Life was rough for a cat in Kjerem. In this cat’s particular experience, things had been especially terrible. He had never known his father, or his mother, really. When she birthed her litter (quite unbeknownst to the ambassador to whom she was a most esteemed companion) in a corner of the manse quite unknown to her, the kittens were taken by the housekeeper who, being a Svelt and a brute, had no understanding of the value of such creatures. Tyb, as he was now known, along with his two brothers and sister, were stuffed into a basket and chucked into the aqueduct. It was Tyb who had saved them all from certain death.
But that did little good. His sister died first – she had strayed back into the city chasing a field mouse and was unceremoniously booted into a wall. Tyb had seen with his farsight, but he was not able to reach her in time. Some time later he and his brothers strayed into a hunter camp. They were starving, and the smell of food made them bold. Tyb lost one more brother. His last remaining sibling left the grasslands for new pastures, to board a ship for Belzari. Tyb saw him succeed that much. But he hadn’t seen his sibling now in a long time, his farsight could not see that far. Tyb had remained in the grasslands, until, quite recently, he Saw something. Or someone. And he knew he had to be close. He couldn’t say how he knew.
Sometimes, when he really wanted, things would go his way. If he concentrated very hard. He learned a few Svelt words, and so knew how to avoid the bad ones, who, in Tyb’s humble opinion, accounted for most Svelts. Asmarhians had given him shelter, and he knew their language much better. He hadn’t quite got the hang of making words himself, however, and found this immeasurably irritating. He would often attempt to speak with people – to reason with Svelts who believed he was a curse upon humanity, to thank the others who offered him food and shelter, but they almost always resorted to speaking to him like he was quite mentally challenged.
But not Morgan. The one he had Seen and found. He knew instantly that he was the reason he had returned to Kjerem. Morgan had spoken softly in both Svelt and Asmarhian, and fed him grass-snake. But then, much to his chagrin, he had been abandoned with the woman.
She was a good Svelt, Tyb could acknowledge that much. He had seen her future, with the farsight. She was important, somehow, he decided, so he remained with her in the cell. When he watched her go the place with many infants, he decided, he must be of help. Perhaps it was his inner kitten, who had never known his parents, that pulled his heart strings at the sight of a mother longing to be with her son. Or perhaps it was the sense, the same one that told him to find Morgan. Either way, he decided, if Gaela needed him, then he would help.
Of course, he attempted to tell her as much, but she merely petted his head and settled down to sleep. He watched over her until he too, fell asleep. When she went to her work in that bad place, Tyb entertained himself with farsight. He watched Gaela stripping ropes for their fibres, and serving soup to visitors to that place from the streets. Hungry people. He watched how the ones who did not speak Svelt were turned away. He watched the hunters in their compound as they trained, sparring until the sweat dripped from their faces into the dirt. He watched the place at the top of the hill, where the darkness sat. It was difficult to see there; something didn’t want anyone to look. He averted his gaze. Eventually, he went back to sleep, stretched out on the part of the pallet where the sunlight fell, sending the warmth deep into his bones.
And then he dreamed. Of a man in a body that wasn’t his, out in the grasslands. The man was hurting. And the one whose body he used taunted and cajoled. The man was coming this way. Tyb knew this dream was not only a dream. He would have to watch for this one too.
He was woken by the sound of the door creaking. He opened one heavy eye to look at Gaela. She was disrobing, and then, throwing over her head the robe from the night before. He sat up, flicking his tail.
“Okay Tyb, let’s go.”
He had no opportunity to protest as he was snatched from the pallet and shoved into the robe, his whiskers compressed unpleasantly. He found that she had wrapped something around her middle that was like a pouch, and begrudgingly he settled into it. Under the robe it smelt strongly of milk and must. He could feel her swift pace carrying him to the place she had gone the night before. He used his far sight to confirm it. The evening din of clanging that the humans seemed to enjoy had passed. He listened to her converse with one or two women about the unseasonable warmth, and one suggested that she might open a shutter for some air. He felt himself squashed against a wall, and then a hand reached into the robe to pull him out and place him on the ledge just outside of the room.
He felt the sudden shock of fresh air hit him as he was yanked from what had become a pleasantly cosy nook. But he knew now what was expected of him. Gaela screamed, pointing at him with eyes wide. “there’s a cat on this ledge!” She yelled to the nurse who was on watch. That nurse screamed and ran from the room. The babies began to wail. Tyb’s ears hurt from the noise, and he began to question the wisdom of this plan.
The Haphazard Writer's Journal 