Darkness Rising: Book One of The Catmage Chronicles

One: The Dagger in the Moon

"Cats and dogs, living together," said the tall, gangling man, his lip curled in a sneer. He was part of an odd group that moved through a field beneath the light of the rising full moon. The man held four dogs on leashes. The dogs did not bark or whine, nor strain against the leashes. They walked silently, in step, almost as if they were marching. A black and white cat rode on the man's right shoulder, while three cats trotted silently behind. None of the cats seemed afraid of the dogs, but the cats were clearly excited about something. One of the cats on the ground was a patchwork tabby, his tail curling over his back as he hurried to keep up with the dogs. The other two were identical chocolate-point Siamese. Their tails whipped back and forth as they ran, ears laid flat against their heads. At the edge of the field, the entire party stopped as if some silent signal had been passed. The tall man turned his head towards the cat on his shoulder.

"Now?" he murmured.

"Now," said the cat's voice in his head. The man leaned down and unleashed the dogs, who waited expectantly. He pointed to the small wood downwind from them. "Kill," he said softly. The dogs raced noiselessly towards the trees. The black and white cat leaped from his shoulder and joined the other cats at the dogs' heels. The man pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one as he heard the screams and growls coming from the wood. By the time he had finished his cigarette, there were no more screams. He dropped the glowing butt, crushed it under his heel, and went into the wood to retrieve his dogs.

Hours later, two cats sat in the empty field. The gems in their collars glittered in the moonlight. An orange and white female sat on a large rock, silhouetted in the night, watching the moon as it appeared slowly from behind a cloud. Her underbelly and left paw were white. The other paws had white socks. Below her shoulders, along her back, was a white patch. Seated nearby on the grass was an elderly, grey tabby with black stripes. The fur on his face, particularly around his muzzle and eyes, was whitening. The moon shone brightly, throwing the cats' shadows behind them. Goldeneyes shivered on the rock, though the summer night was warm. Something—she couldn't say what—was bothering her about this night. Her companion flicked back his ears. "Rest time is over, Zahavin," the older cat said, using her given name. "It's time to go to the Council meeting. We're late enough as it is."

"It's not our fault we had to elude those stupid children, Master," Goldeneyes sniffed. "If we hadn't had to hide from them, we'd have been here in plenty of time." She leaped down from the rock and followed the older cat as he trotted across the field to a small stand of trees. It irked her that a group of children had seen the two cats and tried to capture them. Not that the children had a chance—Goldeneyes and her master were powerful Catmages. Eluding the children would have been very simple if she'd been allowed to use her powers. But Hakham would not let her. She corrected her thought: The First Law would not let her use her powers in front of children. So she and Hakham had to duck and dodge as simple cats, delaying them for tonight's Council meeting.

They leaped over a small brook and ran in silence towards the wood. "Old you may be, Hakham, but no one can say you're not fit," she said, straining to keep up with him.

"I haven't seen my brother in ten moons," Hakham said. "Besides, we have much to do. The Council has been working on a plan of action to—" Hakham stopped short, sniffing. His ears went back and his fur fluffed out. Goldeneyes could smell it, too—Catmages, yes, but there were also the scents of dogs—and blood. She stopped in her tracks. The air was thick with the acrid scents. There was one more, though, that worried her most of all. Smoke. A human had been in the wood. She turned her head from side to side, sniffing.

At her master's glance, Goldeneyes froze, then followed his example and moved as only a cat could move, slowly, silently, one careful step at a time as if she were stalking prey. They threaded their way noiselessly between the trees, ears and noses twitching, until they reached the center of the small wood. She peered carefully around a tree trunk. There, in a small clearing, near the foot of an ancient oak tree, they saw the Council—or what was left of it. Twelve cats lay scattered around the tree in pools of blood. There were large, bloody paw prints—too big for cats—on the ground. There were no sounds of any other creature nearby. With every sense straining, Goldeneyes and Hakham approached slowly. They found nothing else, only the twelve maimed cats. The dogs that had murdered the Council were now gone.