"I don't think I can do this," Munkustrap said in a hollow tone as he followed Vyktorea to the Tyghurss feasting hall.
"Oh, come on," the former Jellicle pulled him along. "I said I would help you, didn't I?"
"But do you really think," Munkustrap protested, apprehension seeping into his voice, "that I can pass for Macavity in his own tribe? Even with mental cues from you?"
"You've fooled Moya so far," Vyktorea assured him. "If you can deceive her, then you can probably deceive the rest of the tribe as well." She lowered her voice as they came closer to the hall. "Macavity is a very private cat. Any great secrets he may keep from me aren't likely to be known by anyone else."
"But what kind of leader is he?" Munkustrap asked desperately. "How will they expect me to act?"
"He's a good leader," Vyktorea said with conviction. "Whatever you may think of him, he's still a chief, just like you. Go with your instincts."
This last was uttered in a whisper as they came into the hall. Munkustrap noticed that it was set up in much the same way as the Jellicles' feasting hall. The fire with four roasting ghatsas, the cauldron with meat and vegetable broth for the older cats and young kittens who were too weak of jaw to handle the tough meat, and baskets of kulasha fruits, the juice of which helped wash down the meat.
Moya was the first to see them enter the hall and hurried over to greet them. "Here he is!" she cried, taking Munkustrap by the arm and leading him over to some of the other hunters. "You see, Groultyghur, I told you he was fine."
The brown, red, and black striped male that she was addressing didn't answer, but glowered at Munkustrap with one golden eye and one milky-white blind eye.
That's Groulthghur, of course, Vyktorea made some hasty introductions. He's your half brother. The grey and white striped male is Morghen, Moya's mate, and the orange male beside him is Grumbuskin, his brother. The older, brown and white male is Bilbaely, Moya's father.
Munkustrap's mind whirled as he tried to remember all the names and faces. Then Groultyghur spoke, "You had a narrow squeak this time, brother. First you lead us into the Jellicles' hunting territory, then instead of wiping out their hunters while you had the chance, you nearly killed yourself with your own magic trying to attack their chief."
"Groultyghur…" Munkustrap began warningly. In his own tribe he hated for his actions to be questioned by anyone other than his second or the Old Wise One, and he doubted that Macavity was much different in that respect.
"Even then," Groultyghur continued, heedless of Munkustrap's growling, "we could have finished off the Jellicles right there. But no, Moya thinks we should take our helpless chief and let the Jellicles do the same. No wonder we've never conquered that pitiful little tribe when we have an incompetent chief and a spineless second!"
Don't let him talk like that! Vyktorea said urgently, Munkustrap needed no such prompting and struck a ringing blow to Groultyghur's head with the flat of his paw. The attack on a chief's second in command would have been enough provocation, but Munkustrap couldn't help but also be incensed by the stab at his own tribe.
"Shut it!" he snapped at the younger male, slightly startled to hear the booming bass voice instead of his own commanding baritone.
Groultyghur made as if to strike back, but Bilbaely grabbed his wrist and said authoritatively, "Stop it, Groultyghur. Feast time is not the time for disputes about leadership, so save it!"
Groultyghur hissed and jerked away, but made no more threatening moves.
Now a grey and white striped female (whom Vyktorea mentally introduced as Morghasa, mother of Morghen and Grumbuskin) came over and said loudly, "If you hunters are through bickering, someone can say the evening prayer so the feasting can begin."
All eyes turned to Munkustrap and he knew a moment of panic until Vyktorea assured him, It's just the same as ours. Then almost reflectively, Many Tyghurss customs are the same as ours, actually.
Munkustrap quickly intoned the prayer he had heard Old Dutironomy say so many times, praising their creator, the Everlasting Cat and thanking him for providing a fruitful hunt, and the feasting began. Having cleared another hurdle in his charade as his own enemy, he sank to the ground before his suddenly jelly-like knees gave way.
Moya rubbed up against him as she sat down and placed some food in front of him. "I think you handled him pretty well," she purred as her brown tail snaked its way around his waist.
Morghen approached them and Munkustrap tensed, but the lilac grey-striped male merely sat down on his mate's other side and gently butted her shoulder, giving a brief, rumbling purr in greeting. She responded by licking his face before turning back to her chief.
Perplexed, Munkustrap looked over at Vyktorea, who sat a little separated from the trio with Tobit nearby. Don't I have a mate of my own? he queried.
Vyktorea shook her head slightly. You haven't ever taken a mate, no. Moya would like you to share her with Morghen, I think, and he doesn't seem to mind the idea, but you have never shown any interest.
Munkustrap pondered this bizarre love triangle as he finished eating. Above him he heard several caslikoh birds warming up and some of the Coricats started dancing. He consented to dance with Moya, but his magic-spent body tired easily and he had to stop after only a few minutes. He passed the Siamese-colored female to her own mate and sat down near Vyktorea to watch the other dancers.
One female in particular attracted his attention, and attention was obviously what she wanted. She was strikingly beautiful with her long, all-white fur, and she reminded Munkustrap of Alahnso's youngest kitten, Vyktorea, though Vyktorea didn't have blue eyes, nor was she so vain.
This white female swayed sexily among the dancers, going from one male to the next, until Groultyghur, who was practically green-eyed with jealousy, grabbed her and forced her to dance with him.
But the feline femme fatale could not be bound to one male for long, and she had her sights set elsewhere anyway. She got away from Groultyghur as soon as she could and slunk over to where Munkustrap sat, swinging her long, plume-like tail and giving him a sultry, come hither look.
Moya nudged the chief with her head as she sat down. "I think Gritelboen wants you to ask her to dance," she commented.
"So I see," Munkustrap murmured, glancing at the flirtatious white female. "Why doesn't she ask me?"
"Oh, come on, Mac," Moya laughed. "You know she never asks. She waits for the males to come to her, which they usually do as you well know."
Munkustrap shrugged, then looked over to Vyktorea. Sounds like someone from our tribe, he commented in amusement.
I don't know who you might be talking about, the older female returned, but you need to stop looking on and ask her to dance. She nodded at Gritelboen.
Munkustrap flashed a look of surprise at the former Jellicle. Should I really be encouraging her?
Yes! Vyktorea urged. She has a crush on you, which you usually humor.
Shaking his head at the nature of the Coricat who's body he wore, Munkustrap stood and casually approached the white-furred coquette. Pretend she's Demeetar, he told himself. Well, maybe not Demeetar. Cazondra or Rhimara then.
Placing his hands on her hips from behind, he whispered into her ear, "Would you like to dance with me, Gritelboen?"
Gritelboen stiffened as she looked back at him, but he could tell from her eyes that is was with excitement, not fear.
"I wouldn't mind," she said demurely, and melted into his arms as he guided her to the center of the hall.
They danced almost in slow motion, Gritelboen savoring the moment and Munkustrap trying to conserve his energy. It wasn't long, though, before Groultyghur came along and split them up.
"What do you want?" Munkustrap said in irritation as the younger male grabbed him and pulled him away from his dance partner.
Groultyghur's gold right eye gleamed with fury. "You've pushed me down before," he hissed, baring his teeth, "but I'm not going to put up with your interference in this!"
"Enough!" Munkustrap snarled, and without any conscious effort, found himself throwing a small magical blast at his would-be aggressor, causing the one-eyed Coricat to drop to his knees, disoriented.
Munkustrap was a little disoriented himself; he had never wielded such power before. He struggled to focus on his opponent through a haze of gradually fading colored lights. "I've had about all I can take from you," he snarled. "The next time you attack your chief, you can start fending for yourself because you won't be welcome here!"
There was a collective gasp from the rest of the Tyghurss and Munkustrap was immediately worried that he had said the wrong thing. But Vyktorea reassured him, It's okay. We've been half-expecting this confrontation for months. So Munkustrap continued to stare fiercely at Groultyghur until the latter stood up and stormed past him out of the hall. Gritelboen wavered for a second, then shot a defiant look at her chief before sauntering nonchalantly after his rebellious brother.
Munkustrap sighed and shook his head wearily. The Tyghurss' caslikohs were no different from the Jellicles'. As the mood changed, so did their song, sounding very sour in the Coricats' ears.
"I think it's time to go home," Moya said quietly.
Munkustrap nodded. "We can sort this all out in the morning," he decided, then added under his breath, "I hope."
©1999 Delilah