Page 77 of Blacktail

“You are wrong,” Sarge said. He spoke softly, but with great certainty. “I know their ways. Once I fought alongside them, very far from here, in a place that was always hot. Do you know of the metal birds? Like Car, but men can fly them, even above the clouds?”

The eye of Blacktail’s mind drew back to the morning after Renren’s murder. There he saw metal birds following Slipper’s tracks in the snow, spewing smoke, hovering. He heard the cracks when gunshots rained down on Slipper from clean blue sky. He did not flinch at the memory…but it was a near thing. All he said was “I do. I have seen them.”

“My war pack flew in those, a great bird. We flew long and long. Eventually we came to an ocean of sand. There I saw great herds of men, more than you can imagine. They killed each other in ways I cannot think. I befriended some two-legs. Others I killed—many of them. More, perhaps, than even yourself. It is true that most of them think us little more than stones. But not Mercy. She—”

Blacktail cut him off with a bark. “Is it your flesh or your fur that she seeks?” He took a step closer, then another. The fur of his neck was high.

Sarge bared his teeth and stood his ground.

“Would it matter if I told you that Mercy herself is of the hunt?” Milo asked.

Blacktail stopped in his stride. He turned to the priest. “I am listening.”

Milo looked over his shoulder and called out to the beagle. The little dog trotted out of House and stood next to his priest.

“Tell him,” Milo said.

“Holiness, must I? I…I do not like to think about it.”

“Tell him,” Milo barked again. “Do it now. It’s the best chance she has.”

The beagle looked at his priest and wagged his tail in acquiescence. “Mercy had a mate once,” he began softly. “Her mate—he did not love us.”

“Where is this one now?” Blacktail asked. The stink of two-legs was all over this place, but only one. “Did your pack kill him?”

“No, lord. Not us.”

Blacktail considered this. “I see. Go on.”

“The night that I came here, it was very cold,” he said. He spoke slowly, staring into the middle distance. “It was just after the winter—not snowing, but wet and very cold. I had not eaten in a long time. Days. I could smell the food through the woods. It—”

“Meat?” Blacktail asked.

“No,” said the beagle. The question puzzled him. Blacktail realized then that the little dog was not very bright. “Not meat. No one here eats meat.”

“What then?”

The beagle looked to his priest, unsure if he should answer.

Milo wagged his tail. “The food-rocks,” he said. “Each night she leaves them out. Some for us, some for the cats. For the birds, there are seeds. For the squirrels and opossum, there are nuts and dry corn. Perhaps it is not what you are used to, but no one here is hungry. I—” With an effort, Milo restrained his urge to continue talking. He turned to look at the beagle. “Continue your story,” he said gently. “I will not interrupt again.”

“I was starving, I think,” the beagle said. “I could still walk, but that was about all. My first mommy threw me out—banished me. I thought she would come back, but…she never did. First I waited. Then I wandered through the woods for many days. Alone, hungry, covered with ticks. Then I stumbled on this place. The lights, you know? I saw them through the woods. I could smell the food. I was afraid, but the smell…if you are hungry for long enough there is no such thing as choice. So I came.

“I had eaten all that there was when the mouth of House opened. The man who was Mercy’s mate came out. He looked at me for a long time. I put my forepaws on him. To thank him, you see? I thought he was the one who had left the food. But that was not, it wasn’t…” The beagle looked up at Milo, his brown eyes soft and miserable.

“Go on,” said Milo. “You’re doing fine.”

“Perhaps I am not wise,” the beagle whispered. “Everyone says so. But how could I have known? One does not expect the giver of food to be cruel.”

“It wasn’t Mercy’s mate who fed us,” said Milo. “He didn’t want us here at all. For a long time his fury had grown. We could all smell it, but what could we do? Just the sight of us made him worse. And when he saw the penitent beagle, well…we knew that Mercy would take him in. We all knew it. Her mate…he knew it, too.”

“Do you know of the cuchillos, the metal tooths that the two-legs carry?” the beagle asked. “Tooths not of their body, but strong and sharp?”

“I know them well,” Blacktail said.

“Yes, of course you do. Mercy’s mate had one. I smelled it, of course, but I felt no threat. I was still trying to thank him, you see. He took the tooth out and clutched it in his forepaw. He knelt down to me and stroked me. I was in an ecstasy. I thought, you see, I thought that I was saved. Then he—he, ah—”

“What?”