Free Motherstone by Maurice Gee Page B

again from the top. Wherever he was, he was hidden well. But Slarda was there, topping another dune two hundred metres back. It was like watching someone over a river. Slarda made no sign of seeing her, but sank into a hollow. For a moment her head seemed to float on the sand, then was gone. Susan ran, stumbling down to another sand-face. This one seemed more steep. She slid back as she climbed. At the top she rolled until she was hidden, then ran again, and climbed; and so it went on, three more, four more, five more dunes. She looked back but had no sight of Slarda. By now the woman must have reached the place where Steen had left her.
    A cry came from the desert. It crossed the huge silence like an arrow, and was gone. Male or female? Susan could not tell. She ran across sand that did not fall as she had expected but seemed as flat as a low-tide beach, and came to the final climb. The jungle stood there, silent, at the top of a wall white as sugar. It seemed almost straight up and down and taller by several times than the ones she had climbed already. She started up, and slid back, and knew she had no strength for it. But she tried again, and made several metres, digging her fingers in the moving surface. Far away, black creepers hung like strands of hair on a forehead. If she could reach one – but she fell, and rolled like a log to the bottom. Her eyes were blind with sand and her mouth gritty. She squatted hamster-like at the foot of the wall and waited for whatever was to happen. After a little time her eyes were clear. She wiped them and looked across the sand-flat at the dunes. Slarda stood halfway across, watching her.
    Slarda!
    Susan thought of Steen first. Tears burned in her eyes and slid on her cheeks. She was glad that he had died his own man. Then she was terrified for herself, and tried to stand, but her knees gave way.
    Slarda came another ten steps forward. Her lips were drawn back in a grin, her teeth gleamed like porcelain. She held up something, rattled it – Steen’s belt and empty water flask – and threw it aside. She took her crossbow from her back and with two fingers shaped like tongs plucked a short arrow from her pouch.
    If only she’d say something, say a word, Susan thought. She could not move. She sat at the foot of the sandhill, leaning her back on it, palms flat, calves burning on the sand, and waited for Slarda to take aim. Grains from high on the hill ran in little rivers by her face. She tried to wet her mouth. She closed her eyes.
    When she opened them Slarda had her bow armed. But something about her was wrong. She had sunk into a fighting crouch. She was looking not at Susan but up at the jungle. Slowly she took two steps back.
    Susan turned painfully. She did not care much what she saw. It could be no help, whatever it was.
    The sand climbed almost straight, as smooth as marble. Jungle frothed across the top of it. A huge red flower bloomed on the green. She blinked and looked again. Not a flower. Jaws and shoulders jutting like a painted figurehead. White teeth winking. Eyes like jewels.
    Bloodcat!

Chapter Six
Thief
    ‘Cat,’ Slarda said, ‘take the girl.’ Her voice came hoarsely over the sand. ‘Cat, noble cat, we are hunters, you and I. We understand each other. She was mine. But I surrender her. I give her to you. Take the girl.’
    The Bloodcat made no sign of having heard. It opened its jaws wide and yawned and the bones of its mouth made a creaking sound.
    ‘Cat,’ Slarda said, ‘she is tender. She is sweet. But I am tough. No meal for you, King of Cats.’
    She was pleading for her life. But she made no sign of panic. She remained in her fighting crouch, with her bow ready. Her eyes, unblinking, watched the cat. Susan watched it too, thinking how much less terrible it was than Slarda. It was not twisted, it would not kill her for its own pleasure. And it would do as it wanted. She felt like telling Slarda to stop wasting her time. This cat would choose one of