The Cats of Tanglewood Forest by Charles De Lint Page B

the Kickaha that didn’t end until one of my ancestors made a potion, which he gave to the medicine man you see in the tapestry. Once he tasted the potion the growls of the bear became words that he could understand. He could understand the language of every animal. That was when he finally began to respect animals and animal people. He took his knowledge back to the chiefs of his tribe, and the war came to an end.”
    She looked away from the tapestry to scowl at Lillian.
    “But
your
people still hunt us,” she said.
    Lillian shook her head. “I don’t. Aunt and I never hunted anything.”
    Mother Manan’s eyes narrowed further. “Your Aunt Nancy is another matter altogether.”
    “She’s not my aunt,” Lillian said. “My aunt’s name was Fran Kindred. We never hurt anybody.”
    “Then maybe that’s why you’re still alive, girl.”
    Lillian lay awake for a long time that night, thinking of Mother Manan’s story and the tray of ancient tincture bottles she’d found in the cold storage.



She climbed down and went to the door again to listen, but the murmur of conversation continued in the parlor. She held one of the bottles to her chest and worked the stopper free. Raising it up to her nose, she gave it a sniff.
    It smelled foul, but then potions almost always smelled bad. Harlene made one from some kind of fish oil that Lillian and Aunt took all the winter long. When Lillian complained about the taste, Aunt just smiled and said, “That’s how you know it’s working.”
    If she could understand the language of the animals, she could learn things without having to wait for Mother Manan to interpret her dream—that is, if she ever even intended to. That seemed more doubtful with every passing hour.
    Perhaps the cats around here might know why the cats back home stared at her all the time. Maybe the chickens or pigs or cows could tell her something—like were the bear people really planning to eat her? She could track down that fox and ask why he wasfollowing her. At the very least, she might be able to make a friend or two.
    But taking some of the potion was as good as stealing. Aunt hadn’t raised her like that. She could well argue that she’d earned the right to take a sip of the potion with all the hard work she’d been doing. It wasn’t as though anybody had told her she shouldn’t give it a taste.
    Oh, that? she could say, if she were asked. I had a tickle in my throat, and I thought it was some kind of cold medicine like my neighbor Harlene makes.
    But who was to say it wasn’t some kind of poison? Then they’d just find her lying dead here in the cold storage.
    She replaced the stopper and almost put the little brown bottle back, but then she thought of Joen and the mean way he looked at her. The bear people acted like she wasn’t even a person. She was just like a slave to them.
    Shooting a guilty glance at the door, she pulled the stopper out again. Before she could lose her nerve, she lifted the bottle to her mouth and took a sip. She gagged on the bitter taste but managed to swallow. The awful liquid burned as it went down her throat.
    Fingers shaking, she stopped the bottle again and waited.
    After a few moments she decided she wasn’t going to die. But she didn’t feel any different, either, except she was a little sick to her stomach.
    Served her right for stealing. Didn’t matter how mean the bear people were.
    She put the empty bottle in her pocket, then climbed back up on the stool and replaced the tray in its original spot. Putting away the eggs, she closed the door of the cold storage. She hurried to her room and hid the bottle at the bottom of her food pouch.
    “Girl!” Mother Manan called from the parlor. “We’ll be needing some more tea in here.”
    “Yes, ma’am!” she called back, and put the kettle on.
    “Don’t you dawdle.”
    “No, ma’am.”
    While she waited for the water to boil, she decided she didn’t feel so bad after all for stealing that