A Vacant Throne
By Charles Kiernan
Dedication
To all the innumerable stray cats that have ventured into our home and into our hearts.
(Plus, a nod to Puss in Boots.)
The Drought
The mystic opened her eyes. The smell of damp earth filled the air. Light from the rising sun sent a prism of colors filtering through the mist. She uncurled, stretched, and rose. She stood on a low hill, under a sprawling, ancient tree, surrounded by a grassy plain.
Pulling a pale, cloth mantle across her sleek, white fur, she raised paws into the air toward the sun and began the chant, a prayer—a command—a hope. She recited the chant three times. As the words rose skyward, two white birds appeared on the horizon, gliding toward the hill, settling above her in the gnarled tree.
“Birds—of course.”
#
The warrior’s fur bristled. “Prophesies! Now is not the time for prophecies and visions. We need to make decisions.” The cat clenched his paw, slamming it down on the table.
Bianca sat wrapped in her pale mantle against the cold of the Steward’s chamber.
“But BraceLion,” said the Steward, “what decisions would you have us consider? What decisions are there to make? We are victims of the drought.”
The Steward shifted his ample bulk in a wicker curl-up beside the low table the three had gathered around.
“Emigrating, as our ancestors did when they came here, is not a solution for us. There is no place that isn’t affected.”
BraceLion scowled, turning his head to stare out the window and across the courtyard.
The Steward returned his attention to Bianca, and she continued.
“In my vision, I saw two birds. The first identifies The One Prophesied, but what is the purpose of the second? Could it be a reflection of the Companion? I expect two cats to appear soon. We will know the first by the symbol ‘V,’ as prophesied.”
The Steward reflected on her words; BraceLion snorted softly.
#
Old Dame Calico listened, ears tipped forward, to her great-grandnephew Graysley.
“What does Bianca say they will look like?” she asked.
“Well, Bianca didn’t. There’s the ‘V,’ and something about birds, though.”
Graysley split and shelled a pea pod with a single deft slice of a nail; he always busied himself helping out when he visited.
Birds, they appeared in my dreams as well, Dame Calico thought.
“I have heard these rumors before, Graysley, spread by other soldiers, and yet I give them credence.”
“At any rate, something is supposed to happen soon.” Graysley slit open another pod, the shriveled dry peas rattled as he swished them into a wooden bowl. “Some say he’ll be green, and rain clouds will follow him like a herd of goats. He’ll be easy to spot if that’s the case.”
“That I would not count on, Graysley.”
He grinned. “My favorite is that he is twenty tails tall and stronger and fiercer than BraceLion, but I think somecat made that up.”
“Oh—somecat like you?”
Graysley’s grin broadened at Dame Calico’s words. He set the bowl of peas aside and fixed his eyes upon her.
“What do you think? Might it be true this time? Something has to change if we are to see another year without starvation.”
Dame Calico pawed some unshelled peas into her apron, reflecting before speaking.
“There are times when wishing makes a thing true. If you believe a thing may happen, then it may happen. Our future is not fated. Our thoughts can shape it.”
She turned her attention again to the peas, saying, “But wishes are a wisp. Greater is the nature of these two beings, be they green or twenty tails tall. What is in their minds, what is their intent, is what we will see. But see, I think we will.”
