Dear reader who enjoys both sweetness and pathos,
First of all, the title of this post is related to the fiction I'm sharing. Do not be alarmed about me. I am fine! Above, you see Taro and Mochi, brothers and best buddies. They're almost two years old, and they still play and groom each other. They're rarely more than a few feet apart.
In book news, I've got something for A. H. Lee fans and also something for Abigail Hilton fans.
First - The Knight and the Necromancer audiobook Book 1 is 99 c at Chirp right now, and the rest of the series is discounted. Additionally, the first installment in my Incubus series is only two bucks over there at the moment. If you like that platform, check them out. Audible needs more competition.
Second - I am excited to announce that Lullaby (Hunters Universe Book 2) is now live on my website, both in ebook and audio. You can get the paper book on Amazon or signed from me. The Amazon ebook pre-order is still set to go live on March 4.
As to the subject of my email - The title story of this collection is about dying well. But it's also about living well. It's about forgiveness and generational change. It's about getting older and the ways that friendships can deepen and shift over time. I still think it's the best thing I wrote in 2021.
Part 1 of Lullaby was intended to be a stand-alone short story. I'm going to share that now, along with the beginning of Part 2, so that you can see where it's going. This is a satisfying read, even if you don't continue.
If you've never read anything in the Hunters Universe...I think you'd still like it? Obviously, it does include some spoilers for Hunters Unlucky, because you learn where many of the characters ended up. But it doesn't spoiler any of the major twists of that saga.
Lullaby
Part I
Charder Ela-ferry lay dying on a beautiful day in summer. The illness had come on suddenly. He’d been teaching his grandfoals to stalk sheep early in the season, when he’d first noticed the odd breathlessness. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but he’d stopped chasing big game. Instead, he’d spent days in the Ferryshaft Caves of History, improving the reading skills of the youngsters who traveled there from herds all over the island. He’d watched his grandfoals trace the characters that told the stories of their people, wearing the words just a little bit deeper with each repetition. He watched them practice their own writing in smooth beach sand.
Charder made the trek to Chelby Lake that summer—harder than it should have been—with his daughter, because she’d always loved that place. He fished with her in the shallows, as he had the first summer of her life. He told So-fet, for the hundredth time, that it would be quite reasonable for her to find a new mate this fall. “I chose you nine years ago,” she said cheerfully. “I choose you still.”
When he lost his appetite at the height of the season’s bounty, Charder knew it was time to tell her. She didn’t believe him at first. No one did. So-fet brought him all his favorite foods and the wisest of his old herd-members brought him medicinal greens and berries, carefully selected. Nothing helped. There was little pain, except when Charder tried to eat, so he didn’t.
Storm walked him down to Syriot, where Shaw took one sniff and said, “No healing pool can cure this, Storm.”
“I am content,” Charder kept telling them. “I am fifty-three years old. I never expected to live so long.” I never expected to have such a wonderful final decade.
“I could sing to make you comfortable,” offered Shaw.
“I am comfortable,” said Charder. “Or I was. Back in the daylight.”
“Can we ask Keesha?” persisted Storm.
“He has gone wandering,” said Shaw. “I will tell him when next we meet.” She hesitated. “I know what he will say, though. He will say that the only cure for old age is to walk otherwise.”
Charder shivered. “I am a ferryshaft of Lidian. I will die as such.”
So they’d allowed Charder to return to the pleasant little grotto beside the hot spring where he and So-fet had wintered most years since they’d been together. It was on the Southern Plains just a little south of Leeshwood, not far from the Ferryshaft Caves of History.
Charder finally permitted his family to fuss over him a bit. His daughter and her mate brought his grandfoals nearly every day. So-fet kept tempting him with soft turtle eggs and perfect little fish. He did try to eat sometimes, and occasionally succeeded. But he was losing weight with alarming speed. I will not make the fall conference, he thought wistfully. And that was when he said, “Storm, would you tell Arcove I’d like to see him?”
Storm had promised he would, but days passed, and Arcove did not appear. Everyone else did. Most of Charder’s old herd-members, Sauny and Valla and their two-year-old foal, who’d been fathered by Kelsy.
Kelsy himself sent his respects, though he could not leave his herd on the far side of the island. Ferryshaft whom Charder hadn’t spoken with in years came from herds far and near to say goodbye. Occasionally, they came to apologize for slights committed against him long ago, or for causing mischief in various aspects of herd politics. Charder assured them that he held no resentment. “I don’t even remember,” he said to most of them. “Be at peace.”
He was shocked one evening when Teek glided out of the boulders. He was a handsome, fawn-colored animal in his prime, sleek and glossy. A black cat padded behind him, and Charder thought for a moment it was Arcove. But, no. This was one of his grown cubs, Carmine—part of Nadine’s final litter. They’d brought their mate, Wisteria, and a pair of three-year-old cubs.
Charder had met this group several times when he was in Leeshwood. There had been rumors for years about Carmine, his similarities to his father, and his possible future. Young creasia did not usually seek Charder out for conversation, however, and he was surprised they’d made this journey. “We wanted to pay our respects,” said Teek, “and to teach our cubs some history.”
“We’re going to the writing caves tomorrow,” said Wisteria, “but you’re even better. You lived it!”
Charder smiled. I am living history.
The cubs did most of the talking at the beginning, asking questions about the war, about battles, particularly about the fight with Treace’s cats on Kuwee Island. So-fet came into the cave at sunset and lay down beside Charder. She listened for a while, and finally fell asleep.
The night was clear and beautiful. Frogs sang in the stream. At last, the cubs wandered off to play and hunt, but the adults kept talking. Teek wanted to know how Charder perceived the herd Storm had grown up in. Wisteria asked questions about telshees and ferryshaft before the war.
Carmine was the quietest. Charder couldn’t tell what he thought of this outing. At last, he raised his head with a challenge in his green eyes and said, “What was it like to watch my father fight Coden on Turis Rock?”
Teek gave Carmine a look, but Charder answered mildly, “It was hard, because I wanted to interfere and I couldn’t without risking the herd. It was hard to watch my friend die.”
The cats went very still. Teek was glaring at Carmine.
“But Arcove offered to finish it painlessly,” said Charder very softly. “I’m not sure any of the creasia at the foot of the rock heard that part. I was underneath the overhang, so I couldn’t see everything at the end, but I heard them talking…right before Coden jumped.”
Carmine’s face had lost its antagonism. I’ve gotten so much better at reading creasia faces. Charder turned his focus inward. The memory of that evening had been seared into his brain for years, returning vividly in nightmares. But he hadn’t thought about it lately. Not for a long time. Arcove said, “I don’t want this.” He said, “It doesn’t have to end this way.”
“Arcove would have negotiated,” said Charder aloud, “if Coden had been willing to do what I did.” After a moment, he added, “And Coden would have been better at it than I was.”
“No!” said Wisteria fiercely, as though she’d been holding something in. “I have heard you in council, Charder Ela-ferry. No one is more forthright with dear old Papa Arcy than you are. No one dares. Well, except Roup, but he doesn’t count. And Keesha. When he shows up.”
Charder burst out laughing. “Please tell me you call him that to his face.”
Wisteria kept a deadpan expression while her mates snickered into their paws. “I do not. I value all my limbs.”
“It took me twenty years to learn how to be forthright with him!” objected Charder. “And he’s nowhere near as stubborn as he used to be.” He looked hard at Carmine. “You’re not going to challenge him, are you?”
Carmine’s teeth flashed in a bitter smile. “There wouldn’t be any point. Supposedly the council is going to vote on our next king. If my father dropped dead tomorrow, they’d choose Roup.”
“As they should,” said Teek pointedly. “He’s got decades of experience.”
“It wouldn’t make Roup happy,” observed Wisteria. “Being king, I mean.”
“It didn’t make Arcove happy,” said Teek, responding to Wisteria, but looking at Carmine.
Carmine rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to challenge my father, because I like the old tyrant. I just wish I knew whether I could beat him, is all.” Half under his breath, he muttered, “How do you follow a legend like that?”
“With a completely different story,” said Wisteria. She turned back to Charder, “Sir, you look tired. You’re a day animal, and we’ve kept you awake half the night.”
Charder was, indeed, having trouble keeping his eyes open, in spite of the interesting conversation. “I’m a dying animal, and I’m flattered that you think I’m worth visiting. Or remembering.”
To his surprise, Carmine leaned down and touched noses with him. “I didn’t want to come this evening. Teek and Wisteria had to talk me into it. They were right, and I was wrong.”
“If you can say that, you’re already ahead of Arcove at your age,” said Charder, and Carmine smiled again.
“I am sorry you will not be in Leeshwood this fall,” continued the cat.
“So am I,” said Charder. “I thought at first I might make the conference, but now I’m sure I won’t. I…” It felt humiliating to ask twice, but… I am dying. “Can you tell Arcove I would like to see him?”
“We’ll tell him,” said Wisteria.
Charder woke late the next day, confused. He lay in the sun and had a long, rambling conversation with Pathar, who turned out to be So-fet when he came to himself around noon. “I’m sorry, my love.”
“It’s alright,” she whispered, grooming his ears.
“I thought you were someone else.”
“I know.”
When he got up to take a drink and relieve himself, his heart raced so hard that he thought it would explode. He saw spots for a moment before he lay back down again.
Charder felt very cold that night, in spite of the mild weather. So-fet wrapped herself around him. He shivered still.
At dawn, she went out to forage. Charder was drifting in and out of dreams when he heard her say, “Well, you made him wait long enough.”
Charder raised his head and saw Arcove’s massive silhouette framed in dawn light. Charder tried to speak, coughed, tried again. “I didn’t think you would come.”
Arcove didn’t answer at once. He seemed to waver in the entrance and Charder felt a stab of…what? Hurt feelings? Surely I am beyond such things. But he thought that perhaps he should not have insisted on this meeting. Clearly Arcove did not want to be here.
At last, the cat paced on into the cave, the dim light catching in his green eyes. He studied Charder, who supposed he must look like a shadow of himself—his spine prominent, the planes of his flanks sunken, his whole body smaller.
Then Arcove met his eyes and said, in an oddly formal voice, “Charder Ela-ferry, I have come as you requested. Do you…want me to do anything for you?”
Charder blinked. And suddenly he understood. Ferryshaft did not practice mercy killing. Not of their own kind. It was forbidden. But creasia did. Charder had seen Arcove do it more than once. He thinks I want him to make an end of me. And he’s dreading it.
“Arcove,” Charder’s voice came out even softer than he’d intended. And then, because he was dying, because he had no inhibitions left, he said, “Dear friend, be at peace. I don’t need you to kill me. I am dying quite comfortably. Just sit and talk to me a while. That’s all I wanted.”
Arcove shut his eyes and slowly sat down. He looked so relieved that Charder couldn’t help teasing him a bit. “Although you did offer to kill me so many times in the past.”
Arcove made a chuffing noise—creasia laughter, but he didn’t look amused.
I should have known what you’d think when I sent you that message. Ghosts, I just told Carmine how you offered it to Coden.
Arcove still looked like he was gathering his wits, so Charder continued, “Last night, I had a wonderful conversation with your son and Teek and Wisteria. She calls you ‘dear old Papa Arcy,’ but don’t tell her I said so. Why don’t you spar with Carmine, Arcove? He would treasure it.”
Arcove rolled his eyes at the bit about Wisteria and finally seemed goaded into speech. “Because if I beat him, he’ll just keep trying, and if he beats me…”
Charder cocked his head. “If he beats you, what? He’ll kill you? You won’t be king anymore?”
Arcove’s ears settled at an embarrassed angle.
I have gotten so much better at reading creasia faces, thought Charder with no small amount of smugness.
“I—”
“Are you afraid he’ll learn your techniques and use them against you?” persisted Charder.
Arcove’s tail lashed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sparring with a potential challenger was not…done.”
“Was,” said Charder.
Arcove looked away.
“What if sometimes he wins and sometimes you win, and the outcome isn’t as important as enjoying each other’s company?”
“It would be nice to think it could be that way.”
“It could.”
Arcove’s shoulders relaxed and he stretched out on his belly. “Is that your advice, councilor?”
“It is. Roup would agree with me.”
“He would. He does.”
“Good. He’ll still be around to tell you this fall.”
Arcove’s expression fell again.
Charder watched him. You are taking this harder than I expected.
Arcove shook himself and spoke as though at random. “Twins?”
Charder beamed. “My grandfoals, yes. They are terribly mischievous. They’ll come back soon and pester you with questions, I expect.”
“I haven’t seen many ferryshaft twins.”
“On good grass, when females are not distressed, it happens.”
Something like anxiety flashed through Arcove’s eyes. Charder felt certain he was thinking of all the conversations they’d had about ways to keep the ferryshaft population within the parameters Arcove had set after the war—painful conversations, painful compromises. Let’s not talk about that. There’s no need.
Fortunately, the twins in question charged into the cave at that moment and provided a distraction. They tripped over each other at the sight of Arcove, creating a comical flurry of tails and legs. They ran out of the cave and ran back in again, this time trailed by their parents. Their combination of awe, nerves, curiosity, and delight was so transparent that even Arcove soon had his ears up and a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The foals asked him questions about hunting sheep. Arcove had opinions about hunting sheep. They moved on to deer hunting, then fishing, then to Arcove’s contribution in the Cave of Histories. Arcove navigated all of these topics well enough. Finally they asked him about Leeshwood, and here Arcove became more circumspect.
“Grandpa Charder said we might go to Leeshwood this fall!” exclaimed Perdie, who was the more scatterbrained of the two. But he was perceptive enough to stop when he saw the adults’ faces. “I mean— We—”
“I was going to take them to the fall conference,” said Charder quickly. He hadn’t planned for them to attend the actual meeting, of course, but it had become common for young animals of various species to mingle and visit when everyone gathered to assess the threat of the Volontaro. To the foals, Charder said, “I am afraid you will have to wait for Storm to arrange a visit to Leeshwood if he so chooses.” He flashed a glance at Arcove and added, “If the many creasia whose territories you will be invading permit it.”
Charder’s daughter and her mate stayed for a while after the foals had dashed out again, but Charder could tell they were nervous in the presence of a creasia king, and Arcove was not volunteering to fill the silences. Soon they excused themselves, promising to return later.
The cave grew quiet. Charder was on the edge of dozing when Arcove said, “I never knew my father.”
Charder blinked at him. He thought for a moment. “You knew him well enough to avenge him.”
Arcove flicked his tail. “I avenged my brother and sister. I don’t remember my father.”
Charder struggled to make sense of this turn of the conversation. He gave up. “I may not be thinking clearly because I’m dying, but I’m not sure what you’re—”
“I don’t know what to do with Carmine,” said Arcove, who’d clearly been mulling it over ever since Charder brought up the subject. “He’s too much like me. It’s easy with most of my offspring. It’s always easy when they’re cubs, and he was so bright and sharp, even when he was little. I think sometimes…in the natural order of things…he should beat me. Maybe he should kill me. I don’t—”
“Arcove,” interrupted Charder, and then wasn’t sure how to continue.
Arcove had subsided, though. After a moment, he said, “You have a wonderful family. You make it look easy.”
Oh. “It’s not always easy,” said Charder slowly. “I’m not sure I did a very good job the first time. Or the second. I’ve been incredibly lucky in the number of chances I’ve gotten.”
“You lost mates and foals in the war,” said Arcove. It wasn’t a question. “Did I kill them?”
I will never get used to your bluntness. “Not directly.” He hesitated. “It was a war, Arcove. It started before either of us were born. It was ugly and unfair and we don’t have to revisit it.” Charder found, to his annoyance, that he was shivering again. Even in the daytime?
Arcove looked suddenly abashed and said. “Is my scent making you uncomfortable? If I’m making this worse—”
“No,” said Charder. “I’m just cold. Not enough flesh left on me, I suppose.”
Arcove got up and came forward. “Would it be better or worse if I lay down beside you?”
Charder cocked his head. You are treating me like a creasia. First you offer to kill me. Then you offer to curl up around me. He almost laughed. Cats. Aloud, he said, “So-fet has been trying to keep me warm, but she deserves a chance to forage and stretch her legs. I suppose, if you want to…”
There was one moment, as Arcove came around behind him, when Charder did feel the bite of old instincts. Creasia scent and hot breath on his neck. Run! But then Arcove draped his head across Charder’s shoulders, and he was as warm as sunbaked rock. That really is better. In a moment of ludicrous boldness, Charder said, “Creasia make a pleasant noise sometimes. Storm used to talk about Teek making it when he was little.”
Arcove’s voice was a rumble. “Noise?”
“A throbbing noise. I’ve only heard it a few times. I always thought it was a comforting sound.”
A moment of confused silence, and then Arcove laughed. He raised his head and laughed until Charder craned his neck around to look at him. “Have I said something very foolish? I am dying, and so—”
“You want me to purr for you?”
Charder couldn’t quite read his tone, except that he was amused. Perhaps I should stop congratulating myself on how well I understand creasia. “Do creasia not purr when they are content?”
Arcove rearranged himself—fitting the curve of his body to Charder’s back. He slid one paw over Charder’s front legs and under his chin. Once again, there was that fleeting sense of panic. He’s pinning me down… But he was so warm. Arcove settled once again with his head across Charder’s back and shoulders in a posture that Charder had seen countless times among den-mates and friends in Leeshwood. “Cubs purr in contentment,” murmured Arcove, “at their mother’s belly. Adults don’t purr very often. Only in love, in pain, and in sorrow.” Another pause. “I think I can manage it.”
Charder didn’t know what to say. You are taking this much too hard. “Arcove.”
“Hmm?”
“You asked if I wanted you to do anything for me, and there is something.”
Arcove’s breathing stilled.
Charder couldn’t see his face. “Take me to the Ghost Wood…when I’m gone.”
The stillness continued for a beat. Then, instead of an answer, Charder heard a deep, low thrumming noise that seemed to fill the cavern and vibrate his whole body. He’d never been this close to a purring cat. After a moment, he rested his head on Arcove’s paw that was across his front legs. “Ghosts and little fishes. Storm was right; that is pleasant.”
Arcove spoke against his ear, still purring. “I will take you to the Ghost Wood, Charder Ela-ferry. And I will miss you.”
Things that he might have said flickered through Charder’s head, inadequate. “Thank you.”
“But will your family be offended? Ferryshaft don’t carry away tokens of their dead.” Indeed, it was something Arcove had done during the war to inspire fear.
“I’ll tell them,” said Charder sleepily. The purring had somehow soothed the background nausea that had been his constant companion for the last few days. He shook his ears to wake himself and said, “You can talk and purr at the same time!”
“Not very well,” muttered Arcove.
“You’re like a telshee, singing in two voices. I can’t believe I’m still learning things about cats on the day I die. Dying of old age, at that. Two things I thought I’d never do.”
He thought Arcove said something, but Charder was already slipping off to sleep.
He floated to the surface sometime later. Arcove had moved, and So-fet was lying against him. Arcove was still purring, and they were talking over his head—low, friendly voices. Charder thought they were talking about Carmine and Wisteria and Teek. He wanted to add something, but he couldn’t quite follow along. He thought, It’s the middle of the day, Arcove. Why are you awake?
He managed to open his eyes and turn to catch So-fet’s. “Arcove is going to take me to the Ghost Wood. I asked him to.”
“I know,” she said gently. “You told me.”
“I’m sorry; I’m confused.”
“It’s alright, love. Everything is alright.”
Arcove’s purr resonated through his dreams. Charder was a young adult, running with his first herd over the plain. He was laughing at Pathar, poking at prickly things in tidepools. He was sparring with Coden on a spring day, amazed at his quick reactions, even as a juvenile. Coden was full of jokes and tricks and youthful vitality. You never had to get old, thought Charder. You never had to live a long life with the memories and consequences of everything you’d ever done. You never had to meet the next generation or see your choices through their eyes. You were lucky in that way.
Charder was in the cave again, and it was late afternoon. Arcove had switched places with So-fet. Charder could tell he was dozing, but still purring. Even in his sleep.
Storm and Tollee were standing near the mouth of the cave, talking to So-fet and a few other ferryshaft that Charder couldn’t quite see in the brightness outside. When Storm noticed that Charder was awake, he came cautiously forward, shooting little glances at Arcove over the top of Charder’s head. Charder wondered whether Storm was concerned that Arcove would startle awake and forget that they were friends. He won’t.
“Charder?”
“Hmm?”
Storm smiled. “You’re well-loved. I hope you know that.”
Charder smiled back at him.
Arcove stirred at the sound of Storm’s voice. “Storm,” he said sleepily. “Is that Sauny I hear outside?”
Storm’s tail waved. “It is. She has some news for you about the creasia in the Southern Mountains, but she didn’t want to wake you.”
“Tell her to come in.”
Charder could feel an unnatural sleep pressing him down. The final sleep? Arcove’s purr throbbed against his back. “Arcove…”
“Hmm?”
“It’s not bad. Getting old.”
A long sigh. “You make it look easy.”
The cave was full of animals as evening deepened. They were saying interesting things, telling stories. Some of the stories were about Charder. He woke occasionally to laugh at a joke or listen to a recounting of some long-ago hunt.
Frogs sang. Arcove purred. Night fell.
Charder listened to his family and his friends.
He drifted in.
And out.
And in.
And out…
Part 2
Roup woke well ahead of his den-mates, as usual. He left Caraca cuddled up with two of her tame oories and padded past a grandcub, who’d come for a visit. Roup stepped lightly around Lyndi, sleeping in the entrance to the den, and out into the late afternoon sunshine. He stopped in surprise when he found Arcove curled up beneath the rock overhang, just out of sight of the cave’s mouth.
He was sleeping, but woke instantly at Roup’s approach. His third eyelid took a moment to slide out of sight as he blinked—evidence that he was tired. Roup couldn’t imagine what had been important enough to bring Arcove to his den in the daytime, but not sufficiently important to wake anyone.
Before Roup could speak, Arcove said, “Charder is dead.”
“Oh…” Roup sat down slowly. “I only just heard he was sick...”
Arcove said nothing.
Roup thought for a moment. “Did you get to say goodbye?”
“Yes.”
Roup looked at him narrowly, trying to decide whether he should press for details.
“He asked me to take him to the Ghost Wood. I’ll be gone for a few nights. I just wanted you to know.”
Roup cocked his head. “Charder asked you to…?” He caught sight of a red fluff of tail lying on the ground. He felt a jolt—memories from the war. But this tail had not been taken in animosity. At least, Roup hoped not. “Does his mate know? What about the other ferryshaft? Charder had a lot of friends—”
Arcove looked impatient. “Yes, he told them. I’m going now. I just wanted you to know that you’re in charge.” Arcove bent to pick up the tail and started away.
“Wait.” Roup trotted after him. “You’re going to the Ghost Wood alone?”
Arcove had his mouth full and he didn’t answer. He didn’t slow down, either.
“Arcove, there have been reports of cats disappearing on the way to the Ghost Wood all summer. You heard from Halvery about it only last month, remember? And I had another den complaining two nights ago of a missing cat who’d taken a cub to the Ghost Wood.”
Arcove slowed, although Roup could tell he didn’t want to. He dropped Charder’s tail and said, “The weather is pleasant. They probably stopped beside the lake to hunt and fish.”
“That’s what I said at first, but it’s been over a month for some of them.”
“Accidents happen. Curbs happen. I’m not some feckless four-year-old.”
“I know.” Roup looked hard at him. There was a dull stubbornness in those green eyes that he knew better than to argue with. Roup took a step back. “I’ll see you in a few nights.”
He waited until Arcove disappeared between the trees, then turned and trotted back to his den. He nudged Lyndi awake and said, “I’m going to be gone for a while. You’re in charge of Leeshwood.”
She blinked at him. “Wha…?”
“You’re in charge,” repeated Roup. “If you need help, ask Nadine. Although…she’s been feeling poorly lately.” Nadine was Charder’s age, a fact that surely hadn’t escaped Arcove. “Ask Caraca,” said Roup with a twinkle. It was a joke. Caraca hated politicking.
Lyndi blinked sleep out of her eyes. “Alright… I assume you’re going somewhere with Arcove. What about Halvery?” A reasonable question. He outranked her.
Roup turned away. “Halvery is coming with me.”
“Does he know that?”
“Not yet.”
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