Catfantastic II

done before. With the tip of her tongue, she kissed him.

Moved, he grabbed her ears and rested his head against hers before he stepped back. Without another word Pacer touched the plinth. From the walls came the hum and orange sparks flaked away, reforming above the now spinning body ashes.

Jariel crouched, ready to leap. He watched flesh encase the woman's bones. When the last of the ashes drifted down over her, he grabbed her hand and jerked. He leapt as she passed him. He heard her cry out when she slammed onto the stone floor. As the white petals of fire curled up to surround him, Jariel yelled, 'Grab your shadow and run.'

Pacer's voice came to him as if from a great distance. We have the shadow. Remember… bells…

The flames were like ice. So cold they burned. Jariel danced. Flowed in a counter movement to the magic. A touch, akin to boiling ice, skimmed his back. He wanted to scream but contained the cry and thrust the pain out through the soles of his feet. Nothing must break the Warrior state of mind.

In the corner of his mind he heard a single bell chime when the flame touched him again. No! There will be no more! I am Duval's Belldancer. Baltaz's wizardry will not take that from me. I dance and no bells chime.

Jariel reached within himself, called up the memory of Pacer leading him through the barrier. He had followed her. What if he followed the flames?

With renewed determination he slowed the dance to observe the flames. Sanja had taught him that all magic, high or low, had to have a pattern or it did not work. Then he saw it. Every fourth flame moved widdershins, the two in between arched outward, then in a one count of his breathing, they moved inward, but with a drift to the left.

Keeping the pattern fixed in his mind, Jariel danced. Danced till the sweat so burned his eyes that he closed them only to discover the same pattern in his mind, but clearer. In between the flames were gaps, ragged about their edges. Instinctively he knew it was caused by the fraying of a spell two hundred years old. He wondered if he could widen the gaps. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, concentrating only on the image in his mind, Jariel danced into a gap.

Pain lashed him. He pulled back, stifling a moan. Then he wanted to shout in joy. There, the space where he danced was now wider, more frayed. For a moment he faltered, knowing full well when he danced into each gap, the flames would reach him. By the One, he did not want to die like the woman.

Pacer, he cried out, but there was no reply. For the first time in their relationship she was not there, a secure presence in his mind. But just the thought of her calmed him. He remembered who he was and who he represented. He was a Belldancer in the service of the people of Duval. Committed to them and to the land, he accepted that he must face this danger alone.

He danced. Ice-fire etched his body. Still Jariel Belldancer moved in a rhythm counter to the magic, turning pain into power.

In and out of the spaces between the flames he dipped, turned, retreated only to repeat the dance in a new place. The gaps widened. Beneath his feet the plinth trembled as if shaken by a giant fist. Heartened, he increased speed. The flames were shoulder high, then waist high. They whipped about his legs and feet and his clothing burst into flame, then whirled into ashes. Jariel danced, though he could no longer rise above the pain. The leather soles of his shoes began to smolder when the plinth violently shook, knocking him to his knees. The icy flames grew smaller, flickering like a candle flame in a draft, then died. Huge cracks formed in the plinth. Jariel rolled off, only to be struck on the head. He looked up. Fissures were forming in the ceiling and walls of the cave as parts of the stone fell. He had to get out of here!

Jariel struggled to stand, caught a glimpse of his legs, and was sickened. In places he could see bone. The ground shook. He fell. Agony. A wall of blackness threatened to engulf him. At the last moment he cried out.

Pacer! She answered with her body as well as her mind voice. He tried to speak as she ran toward him.

Hush. Be still. She nuzzled him. All is well.

He felt her mental touch course over his mind, then press hard. Pain faded-was gone. Over her head he saw Sanja and Duval.

There, she said with satisfaction, that should hold you until we get you to the healers.

Lord Davan crouched down, covering him with his cape. 'It's over, Belldancer. No. Don't try to talk. The woman and Nytira are recovering. The shadows are bound. More can wait. I want to get you out of here.' Jariel knew better than to argue when his lord spoke in that tone of voice. Carefully Davan and Sanja rolled him over, then lifted him by the edges of the cape.

Sanja grasped the improvised Utter at Jariel's shoulders. 'Next time,' he leaned down to half-whisper, 'let me have some of the fun.'

Jariel answered from the very edge of consciousness, 'Your nose isn't long enough.'

The Execution by A. R. Major

Having recently come across the archives of one of catdom's noblest kings, it has become my rare privilege to share with the public one of the written records of none other than Greywhiskers IV. It is not generally known that this royal representative of the feline race was one of the first in catdom to make use of the mechanical devices of the inferior humans to assist us where strict brute force is needed. All through recorded history our race has used the inferior humans by the simple device of offering them our limited love, and the poor, love-starved beings have been putty in our paws. But we must admit, this royal king found another way to make humans work for us!

This, then, is the tale as translated from Greywhisker's Chronicles.

It came to pass on a certain day at two in the morning, human time, that Greywhiskers IV was holding court. He chose this time as it was when most of the bothersome humans were asleep. His courtroom was situated in the alley known as Fish Head Lane, right behind the local shop where the humans printed their device called 'newspapers.'

From the top of the empty oil drum that served His Highness as the throne of his kingdom of Catasia; Greywhiskers ruled a kingdom of definite borders. On the north was the catdom of the Blue-eyes. The south ended at the local waterfront. It extended east to west from Fifty-third to Sixty-first Streets. In this area of Catasia, Greywhiskers' word was absolute, final, divine-right-of-kings-law, and he was constantly coming up with new ways to prove this truth.

He closed his eyes to almost slits in that disconcerting way of his as he observed the faces of the three visiting Blue-eyes in front of him. How long, he mused, had it been since that certain Siamese Tom had left his Park Avenue home to establish the catdom in the north, one based on the distinct citizenship of having blue eyes? Probably during the reign of Greywhiskers II.

Those visitors in front of him were glancing around his court nervously, in spite of being offered diplomatic immunity. Well, let the visitors sweat a little, it would keep them properly humble!

The cats that made up his royal court that night, in contrast to the visitors, were sitting around in a loose circle in a completely relaxed atmosphere. They sat on boxes or crates the careless humans had cast aside. The fence behind Greywhiskers was reserved for his five loyal advisors.

'And how is my brother ruler, Blue-eyes II's health these days?' inquired his majesty, after first permitting himself the luxury of a wide yawn.

'Excellent, Your Grace,' intoned the guard standing to the right of the frightened female that he and another tomcat guard had escorted to the courtyard between them.

'That delights me exceedingly,' replied the king of Catasia, wrinkling his ruff in displeasure at the harsh Siamese note in the visitor's voice. Then studying his visitor shrewdly, his exalted majesty added, 'And how may we be of service to one of the Blue-eyes' citizens?'

Taking this question as an invitation, the young female in her crouching position eased a little forward and said,