Kitty Katt 11: Alien Separation (14 page)

W
E WALKED TO THE CARAVAN,
with Bruno, Ginger, and the katyhoppers coming along.

Jeff kept his arm around my shoulders and I kept mine around his waist, allowing myself to enjoy the relief of knowing he was okay and the joy of being back with him.

The wagons were a lot like the ones Earthlings had used for millennia—wooden, flat on the bottom, four wheels, some open, some enclosed. The woods and colors maintained the color scheme for this section of the world. As with the katyhoppers, the Lecanora used leaves and mud to create natural grout.

King Benny met us at the lead wagon. “The others feel that because my ocellar—Ginger, as you call her—has accepted you, and because of those you travel with,” he indicated the katyhoppers, “that you are clearly not as we have been told. You need to share your Godhood with the others, or there may be . . . problems.”

“Did anyone stop to figure that, you know, Ginger's got a good guess going that I'm not going to put her into a catapult and shoot her up into the air and maybe that's why she likes me?”

King Benny shrugged. “We would have caught her. Safely. It's something we do frequently.” He looked at the katyhoppers. “When we have to.”

“Um, the katyhoppers saved us, more than once, and while we returned the favor, they housed us and so forth, so they're our pals. As in, they took in three Gods and didn't question it and so forth. So they are totally off limits in terms of being attacked or eaten or whatever.”

“I was not insinuating that the . . . katyhoppers, as you call them, were our enemy. However, we all share a common enemy, which is why our ocellars are used to being catapulted into the air.”

The light dawned. “Wow and crap. You have snakipedes in this section of the world, too?”

“Excuse me? I'm not sure I understand you, Shealla.”

“So few ever do, King Benny. So few ever do. The giant flying snakes. You have them over here, just like the katyhoppers do?”

“Ah!” He nodded. “We call them the Horrors. And they are venomous as well as hugely dangerous even without their venom. They are not sentient as we are, or even as our bosthoon are. They are animals in the truest sense of the word, their appetites are large, and their methods skillful and deadly.”

“Bosthoon?”

“The animals pulling their wagons,” Jeff said quickly.

“Ah, the bronto-horses, gotcha.” Was
so
glad I hadn't known that the snakipedes were venomous last night. I might not have had the guts to kill the one that attacked us. Of course, I knew now. But I also knew that, as long as I had bullets, the snakipedes could die. Probably didn't have nearly enough bullets for all the snakipedes on the planet.

Chose not to say any of this aloud. Hopefully our guess was right and the Lecanora had no mind-reading abilities. Made a mental note not to give them waterfruit unless we wanted to experiment with the ability or needed to know they could read us.

King Benny cocked his head and stared at me. The tree antlers managed to stay on, but they looked funny and made him cute rather than imposing. Still controlled the Inner Hyena. Gods laughing at your leader tended to be bad for the leader and many times worse for the Gods. “You wish us to call them bronto-horses, Shealla? You are the Giver of Names.”

Interesting. So far, our God Names were really lining up with what we did in real life. Wondered what he was going to assign to Christopher. “Ah, no, King Benny. Bosthoon is a good name.”

He relaxed and seemed pleased. “Well and good. May I introduce you as you truly are, Leoalla?” he asked Jeff.

Who looked to Chuckie. Who nodded. “It's wise, as you say, King Benny.”

King Benny turned and we followed. He still had his short sword held in his tail. The thought occurred that maybe we weren't who he was worried about.

Went on with my examination as we headed toward a group of the Lecanora. Long wooden bars extended from the wagons to attach to harnesses on the bronto-horses. Bosthoon was indeed as good a name, and since that's what the Lecanora called them and I'd graciously told King Benny it was good, I'd break down and do the same.

The bosthoon had little heads and long, thick necks and tails, hence the brontosaurus comparison. Their middles, however, were all horse, all the way, and their thick legs ended in wide, flat hooves. Their coloration was similar to that of horses—all over the place—but they stuck with the color scheme, just as everything in Purple Land had.

The leather looked to be bosthoon, which made sense. Humans used cow and horse leather because in the old days, we'd used every part of our domesticated animals that we could.

Catapults were on uncovered wagons, of course, and this group had five of them. There were twenty-five wagons, not counting those with catapults, so one catapult for every five wagons seemed to be their setup.

Bronze Land continued to smell of burnt wood and sunsets, but there was a definite whiff of animal that hadn't existed in the Purple Land. The smells weren't unpleasant, but it was clear that mammals were more common in this color section. Especially since we were with a big group of them.

Sure enough, there was a hodgepodge of the extended weasel family here. In fact, it was a little too hodgepodge. Took a longer, closer look at the caravan. The wagons weren't of uniform design. Some had more ornamentation than others, some were clearly made from different woods, dirt, and leaves than others, some wagons had one bosthoon, some two, some four, and so on.

The Lecanora were also different, and not just in their coloration or size relative to each other. Some seemed more prosperous than others, some far less so.

King Benny led us to a clutch of Lecanora, all of whom looked worried or suspicious or both. They seemed to represent the full variety of the mustelidae family.

“You have all met him as the Messenger of the Gods,” King Benny said without preamble. “But the truth has been revealed to me. We are blessed—the Gods themselves have tested us and found us worthy.”

Some of the others looked impressed, some didn't. All of them were sniffing. Surreptitiously, at least somewhat, but definitely sniffing. Had no idea what we smelled like to them, but had a feeling we'd find out soon enough.

Before King Benny could say anything else, though, one of the pig-dogs ran over and started bark-honking at me. The pig-dogs were about the size of an extra-large German Shepherd but with snouts that were more squat and broad than elongated, long claws on their paws, tusks that stuck out just like a boar's, bristles instead of whiskers, and curlicue tails. This one was also kind of goofy looking—I mean, more goofy looking than the pig-dogs already were—and its whooping at me was kind of hilarious and cute, and I didn't pick up any danger. Not that this necessarily meant anything.

“What's your pig-dog's name?”

This earned me some shocked looks from those who'd looked impressed and more suspicious looks from those who already seemed distrustful. Chose not to look at my guys in case they were glaring at me or trying to tell me to shut up.

“It's a chocho,” King Benny said.

“Gotcha.”

“Why would one of our Gods not know this?” a Lecanora who looked like a walking weasel asked, while he sniffed at us. Not in the dissing you sort of way, but in the “smelling you from a distance” way.

“Because we Gods have different names for things than you do. Obviously, I might add.”

“You would question Shealla, who gives the names?” King Benny asked of weasel-dude.

“Ah, no.” He looked somewhat uncomfortable.

“It's forgiven. What's the chocho's name?”

“He has no name,” King Benny said. “He's not quite . . . right. But he's part of the chocho's pack, and we've all agreed that we will give refuge to any who need it, regardless of their fur.”

“Well, that's great to hear. We, ah, approve. In a God-like way.” I put my fist out to the chocho. “C'mere, boy. Give us a sniff.”

He bounced forward and back as dogs will when they're excited and unsure. But finally the chocho got close enough to sniff my hand. After a few seconds I moved slowly and ran my hand over his head. His fur was thick and a little bristly, but not unpleasant.

The chocho seemed shocked. I was having that effect on the beings in Bronze Land. I continued to pet him. After about half a minute he sat on his haunches and, curlicue tail spinning, proceeded to let me give him vigorous petting like I did with my own dogs.

“Wilbur's a great chocho,” I said as I caught Jeff's horrified and worried expression. “He's not going to bite Kitty, is he?” I asked the chocho.

Wilbur made the bark-honk and jumped up.

W
ILBUR PUT HIS
front paws on my shoulders and licked my face. Nope, Wilbur was definitely on Team Kitty.

The Lecanora looked more shocked than they had yet. “He . . . he has never allowed anyone to touch him,” the beaver representative said. Was pretty sure it was a female. Lush pelts made sexual differentiation difficult and only a few of the males were wearing codpieces. Or all the females had masculine voices. Too early to tell. “And you travel with other creatures none can tame.” She pointed webbed fingers toward the katyhoppers.

“Huh. Well, I have a way with animals.” Gave Wilbur a last vigorous pet. “Names are also helpful. Helps a creature know who you're talking to and that you think enough of it to name them something specific. And all that.”

“Do you still doubt she is Shealla?” King Benny asked, as Wilbur joined Bruno and Ginger at my feet.

“Why does she call herself Kitty?” a skunk representative shared. Pretty sure it was a male, with no codpiece in evidence. However, he had fluffy fur, so his modesty wasn't exactly compromised.

Heaved a sigh. “What you call us and what we call ourselves is different. As your king understands.”

“King?” the weasel-dude asked. “Musgraff is our clan leader.”

“And as far as we Gods are concerned, Grover, that makes him a king. Is there a problem with that?” Hey, he looked like a Grover to me. He didn't appear to love the name, but he didn't argue about it, either.

Lots of furry heads shook quickly but many furry faces looked worried. Clearly there was a problem with this.

“There does seem to be an issue with the title Shealla has bestowed,” Chuckie said.

King Benny nodded. “There is a king, a ruler of all the clans. He . . . does not take kindly to usurpers or those who wish the rule of the land to be more . . . equal. And he does not take advice, or hear things he does not want to. But this is wrong, and we believe that questioning how things are done and being correct should not be a cause for exile.” The others nodded emphatically.

The light dawned. “Ah, you're all rebels. You wanted a better situation for your families, or you saw how things could be better, identified a threat the king wanted to ignore, and you were kicked out of your clans because of it.” Looked around. “That's why you're here, in a barren area.”

“It's as if she reads our hearts and minds!” the skunk-guy exclaimed. The others nodded. Clearly Skunky here had some sway.

Exchanged a pointed glance with Chuckie. This was theater, lying, and subterfuge, and Jeff and Christopher weren't going to be up to what was needed. Happily, they were staying quiet, presumably because Jeff was smart enough to keep quiet and Christopher's desire to snark was being subdued by being able to tell what Chuckie and I were doing. Via reading our minds. Made a note to not share that the next color over was the Mind Reading Capital of the Solar System.

Chuckie shook his head and sighed. “Such little faith. It saddens me.”

“You have disappointed Alcalla,” King Benny said to his folks, who all looked ashamed and worried. Good. “And see? Leoalla will not even speak to us now!”

“He said he was the Messenger, not Leoalla,” a woodchuck that I was fairly sure was male said. Good to know that there had indeed been a reason Jeff had used Charles when introducing us to King Benny.

“Well, Brown, as I see it, Leoalla gets to say he's whoever he wants to say he is.” As with Grover, the woodchuck-dude didn't seem thrilled with his name, possibly because Chuckie had laughed when I'd bestowed it, but he didn't argue about it, either.

“The Gods do not need to explain their ways to you,” King Benny thundered. “Leoalla was testing us. And Shealla, Alcalla, and Binalla all test us now, too. And we are now failing! You need to beg forgiveness for doubting the miracle of Leoalla's appearance, and then Shealla, Alcalla, and Binalla's deigning to join us as well.”

Nice to know what Christopher's God-name was. Hoped we'd get some kind of clue for what Binalla was supposed to do before that lack of knowledge blew our cover for us. Figured forging ahead would be wisest. Working for me so far, at any rate.

“You can earn our forgiveness by assisting us.” The Lecanora all looked hopeful. “When we came down from the heavens, we were separated from our brethren. We need to find the other Gods. Assist us with this and your lack of faith will be forgiven.”

“You travel with strangers,” beaver-chick said. “Creatures we have heard of and sometimes seen from a distance but have been warned against. Why?”

Interesting. The katyhoppers hadn't shown any kind of military mindset or setup and they hadn't seemed aggressive or even sort of nasty, either. And I already knew they weren't allowed out of the Purple Land under normal circumstances. Meaning it was likely that the Lecanora had been told to stay away due to the old “we don't know what's there and we don't want you finding out first in case what's there is good” ploy.

“No. We travel with friends. Friends who have helped us, and who we've helped in kind. And we travel with them in part because they know what we do—that there is a greater threat facing you and your world than your interpersonal struggles for supremacy.”

Skunky and King Benny exchanged a look. “You mean the ships in the air,” Skunky said finally.

“We do,” Chuckie said, managing not to sound shocked. Really hoped Jeff and Christopher were looking at their shoes or something.

“We were not . . . believed,” beaver-chick said. “When we saw the visions.”

“Visions?”

King Benny nodded. “Our people do an annual pilgrimage to the All Seeing Mountain. We ask for the Gods to guide us and show us what is to come, what they want for and from us.”

Resolved to both find out where this mountain was and get to it, pronto.

“Ah, yes,” Chuckie said smoothly. “Which is right and proper.”

“The air of the mountains is rich and blesses some with more clarity than others,” Grover said. “Many times this clarity is a blessing. But for all of us . . .”

“We all saw the ships in the sky,” Skunky finished. “So many, so strange, so imposing. But our clan leaders and the king would not listen.”

Jeff cleared his throat. “Last night, we spoke about this. The Lecanora clans aren't at peace.”

“True,” King Benny said. “We fight with each other, and the king allows it.”

Took another good long look at the caravan. There was another reason they were in an area that was, at least compared to the Purple Land, quite barren. And I'd said it was barren before and none of them had argued.

“You're not well equipped for war, are you?”

The Lecanora were all quiet, but King Benny finally nodded. “No, Shealla, we are not.” He looked down. “And so I fail the Gods.”

“No,” Jeff said strongly. “You do
not
fail us because you're not killing other clans or prepared to destroy your own people, or others, or your planet.”

King Benny looked up. “But, how can we help the Gods to save our world? That is why you have come is it not? Because our visions are true and you have come to lead us and to save our world?”

Oh, the tough question. But, conveniently, I had the tough answer.

“Absolutely.”