As the king pleases, as the king orders, so it is done,” Sholfo recited.

  “As a new scout, there’s a lot I need to learn in a short amount of time,” Metlan said, trying to show Sholfo that he was not some proud prince. “Can you help me?”

  “Sure,” the kid said, “what do you need?”

  “I don’t want to be in the way. Perhaps I can just follow along.”

  “Sure. I can…” his voice trailed off as the scout leader approached on his cat through the undergrowth. They stopped about ten feet away. The leader was wearing a short lion skin cloak with the paws knotted at his bare chest. His long hair hung down to his shoulders.

  “Greetings, Prince Metlan, I’m Carvor, and I’m in charge here. What can I do for you?”

  “The king has ordered me to join you on your expedition into the forest.”

  “As the king pleases, as the king orders, so it is done. We’re heading out shortly, so there is a lot you will need to learn in a short time. I see you have met my son, Sholfo.”

  “Yes, he has actually been very helpful and has offered to show me the ropes.”

  Carvor smiled slightly and looked from Sholfo to Metlan. “If that is acceptable to you, Prince Metlan, then that should work well. My son has ridden with this troop most of his life. I have great confidence in him.”

  “Sure. That sounds good. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, father. I won’t let you down.” Sholfo beamed as he squared his shoulders and stood a little taller.

  “Try not to get killed or captured, Metlan. If you are captured, don’t let them know you’re the prince, or they might try to use you for ransom. That would not please your father,” Carvor said.

  Metlan was confused by the strange statement. Carvor spoke as if fliers could reason like men.

  “This may actually work out,” Carvor continued. “For now, you’ll ride in the back with Sholfo. Once you’re ready, we’ll put you up front with Huntor.”

  “Yes, sir,” Metlan replied as Carvor turned to go.

  “Great, so follow me. I gotta go get my stuff,” Sholfo said, as he climbed onto his cat and Metlan followed his lead. “First things first. Whatta you know about fliers?”

  “They live in the forest. Dead ones make tasty treats for our cats,” Metlan said.

  “That’s a start. Do you know how big they are?” the boy asked.

  “I’ve never seen one that hasn’t been cut up. I hear they’re about our size, only a little smaller.”

  “Good. What else do you know about them?” Sholfo quizzed.

  “Although they resemble us in some ways, like when they walk upright or shoot bows and arrows, they are not really people. They have night vision like our cats and stretched skin they use for wings. They are uncivilized and have no human language, but whistle like birds. They hide in the forest because they are cowards. They don’t even eat meat. The cat gods created them to be farmed as
food for our cats. Unlike us and our cats, they have no souls,” Metlan recited as Pergassi followed behind Telski, weaving their way through the undergrowth.

  “Do they fly?” asked Sholfo.

  “Of course they fly. They’re fliers, aren’t they?” Metlan was getting into his role as Sholfo’s sidekick. He might learn more this way.

  The boy chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what we call them. But they don’t fly, they glide.” Sholfo seemed to be pleased that he apparently knew something that Metlan did not.

  “Ok, so they glide.”

  “It makes a difference,” said Sholfo. “They can’t take off from the ground; they can only glide between trees. A flier on the ground is as good as dead. They can’t outrun our lions.”

  Sholfo halted his cat and leapt to the ground to retrieve his equipment from a tree. In a nearby clearing, the men were dousing the campfire, and loading up the last of their goods on their lions.

  “I heard they do not kill lions,” Metlan mentioned, trying to sound nonchalant. His biggest fear on this mission was that he might be putting Pergassi in danger.

  “They will shoot them, or us, with their bows and arrows, but only in self-defense.”

  “That almost sounds noble,” Metlan mused.

  The boy raised one eyebrow and looked up at Metlan. “Noble? They’re nothing but beasts. But our cats seem to like ‘em,” he laughed and spat on the ground. The prince found it humorous that Sholfo was trying so hard to act tough and wise, but Metlan kept a straight face.

  Metlan reached into the sack on his belt, pulled out several pieces of dried flier, tossed one to Pergassi and another to Telski. Both cats snapped them up quickly.

  “I like to serve my cat noble treats,” joked Metlan.

  Sholfo smiled. “Haha…noble treats…I like that. Let’s hope we serve up lots of nobility tomorrow!”

  “Mount up!” Carvor bellowed. There was a flurry of movement from the clearing as the men obeyed.

  Sholfo ran along beside his cat and leapt high into the air, grabbing her neck and swinging himself onto her back. Then he urged her forward.

  “Looks like we’re heading out,” he said.

  Metlan’s heart was beating quickly as Sholfo and he fell into line behind the troop.

  As they wound their way up the side of a mountain along the river, the trees became thicker. Metlan began to revise his plans, based on everything he had learned about the fliers from Sholfo and Carvor compared with what he had previously been taught. His father had portrayed them as dumb beasts. But, if the fliers really could shoot bows and arrows and yet they killed only in self-defense, then they were far more intelligent than Metlan had been led to believe. Could they really conceive of holding him for ransom as Carvor had suggested?

  Metlan ducked under an annoying tree branch as he rode on, deep in thought. He began to wonder if his father would pay a ransom for his release. Whenever Metlan was around, his father was always growling orders at him. The king was not interested in what Metlan could do, only in what he could make him do. Still, Metlan was valuable to the king because he was his only child and heir. In their tribe, most men with one child had only one because the others had died. That was not the case with his father. Metlan was all there was or ever had been. People whispered that the king could not have other children. The talk never rose above a whisper because if his father heard them, he would have had their tongues cut out.

  As a youngster, Metlan had ridden in one of the wagons which trudged along in the center of the tribe, surrounded by the riders. His tribe spent most of their time travelling across miles of dry grass that seemed to go on forever, following herds of long-nosed antelope. Those strange looking antelope, with tube-like noses that hung down over their mouths, served as the primary food for the lions, who devoured about twenty pounds of meat a day. As the tribe migrated, sometimes one of his uncles had lifted him onto a cat to ride. Metlan’s father, the king, was always too busy. Once he grew up, Metlan had ridden with the men in the main force, but he had always wanted to ride out front with the scouts. Now, at last, here he was.

  “So, what do you know about reconnaissance?” Sholfo asked.

  “I’m here to learn. I’d have no trouble with a raid in the grasslands, but a forest is a different matter.”

  “I’m surprised your father would put you in such a dangerous position.”

  “I requested this post.”

  “Then you must have a death wish.”

  Although Metlan didn’t owe Sholfo an explanation, he thought it couldn’t hurt. He told Sholfo about his recent meeting with his father, the king. Sholfo seemed duly impressed at the way Metlan had successfully manipulated the king.

  “The truth is that I did not ask to join the scouts to impress my father, or anybody else. I wanted to join you because I like adventure,” Metlan explained.

  Sholfo looked over his shoulder at Metlan and smiled. “Then you’ve chosen the right troop.”

  “So, what is our mission?”

  “As scouts, our purpose is to gain information about the terrain and the enemy before our main force comes to the area. We’re supposed to determine the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses. We’re also expected to kill some fliers and bring back some treats for the cats. We usually just toss their claws, but now your father, the king I mean, wants us to bring him their claws. We may have some skirmishes as well, so you’d better be ready for combat.”

  Metlan remembered his father had mentioned the claws. Perhaps the king wanted the claws to use for ornamentation or some new ritual.

  “I’ve been lucky. My father has given me the best trainers in riding, shooting, and hand to hand combat. I even have some knowledge in animal traps. I’ve fought in several skirmishes in disputes over antelope herds,” Metlan said.

  “That’s great, and no offense, but have you ever been in a forest before?”

  “Nope. I can’t say that I have. But I must say, it’s nice the way it’s so much cooler than our camp.”

  “Just like in the grasses, the cats are really useful in detecting danger. Look for those signs like you always would.”

  Metlan smiled and patted Pergassi. “I spend most of my time with Pergassi. I can tell what she is thinking from a movement of her ears, a flick of her tail, or even the tensing of her muscles, just as she can read me.”

  “Yeah, the cats keep us safe from any dangers on the forest floor,” Sholfo agreed. “But the problem is that these fliers have night sight like our cats and they have the ‘higher ground.’ I mean they live in the trees so they’re always above us. We have no idea how many there are, and they can glide from tree to tree.”

  “Then how are we to beat them?”

  “I don’t know. Somehow we gotta find a way to lure them to the ground.”

  “Have you ever killed one?”

  “Sure, some of them live alone in the woods outside the Ancient Forest. They come to the ground to pick berries, our lions hunt ‘em down and we shoot them. It’s like hunting squirrels.”

  “But what about those that live deep in the Ancient Forest? Isn’t it suicide to just go riding into the forest where so many of them live?” Metlan noticed that the undergrowth had become thinner, the trees larger and the woods darker. “Has any human ever penetrated their forest and lived to tell about it?”

  Sholfo shifted his weight on his lion. Metlan was expressing the same concerns that Sholfo’s father had shared with the king earlier. But the king had demanded that the scouts discover a way for him to conquer the city, claiming that the fliers would not shoot them as long as they stayed on their cats. “Well, when we venture too far into the forest they will shoot to protect their boundaries, but only in self-defense. Or that’s what we’ve been told.”

  “So are they stupid or just timid like herd animals?”

  “My father says it’s a grave error to underestimate the enemy. Stupid animals can still be dangerous.”

  We had reached a small stream, and Sholfo and I dismoun
ted to refill our water skins while the lions drank the fresh running water. Sholfo pointed out a paw print in the mud. “I assume you know how to track animals, including our own lions? The animals in the forest are different from those in the grasslands. That print was left by an otter.” Sholfo pointed out a paw print in the mud. “Cave bears will sometimes even threaten our lions.” He looked at me as if he was trying to scare me. It wasn’t working. But, I did want to know more about finding my way through the forest. We followed the stream for a bit, and then turned down a path that led deeper into the forest. I asked Sholfo how he kept from getting lost. I could barely see the sun in here.

  “First things first. I better teach you how not to go in circles. So as you ride along, don’t just look at the back of my lion. You should be constantly scanning your eyes from the ground and through the forest to try to notice natural breaks that you might pass through. Do you see that clearing ahead? Now, see that large beech, the smooth barked tree?” he said, pointing ahead about ten cat lengths away. “Let’s ride up to that spot.”

  When we reached the tree, Sholfo turned and pointed back. “Now look back to where we came from. Remember the large rock we passed? Then just start all over again, look forward and select another landmark, like that evergreen up ahead. If you do this, you’ll be able to stay in a straight line when you don’t have me to follow.”

  “With some practice, I should get pretty good at it,” Metlan said, as he glanced behind and then ahead.

  “If you do get confused, whatever you do, don’t panic, or you could lose your sense of direction and not know how to get out of the forest. Even worse, you might ride right into the flier’s camp,” Sholfo explained.