Chapter Twenty-Five: The Shadowcat
As a cloud of disbelief escapes my lips, I step backward into the cave, and the creature steps forward. I step again and it does too, like we are bound together by an invisible tether.
With each step, it reveals more of itself in the moonlight. This is a cat, that much is certain, with a face like a cougar's but a much bigger body. It looks hungry, not just in the eyes but around the ribcage. It has a beautiful, sleek, thick black coat that hides it well, but I know a starving animal when I see it. The white stripes and markings in its black fur almost give it the appearance of a mockingjay. But a mockingjay doesn't have claws like that, or sharp teeth to bare at its prey as it growls again.
Blood paints its teeth and the fur around its mouth, suggesting a fresh kill of something small. Whatever it was, I don't think it was enough to fill an empty stomach. Still moving backwards, I carefully reach over my shoulder for an arrow. The cat notices the movement and its growl turns into a louder warning. Its tail lashes from side to side.
With the size of this thing, one arrow is not going to be enough. But I don't have a choice any more than I have time to hesitate. I arm my bow but barely manage to fire before the cat lunges at me with a furious scream unlike any other. The arrow pierces its shoulder and it screams again, this time from pain. I take my chance and spin around, sprinting deeper into the cave.
Maybe I should've ducked around it and run outside where I wouldn't be cornered, but I'm sure it knows those woods, has stalked them in the night a thousand times. I may be fast but I wouldn't be able to outrun it for long. My best chance is to make it face me down here.
I don't get much of a head-start. It streams down the slope like the tide of black matter from the Capitol, condensed into something nimble and shrieking, a shadow mutt with claws designed to disembowel me. I shoot another arrow at it, but miss in my haste to turn back around and keep running. Or maybe it grazes the skin, because I hear another bloodcurdling cry from behind.
I dart through the waterfall, daring to hope that it shares Buttercup's hatred of getting wet. It must barely faze the beast, because I hear the curtain of water interrupted a second later as it pounces through without hesitation.
A shower is a paltry price for my blood. But what about a bath?
Desperate, I make a sharp turn and stumble across the stones that border the hot spring. The cat follows, snarling, and I turn sharply again, rounding the hot spring while staying near the edge. I manage not to slip on the wet rocks, but the cat is not so lucky, the momentum of the turn dragging its body into the pool. If any sound that this creature makes is even remotely comparable to its chilling scream, it's the frenzied raking of its claws against the rocks as it struggles to correct itself before sliding into the pool with a tremendous splash.
I stop and whirl towards my attacker, but the roiling waters haven't swallowed it completely. It must've indeed caught itself in the fall and is already clawing its way back up, spitting and screeching feline obscenities at me. Backing up gingerly, I reach for another arrow, almost faltering at the thought of having to drag an enormous wet carcass from the springs. Lucky for me – or perhaps not so lucky – it gets out fast, shaking itself off indignantly.
For a moment I'm foolish enough to believe it will do as Buttercup would and dive around me, yowling in shame. But no, the loathing in this cat's eyes runs deeper than a bitter old mouser with a kittenhood vendetta. It's not disdain that fuels the growl rumbling through its throat. This one is out for blood.
We attack almost synchronously. At the first hint of movement, I nock my arrow, which enrages the beast into pouncing. My arrow flies to meet it but I hardly register where the point pierces since I'm more fixated on the flurry of teeth and razor-sharp claws leaping right at my face. I lurch to the side with a gasp, dodging swiftly enough that I escape most of its wrath – except a searing pain signals that the cat has at least grazed me with a swipe of its paw, enough to slice through my coat and into my upper arm.
There's no time to inspect the wound, but it's almost certainly bleeding already. Clutching the spot where it scraped me, I race behind the waterfall, making another circuit around it and keeping close to the water's edge as I hurtle across the slick stone path between the waterfall and the spring. This time, I do slip, crashing forward and landing on my hands and knees. I don't go tumbling into the pool but there's a clatter and my bow almost does. I rescue it in time and scramble to my feet, prepared to turn and fire before my pursuer comes up and eats me from behind.
Until I lift my eyes, and it's waiting right in front of me.
It must've sensed my plan and, rather than chase me, decided to cut me off instead. It's too smart, but I'm still quick. Maybe I should aim for the brain. Moving fast, I reach into my quiver for another arrow – but my fingers grasp at nothing.
Nothing. An empty quiver. My heart stumbles like I might as well have fallen into that pool. Knowingly, I shift my eyes to the ground, where I find all my arrows scattered among the rocks and awkwardly sticking out of cracks and wedges. Whether I escape into the safety of the spring, or go for my arrows, it's all a matter of which one of us can lunge first…
I hear a growl. Low, long, and menacing. It echoes from closer to the entrance, which means it's not coming from the cat. At first I think with a numb sense of dread that there are more, this one's called for backup. And then he appears, prowling around the corner, big and white and bristling.
"Ghost," I whisper in disbelief. The relief I feel at the sight of him is instantly overshadowed by a fresh layer of panic. What is he doing here? He can't be here…
The cat, hearing him, turns slightly and growls back. It may not rival the direwolf in size, but in ferocity they might just be perfectly matched. Ghost growls louder, approaching slowly and baring his teeth.
This is an insult that cannot be tolerated. Snarling with rage, the cat turns its back on me and charges at Ghost, who meets it head-on with a vicious bark and a snap of his jaws.
The screaming and barking manages to snap me out of my trance. Taking advantage of the distraction, I swoop and snatch up the nearest arrow as fast as I can, load my bow, and aim at the battle of black and white fur. Fear and blood slick my hands, but I can't let Ghost take this attack for me.
He throws the cat back against one of the tall rock structures, dazing it for a moment and then making it angrier. It shakes itself off, rears up to strike a dagger-clawed blow – and that's when my arrow gets it right through the eye. It screams, lashing at the air blindly as it lands on its front paws with a stumble. One last shot to the head ends its fight.
Once I'm sure it won't be getting up again, I approach Ghost, dropping my bow to look him over for wounds.
"Hey, boy. You okay?" I ask, stroking his fur. He's panting from exertion, but I don't see anything too terrible. It was lucky that I acted as quickly as I did. I reward him with some affectionate ear scratches. "What are you doing here, huh? How did you find me?"
The direwolf whines in answer, his normally fierce red eyes inquisitive as he regards me with what looks like genuine concern. He sniffs at me and nudges my injured arm, but I'll worry about that in a moment. If Ghost is here beyond the Wall, that means someone must've opened the gate for him and let him out. To let him roam, or to find me? Why else would he have come here? Unless he was lured by the cat's screams, though I imagine such a sound would usually deter him. If I were him, I would've run in the other direction. But he came down here, as if tracking my scent. He protected me.
"Thank you," I say, giving him a little more love. He looks at me, then the carcass, and licks his chops.
After I contact Beetee to let him know what he missed, he sends me an extra game bag containing gauze for my arm. I clean and tightly wrap the wound, the best I can do for it right now, then get all my arrows back in the quiver and retrieve my knife to get to work on the pelt. I say it better with meat, letting Ghost have what he wants from the carcass. He's earned it, and besides that, I'm still not going to be able to fit it all in both game bags anyway.
Though Ghost's assistance speeds up the butchering process, we both end up giving in to exhaustion. He curls up by the fire and lets me rest my head on his fur, a much bigger pillow than Buttercup. And going forward, should I choose to make a spontaneous trip to this cave again, I will have a fine black-and-white blanket waiting for me.
Thanks to my working late into the night, it's around mid-morning by the time I awake. So much for leaving at first light. I change my bandages while my breakfast cooks and Ghost helps himself to his own, then we head out. I can eat while I walk, and I don't want to keep Ghost out here any longer than he feels he has to be.
Checking my snares confirms a suspicion from last night. I've caught a couple of rabbits that I manage to stuff in my bags, but there's nothing but blood at the third snare, suggesting the cat found itself a free appetizer before discovering the entrée in the cave.
That's fine with me. I've already gotten my prize.
Ghost leads me southeast via shorter routes, so we make it to the lake sooner than I expected. It's a relief, too, because I'm feeling the ache in my legs and knees from the running and tripping last night and I'm sure it must be slowing me down some. Even so, I keep up with him, and he never gets too far ahead, checking behind him now and then with an expectant tail wag.
He's a good companion, devoted and dependable. No wonder Jon cares for him.
Finally the Wall comes into sight, and once we step out of the forest, we pick up the pace as we make for the gate together. It starts to rise after we've made it more than halfway, and I gesture for Ghost to go ahead. He eagerly lopes toward the tunnel, with me trailing at a brisk walk after him. Going by the amount of daylight we still have, which disappears behind me as the gate lowers with a rusty creak, there's still an hour or two before nightfall. We've made good time.
The first thing I see when I walk through the next gate is Jon Snow, crouched down at Ghost's level and saying something to him as he rubs at his ears. He glances over at me and stands up, striding to meet me in the middle. Though he looks just as tired as I am, relief smooths out his features and I detect a hint of sheepishness in his eyes.
"Was worried they wouldn't let you through," Jon admits.
I frown, shifting the quiver strap on my arm, which makes me wince a little. "Isn't that your call?"
"Not if they neglect to inform me of your return," he points out, and then I understand. The men operating the gate could've easily refused to raise it for me, pretended I wasn't even there. "I don't suppose that was the case last night. The men I put on watch duty all like you. I made sure of that."
Yet here he stands, and I can't help but wonder how that came to be. If he requested that someone fetch him the minute we got back, if he still had his doubts and watched for me himself, if he's just been standing by—
"Like a dog, waiting at the door for his master to come home." Thorne's sneer assaults my ear from nearby. I look to the right and find him watching us with those cold, beady eyes of his.
"More like the master of the house waiting to let the cat back inside after it's finished massacring the wildlife," I say, and shake the game bag on my good arm before lifting up one of the rabbits. "Look, I even brought you a gift."
Thorne stares back, unimpressed. "Are you going to take it in your mouth and spit it at our feet?" he asks.
You'd like that, wouldn't you, is my first thought. But after exchanging a glance with Jon, I match Thorne's deadpan expression. "I'm going to take it to the kitchens," I say, putting the rabbit back in the bag. "I thought you might want it cooked first."
Jon stifles a chuckle, but some of the other men within earshot don't bother and snicker appreciatively. Rolling his eyes with another sneer, Thorne slinks off to go be an ass somewhere else.
Once he's gone, I turn back more fully to Jon, who is now likely waiting on an explanation. It occurs to me that I could give him one. The one that involves a drone from another world, sent here by the same inventor who sent me, released into Westeros and now soaring through the sky as it scours the lands beyond the Wall for the army of the dead. Which will most assuredly make it sound like a bird, so I'll have to tell him that no, it's not a living thing, but it can still fly and see things and feed us information, and…
An exhausted sigh leaks through my lips. "Wandered farther out than usual yesterday," I say, feeling preemptively defeated. "It got dark, so I thought it'd be safer to find shelter and spend the night."
Jon nods thoughtfully. "That was probably for the best," he says, and tries on a weak half-grin. "But we could've used your songs at supper."
"Things were really tense and quiet?" I ask knowingly.
He scoffs in confirmation. "Let's just say, your absence was noticed," he says, after giving the others in the courtyard a brief cursory glance.
Before I can reply, I hear a delighted voice call out my name. "Katniss!"
I turn, and Shireen is coming at me as fast as she dares run with Buttercup in her arms. "Hey, princess," I say, adding in the title when I see Selyse watching from a distance. "I missed you yesterday. Did you keep him safe for me?"
Shireen adjusts a blasé-looking Buttercup. "Buttercup's fine. It's you we were worried about," she tells me. Restless, the cat wriggles to get free, and when Shireen obediently lets him down, he sniffs me for a moment before growling and loping away. Somehow, I doubt that he's part of the 'we' in that equation. "Jon said you were probably avoiding the worst of the unrest about the wildlings. Then he said you might've left, but I didn't think so. I told him you wouldn't do that. Leave without saying goodbye."
"Of course not," I assure her. "I just strayed out kind of far. Had to stop and make camp. Didn't want to make the return journey in the dark." Then I add, "I'm sorry I wasn't here for dinner, though. I'll have to make up for it by teaching you a new song."
She shakes her head. "You were right to do that. Edd says there's all sorts of terrible things hunting beyond the Wall late at night." I roll my eyes and find Jon doing the same. Thank you, Edd, how very helpful... Without warning, Shireen flings her arms out and wraps me in a hug. "I'm just glad to see—"
Though I try to return it, I wince at the impact and don't cover it up in time. She notices and pulls away, studying me for a couple of seconds.
"You're hurt," she says softly. "What happened to your arm?"
Puzzled that she homed in on it so fast, I lift my injured arm to inspect it. The tear in my coat is conspicuous on its own, but one glance shows me a peek at the gauze underneath, and the red that has soaked through.
"It's nothing, just a scratch," I say, trying to downplay it with a little laugh. "Probably a good thing I didn't bring Buttercup with me, though. The cats out there? You make them pretty big in Westeros."
"A cat did that to you?" Shireen asks. "What kind of cat was it?"
"I don't know, the kind we're having for dinner," I say, and shrug, which is a mistake. Covering up another wince, I shift the game bags on my arms. "Speaking of which, I should get these to Hobb."
Jon frowns, his brow deeply furrowed as he glances from me to my arm. "I can bring them to Hobb. I think you should get that looked at. It may need stitching."
I know he's right, so I nod and thank him, carefully sliding the bags off my arms to hand over to him. The strap of one of the bags grates against the wound anyway, making me flinch. Shireen and Jon look more unnerved. "Is it that bad?" Shireen wants to know.
"It could've been worse," I tell her, forcing a confident grin. "You should've seen the claws on this thing. I'll never complain about Buttercup's puny needle nails again."
"I'll take you to Sam and Gilly. You can tell me all about your latest adventure beyond the Wall," says Shireen, leading me away by my good arm.
We cross the east courtyard to the maester's quarters and I regale her with the story of last night's game of cat and mouse, pausing only to go inside and greet Sam and Gilly, who look relieved to see me. Maester Aemon is still bedridden and can't stitch a wound like he used to, but Gilly offers to take a look at it while Sam tends to Aemon and Little Sam.
"That'll need stitching too," Gilly notes as I shrug out of my coat and sit down, pulling up my torn sleeve so she can see more of what she's dealing with here. The burn scars temporarily throw her for a loop, and she gives me an appraising look before turning it back to the wound. "The cat – what did it look like?"
I describe it to them, the large glowing eyes and the black and white stripes, and Shireen gives a gasp.
"You fought a shadowcat?" she breathes out, wide-eyed. Gilly also looks floored, abruptly pausing the unraveling of my gauze.
"Is that what it's called?" I ask, searching their startled faces. "I ran from it, mostly."
"I've read that shadowcats can disembowel you with a single swipe of their paw," Shireen says in a reverent whisper. After Gilly finishes taking off the bandages, she touches my arm gently. "It must've only just grazed you."
"You were lucky," Gilly says, and it's the firm inflection in her voice that turns my gaze to her. She meets my eyes sternly before lowering them and cleaning the area around the wound. "Shadowcats can smell blood from six miles away. You can handle one, but you might've attracted more."
I refrain from shrugging, keeping perfectly still so Gilly can work on my arm. "I was lucky Ghost found me when he did," I say.
"When supper was over and you still weren't back, I started getting worried," says Shireen. "Jon said to give you another hour or two, but after that, he started asking the men at the gate some questions. Then I woke up close to midnight and they said there was no sign of you. Jon was worried too. He couldn't sleep either until he sent Ghost out to look for you."
"We were all worried," Gilly adds more firmly. "You're never out that late. You shouldn't wander so far from here alone. Not unless you don't plan on coming back." Her eyes and tone say never do it again.
For a moment, I'm thrown by her protectiveness. This must be what it's like to have a mother who's tuned in all the time. Then I remember Little Sam, probably sound asleep at Aemon's bedside. Little Sam, who she might have lost to the White Walkers if she hadn't made it to this side of the Wall.
"I won't," I say, and wince a little as she gets to work with the needle and thread. "It was a one-time thing."
"No it wasn't," Gilly says to my arm, and pulls the thread through. Once she's perfected the first stitch, she looks up at me knowingly. "Just give us fair warning next time."
I make it up to them by telling them more about Ghost's heroic arrival and diversion while Gilly finishes closing the wound. Shireen eagerly makes me retell the part where the shadowcat fell into the water, which makes Gilly crack a smile. Turns out killing one is a big deal, since they're dangerous and their pelts are expensive, so Gilly and Shireen agree not to spread my story around. They'll have fresh game for dinner tonight and that's all anyone really needs to know. Now that the air around here is thick with wildling hate, I'd like to draw even less attention to myself, though troubling the princess and the Lord Commander by staying out late hasn't done me any favors.
Later, after Shireen's gone to rejoin her mother, I'm helping Sam and Gilly tend to Maester Aemon when Olly comes in with a tray of food. He sets it on the little wooden table by his bed, backs away stiffly, then turns to me.
"The Lord Commander's asking for you," he says. "Said if you were still in here, to tell you to meet him in the commander's quarters when you get the chance."
Oh, great, I think, instantly remembering how we left things before my little excursion beyond the Wall. Visiting the commander's quarters to deliver letters is one thing. Being called there by the commander himself is another. "Did he mention what it was about?"
"Didn't say anything," Olly answers briskly. "Just asked me to send you." He turns for the door, then hesitates and gives me a pointed look. "And if I were you, I wouldn't keep him waiting much longer."
A/N: Thanks to all new faves, follows, and (re)views! This fic is very close to becoming my most viewed story on this site. ZainR, glad you liked the "real enemy" reference! I swear that line just applies to GoT so perfectly. Pardon any errors, I hope I got them all but I'm tired and want to get this out before midnight ^^