By Paw and Sail

Chapter 12: A Written Invitation [Silvereyes]

Quirikta glanced at the dwindling pile inside the silver bowl as he stirred his drink. The brown liquid wasn't quite sweet enough yet, but he didn't want to waste any more of the precious supply of cane powder. It would likely take weeks before they got more.

Loradin had set his camp a day's journey from the Ire. They had evacuated the fortress only a few hours after the klatch ended, allowing Favaxin to move his soldiers into place. The commanders had already dispatched patrols along both sides of the divide to look for signs of the scale-skins trying to cross the great rift.

He turned towards the entrance to the tent as a large paw brushed the fabric flap aside. Loradin's head poked through into the dim interior of the canvas shelter.

"Ah, good," he said. "I'm glad there is at least one cat in the legion who can follow a schedule properly."

The panther's nose quivered as he approached the table. Quirikta followed the commander's eyes down to the cup in front of him. He pushed it towards the big feline.  

"It's okay," Loradin said. "I'll just make some more in a few minutes."

"I don't really want it," Quirikta said. "This is my second one today."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Loradin wasted no time in taking a big sip from the cup. His eyes narrowed and he stuck out his tongue after he swallowed.

"It's too sweet," he said. "How much did you put in this?"

"Sorry."

The panther finished the rest of the kaffea in a matter of seconds, and then set the empty cup on one of the stools. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his paws across his face as he sat down.

"Something wrong?" Quirikta said.

Loradin let his forearms fall back down to his sides as he stared at his subordinate. He leaned back in his tall chair and looked at the ceiling. The wooden support beams seemed so flimsy and fragile. He felt like breaking them and ripping the whole thing down. It was his last tent though, so he forced himself to resist the urge.

"Something's wrong."

The panther nodded as he brought his gaze back down to the table. He lifted a satchel from the floor and set it in front of him. He pulled out folded piece of parchment and slid it towards the cat.

Quirikta's eyes widened as he flipped it open. There was a red triangle inside of a black circle, with geometric figures and calligraphy along the inside. He scratched his head as he pondered the image in front of him.

It was the sign of a ritual, a symbol designed by the Sovereign decades ago. The lines appeared to represent a circle of empowerment, though he never seen one like it before.

"I don't understand," he said. "Is it a warning? Who left it?"

"It's an invitation."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at the center."

Quirikta brought the parchment closer to his face as he examined the circle again. Depictions of the rites were always written in old Domta, which represented ideas as independently drawn characters rather than words constructed with the standard Vossta alphabet. His eyes widened when he saw what was in the middle of the circle.

There were five horizontal ticks, one vertical line and a small circle. It was the first time he had ever seen this particular symbol in the middle of a ritual graph — it was the mark of the Pantra.

"Understand now?"

Quirikta shook his head. He didn't understand, but the fur on the back of his neck prickled anyway. Looking at the picture made his skin crawl.

"I'm going to tell you something that I am forbidden to discuss with any Dhoma," Loradin said. "As of this moment, your  debt to me now includes your silence on this matter as well."

Quirikta stared blankly at the giant feline in front of him. The commander's strange behavior and the inexplicable letter in front of him made him feel ill. He didn't really know what think or say, so he nodded silently and leaned back in his chair.

"Swear to me on your blood that you will not speak of it."

"I swear."

Loradin pulled out a wooden case and popped it open. He plucked a few dried leaves out and broke them in his paw. The spicy scent filled the tent as he slipped them under his tongue.

"You know, all those practitioners in Centerhold Keep aren't just there for emergencies, although they have certainly proven themselves an effective weapon against the scale-skins," Loradin said. "They are also there to do research."

"Well, I suspected that much," Quirikta said. "I mean, most cats have a good idea of what's going on. Only a few of those we caught over the last few years were executed, so the rest must be in there."

"Right, but do you know what they are researching?"

"I assume they are trying to make the rites more powerful and efficient for when they are needed."

"That's correct, but it's not the complete truth."

"What else?"

"The real reason that they are kept there, is to solve the problem of the Pantra blood."

Quirikta shook his head, unsure if he had misheard his commander. The panthers had never been able to practice the rites. There was not a single case of a Pantra successfully performing them in the decades since the Dhoma first learned how to implement sacrifices.

"The Sovereign herself was a master of blood chemistry, and she was the one who claimed that we lack a necessary component for vitae manipulation," Loradin said. "Ever since the collapse, Centerhold has been seeking a way around that."

"How?"

"It turns out that we don't lack anything," he said. "Rather, we have something extra that most other animals don't. Apparently, the same thing that prevents us from controlling foreign blood is also what makes our blood unusable. At least that's what they think."

Quirikta shifted in his seat. The conversation made him more uncomfortable by the second. He felt the queasy seeds of panic taking root inside his stomach.

"A few weeks ago, Nissaza figured out how to mitigate that effect," Loradin said. "It has something to do with extract from chuciu bark. It seems the chemical can neutralize the restrictions in our blood."

"Seems? Hasn't it been tested by now?"

"No. There is still one obstacle to testing it practically."

"What?"

"The extract solution must be infused directly into the blood — through cruorculcation."

Quirikta caught his breath as the unformulated fears swimming around his mind suddenly took vivid shape.

"They went looking for some of the Sovereign's early work, her notes and books about it," Loradin said. "But, of course, there were none to be found. The only material I ever saw on that subject was in that cave near Vaticka, where I found you. And as you know, those no longer exist."

The Dhoma's eyes were fixed on the table as the words sunk in.

"You know what that means, right?"

The cat nodded his head, but remained silent.

"They will want the only available specimen of a successful cruorculcation to come to Centerhold," Loradin said. "It's preferable to losing dozens of practitioners in failed attempts."

Quirikta closed his eyes and nodded again. He struggled to take slow, deep breaths. It took all his effort to stay seated. His instincts told him to get out the chair and run away, and keep running. It was the same urge he had felt years ago, before he had met Loradin.

His eyelids popped open at the sound of laughter from the other side of the table. He snapped his head up and met the panther's gaze directly. The commander smiled and shook his head as he looked at the Dhoma's face.

"Why are you so scared, Quirikta?"

"It's just, you know, I don't particularly want to go back the keep..."

"Do you really think I'd let that happen?"