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Say what? Did I just get cursed?
“I... I... I’ve no idea what that means,” I tell the speaker, my voice shaking along with my body.
The floating eyes blink at me. “Nor I. That piffle tends to leak out when I’m fatigued,” replies, what I assume is the cat in the gravel laden, bass tones of an English movie villain. You know, the one that’s usually barking mad. “Who are you to enter my dark domain in stealth?”
“Er, Edi,” I whisper.
“Edith Breaker-Smith Furtletooth?” asks the voice, stunning me into temporary silence. “Speak up, youngster. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The eyes disappear and a chain clanks in counterpoint to a rhythmic thumping on the cell’s metal floor, as though he’s bouncing around the cage.
“How, um, how do you know who I am?” I ask.
“You’re the Storyteller,” he replies, excitedly. “I always know when the Storyteller’s here. Why did it take you so long? You’re very dirty.”
“Are you the cat?” I ask, getting to the point. “The mage one?”
“I am the only one. At least, now,” he replies, releasing a tiny mew before launching into a ditty. “Falla lalla la lalla lalla la la.”
“Hush, please,” I beg.
“Don’t you hush me, young Storyteller. I’m old enough to be your... something or other.”
I don’t know if it’s my sight adapting or just my imagination, but the outline of a colossal feline begins to emerge from the gloom. And it’s speaking.
“How can you talk when you’re still a cat?” I ask.
“Hardly the most important question of the moment, don’t you know?” the cat replies. “Suffice it to say, I’m unable to return to my human form, so I have to speak in this one. That being an excessively long, sad story.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Thank you. Shall we proceed? Dum de da da dundle dee.”
The eyes disappear and reappear three times. I think he’s rotating. A terrifying roar suddenly shakes the cage and I nearly vacate my skin.
“Did you have to do that?” I hiss, trembling like a leaf in the storm.
“Yes,” he states. “Or I’ll go stark raving mad. Or perhaps I’m already mad. Who knows?”
His singsong delivery morphs into a quivering whimper. I hear a thud and those eyes drop to the level of mine. He must have sat down.
“I want the true magic back. Meooow.”
He sounds so heartbroken, I do something completely bonkers. Reaching through the bars of the cage, I feel above the eyes and gently stroke the top of his head, my fingers catching on what might be a mane. “There, there. It’ll be alright,” I say, though I’ve no idea how. I do know Curt would bite my hand, if he was here.
“I like my ears tickled,” the cat says with a gigantic sniff and I duly oblige, adding my other hand to the scratching of dual ears.
“My name is UrRahUm,” my new friend tells me.
“UrRahUm,” I repeat.
“Very good,” he says, perking up. “Nobody ever gets that right first time. I’m hungry. And lonely.”
“UrRahUm, you know who I am?”
“The Storyteller.”
“Do you know why I’m here, other than chief ear tickler?”
“You need me to ask the true magic to defeat the serpents,” he states, in a weirdly neat precis of my situation, before yawning.
“And can you?” I ask, leaving questions as to how he knows to another time.
“Oh indeed, yes,” he says confidently, then trails off into, “if the magic wishes.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but there’s only silence. Then I hear a soft intake of breath followed by air being blown through vibrating lips. Has he gone to sleep? I give him a gentle poke in what I hope is his side.
“UrRahUm.”
“What? What?” he blurts. “I’m awake.”
There’s a double ding against the bars as he shakes his head and I realise that what I assumed were two long, dim shafts of light are actually teeth, emerging from his mouth and dropping over his lower lip. Ok, so he’s a sabre tooth tiger. Sort of. I’m no natural history expert, but he looks way bigger than they’re supposed to have been and decidedly more tufty. Not to mention the meowing. But then, he can talk, so go figure.
“Erm, how can you defeat the serpents?” I prompt.
“Ears,” he insists, waggling them. I resume tickling. “To regain true magic, I must escape the serpent’s curse and this cell.”
“Right. Serpent’s curse?”
A warm nose pushes through the bars and presses against mine, followed by a long wet tongue lathering one side of my face. Funnily enough, it’s not unpleasant.
“The amulet,” UrRahUm says, having rolled his tongue back in.
“The blue gemstone on King Armpit?”
The tiger chuckles. “Armpit, indeed. So you’ve seen it. The twin hangs around my once noble neck.”
My fingers follow the shape of his head down to his throat and loop into a heavy chain. I give it a careful tug. It clangs and slides through my fingers, yet I can’t pull it away from his neck.
“It’s stuck,” the cat tells me and I give his ears an extra tickle in sympathy. He yawns and I feel his jaw widen dramatically. “The foul thing is cursed,” he continues, his fur falling from my fingers. He lays his head on his front paws, tipping to one side to avoid the teeth. “Feel the gem.”
Following the chain to the pendant reveals Armpit’s second gem attached to the first, facet to facet. I give them a pull, but they’re locked together.
“The amulet uses my... mistake to hold open a door to dark magic and channel it to him, the slimy magic thief.”
“Does he mesmerise you?” I ask.
“I am a cat,” UrRahUm rumbles with a sniff of disdain. “I cannot be controlled.”
“Except through that amulet,” I point out.
“And the curse. Yes.” He sighs, one eye disappearing as his head drops further into his front paws. “It hurts and I’m so tired.”
“If I can get you out, would you help us?” The six billion dollar question, right there.
“Who might us be, Storyteller?”
“My pack. Wolves, bears, two eagles, nice friendly snakes.”
“And you.”
“And me.”
“You wouldn’t try to keep me inside?” he asks, the one eye glittering. “I don’t like it inside. In the dark.”
“No, you can roam where you will,” I promise. My mum’s smoky cat, Ashley Paws, suddenly pops into my memory. “Unless you want to come inside and sleep by the fire.”
He softly purrs an affirmative. “I want to run through the trees again, with the true magic flowing all around me.”
“Me too. You don’t eat changers, do you?”
“Of course not,” he growls. “I’m not a dofwangel.”
“Just checking. What’s a dofwangel?”
“An insect with big teeth that burrows into your...”
“Never mind. Thank you.”
“Where have you been living all these years, Storyteller?” he asks. “It’s been a long time. I’ve missed you.”
I’ve no idea how to answer that, but he doesn’t wait for me to try.
“The curse was placed by a serpent, so only a serpent can remove it,” he says, his gruff voice weakening. “Do you have one of those willing to help me amongst your nice, friendly snakes?”
“Might do,” I reply, an image of Serpen replacing Ashley in my mind. “What would you need him to do?”
“He can free the chain and break the curse, but only if you tell the story.”
“What story?”
“I don’t know,” he snaps, adding a growl for good measure. “You’re the Storyteller.”
“Right. Could you give me a clue how this works?” I feel for his head and stroke his fur. “Please.”
“I’m not a pet,” he snaps.
I whip my hand back. “Of course not.”
“Did I tell you to stop?” A tooth clangs off a bar. “Ow.”
I go back to stroking and he rolls over onto his side.
“I’m sorry, UrRahUm, I don’t understand the whole of this Storyteller thing,” I admit, since there’s no option other than the truth. “It’s all new to me.”
Purr. “I’m so tired.” Rumble. “You tell your story of the serpent breaking the curse as he does so. You have to crush the amulet. You must promise to crush it.”
“I promise.”
“I’ll recover the flow, if the true magic is kind. Then I will help you.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” he agrees.
“And you can beat them. Even their king?”
“We can. But you must hurry. When the amulet fills with dark magic, he’ll use its power against you. You’ll have to help me escape. I’m tired and I’ve not run for a long time.”
I reach both hands through the bars and hug him as best I can. “Thank you, UrRahUm. I’m coming back with help.”
Snoring is the only response.
