Prologue

~*~

The azure moon shone in a partly cloudy sky, shedding its icy, bright blue light on the canopy of the forest. The grass was dimpled by the moonlight and the long shadows cast by the dark, looming trees. Silence hung in the air, broken only by an owl hooting in the perch of its tree. The night seemed so peaceful, so calm, and yet it teemed with danger.

Countless shadows dashed through bushes and behind trees. Their paws began to pound on the ground as they ran, sending sprays of leaf-litter fluttering to the earth. A rainbow of eyes lit the forest as many creatures swarmed through the woodland. Some scraped bark as they climbed trees, and others’ pawsteps silenced as they halted and began prowling the land below. Fierce gazes locked with one another as they crossed paths. This was no regular night-time hunt.

Some of these creatures—cat-like in contour—were lean, others larger and muscular. Pointed ears topped with tufts of fur sat on their heads and long, thin tails with glowing, pointed tips streamed behind them. Each had two large glowing eyes that sat vertical on the face. Some had horns on their heads; some had a number of spikes running down their backs. As the colored eyes lit each creature’s pelt, an array of fur colors were revealed: orange, brown, black, white, gray, cream, red, silver, golden. Some were dappled, others striped. Some were solid-colored, and others were patched.

Whiskers and noses twitched. Trails of their quarries, as clear as though they could see them, were revealed, and the soft breathing of resting animals funneled into their swiveling ears. 

Cries of fury and anger rose up among these creatures, followed shortly by shrieks of fear. The hunting animals charged into caves and under bushes, pouncing at the sleeping residents curled in their nests. Dreams were broken as the sleeping ones were plunged back into the waking world. Every so often a wail would be cut off abruptly as an attacker sank its teeth into its victim’s flesh and sent a river of blood pulsing from the wound. More of these cat-like creatures scattered into the open. 

Away from the besiege, long a cliffside up north of the territory, stood a gloomy cavern with a wide, yawning mouth. One of these animals crouched in the shelter of the stone structure, his dark gray tail flicking nervously as he watched the entrance. He glanced to his side at what he had sworn to protect: a jet-black egg with white and gray patches gleaming like pieces of crystal. He at last settled his quivering tail around his unhatched offspring, pressing it closer to his soft flank as a particularly loud caterwaul boomed over the rest. He had taken his egg from the Hatchery to his own family’s den for safety.

I'm sorry, the cerrien thought. I'm sorry I couldn't fight for you, but I had to get our egg to safety. The Hatchery is just too close...

A head poked from outside, sending a long shadow down the length of the cave.

The cerrien sprang to his paws, hissing.

“Be quiet!” snapped the new arrival, her yellow eyes glittered with anxiety. “I’m not one of those traitors! A friend of your sister sent me. This revolution…or whatever this is… is getting too serious. We’re getting overrun, and our chances of survival are getting slimmer and slimmer. You must take your egg and leave the territory, for both your sakes.” She gestured to the egg with her tail, not once taking her eyes from his.

“But what about the rest of my family?” the cerrien demanded. “They went off to help the soldiers ward off the traitors. I can’t just leave them behind!”

The distraught messenger shook her head, clueless as to how this could have happened, and so quick and unforeseen too. “They have already taken hold of them. There is nothing anyone can do for them now. You must leave so that you both stand a better chance of surviving.”

No! His anger fell away like a stone. They're gone?

“Go now, before things only get worse!” Her voice climbed to a desperate tone. “You can grieve them later. Do you want your kitten to die?”

His heart dropped. “Never.”

“Then go,” the cerrien hissed, then heaved a sigh, her voice softening. “You are the Spirit-Watcher. You must not forget that. You can see ghosts and are the only one who can see ghosts until the next century. Some of the spirits of the Spirit World have lived since the dawn of Fintaria; they might know something that could help us. Keep an eye out for them, and if they find you, you must listen to what they have to say.”

As if I’ll ever listen to some dead cerriens I’ve never met! the male cerrien thought and turned to his egg. Fury rolled off of him in waves. What could cerriens that lived generations ago—completely separated from this time period—know? With his forepaws, he rolled the egg into the side opening of the leaf-woven travel bag that was still fastened on his back from his journey to the den. The cerrien grasped the handle of the bag in his mouth, lifted himself to his paws, and slipped out of the cave, whisking behind it.

“Travel safely!” the other cerrien whispered to him as he passed her before he bounded away.

Turning away from her, the cerrien hurried away with his cargo. The moon touched his fur for a few moments, turning the dark gray cerrien to silver before he dipped into the shadows, anxious to travel unnoticed. The cries of battle and anguish could still be heard in the background behind him. He quickened his pace.

My family is gone. I'm alone. He shoved away his grief and glanced behind him at his travel bag. There's no time for sorrow. It's up to me to keep you alive. You're all I have left. 

He would head to the eastern border, across the moor. This kitten had to have a chance. This kitten was his future.

A loud, pained yowl echoed from the trees, filling the air with fluttering birds as they fled in terror.

That sounds close! He stiffened. I have to get out of here!

He broke into a run, his paws pounding against the grass. His breathing quickened, and blood roared in his ears.

You must take your egg and leave the territory. Where? Maliterria’s too dangerous—filled with cold-hearted outcasts. Not every cerrien cast from their own had to live a life as a loner. Thermoterria? No. Those cerriens are lazy and weak, and Glaciterria is hardly any better! What kind of father would he be to surround his kitten with cerriens that don’t know how to defend themselves? If this night had proved anything, it’s that danger could be lurking anywhere, even within your own tribe. And my kitten will need to know how to fight that danger.

So the only option left was Scorpoterria.

Those cerriens pride themselves with their fighting abilities. After all, it’s what they’re known for.

Something hard stubbed against his paw and hot fiery pain shot up his leg as the cerrien stumbled and fought to regain his balance. He lifted his paw and licked vigorously, eventually soothing the pain until it was nothing more than a dull ache.

But the load on his back had shrunk.

The egg! The cerrien swung his head around, spotting his cargo laying on its side pawsteps away. He bounded to it, nosing the egg all over and squinting his eyes to shield the piercing white light radiating from patches on its surface. Quick breaths swept across the egg. It can’t be broken! It’s all I have left! He felt the fragile shell, aware that just one push would be enough to split it open. The egg was as smooth as the round pebbles that rested at the shore of the beach.

No cracks. No dents. The cerrien heaved out a sigh of relief. It’s safe. He twisted and unstrapped the bag from his back, allowing it to slide into the grass.

I must tread more carefully. He nudged the egg safely into the travel bag and sighed. How can I keep you safe for such a long journey, and with all these enemies? He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of responsibility as though he were carrying a whole tree on his shoulders.

The cerrien was met with another wail of terror from the distance, cut short abruptly.

When the bag was on his back again, the cerrien kept moving—this time by a quick trot. His gaze glided over his surroundings, and he swiveled his ears forwards and sideways. He kept his claws out, and could feel them shredding the grass beneath his paws with each step he took.

He nearly stumbled forward as a pale glowing shape revealed itself from behind one tree. The figure was brightly outlined against the night, as if generating its own radiance with a lustrous white layer over top of its transparent, orange spotted pelt. A smoke-like material rose from it as though it was burning, flickering in the slight breeze surrounding them in the darkness. It hurried to intercept the cerrien with a clear blue stare begging its attention be drawn to it.

“Stop,” The eerie shape ordered urgently.

The cerrien turned away. Just ignore this and it will go away.

“Stop!” The ghost again blocked his path. “For Fintaria’s sake!”

The cerrien rolled his eyes. “I have to get my egg to safety!”

“This is more important!” the ghost snarled. “I am a spirit of the Spirit World. You must listen to me. I have come to warn you.”

“Warn me?” The cerrien narrowed his glittering eyes. “What about?”

“That egg of yours.” the spirit pointed to it with his gleaming tail. “Beware of what you make of its future. That cerrien was never meant to be here. Nor should it be.”

The cerrien stiffened in horror, his fur bristling at his neck. “Never meant to be here? Why?”

“This creature will bring great destruction, so long as you let it live,” the spirit explained, voice starting to shake. “It may be the end of all Fintaria if it remains in the Living World!”

The cerrien stared at the ghost, his fur spiking up and his eyes wide as moons. He thought of quickly spinning the bag around to his front and clasping the kitten tightly to his chest.

The spirit met his gaze with a fierce intensity. “The kitten must die.”

“What! Are you stupid?” The cerrien’s jaw clenched and his outstretched claws flexed into the earth. “It’s the last of my family left from this mess! Of course I’m letting it live!” What do I have if not this egg?

“Then you are making a great mistake!” The spirit’s eyes blazed with intensity. “That cerrien could nearly cause the destruction of cerrienkind!”

“‘Could’ and ‘nearly?’ You’re fear mongering about something that might not even happen! I see no reason to be concerned. How do you even know all this?”

“I was a cerrien of great power. I was once cursed to feel the emotions of the future in my dreams, to sense pain when there was to be war and contentment when there was to be peace.” the spirit lashed his tail. “I have seen great danger ahead from that egg. There is no goodness inside of it. Please trust me!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just some nonsensical dream?” The cerrien rolled his eyes, his fur still stiff. “So-called abilities are just fantastical works of imagination.”

“If that’s so true,” the spirit retaliated. “Then how do you explain the fact that I’m a ghost standing right in front of you and that you can see me? And yet—” the apparition paused, “you do not hear me.”

The cerrien shook his head. “Seeing ghosts is not a power. There has to be some special part in the eyes and ears that allow me to sense your existence when others can’t. What do you think could possibly logically explain being able to sense the very future?”

“You think I’m lying to you?” The spirit sounded horrified. “Perhaps you’re too blinded by your own reality that everything should happen in your favor—because it doesn’t.” The ghost hesitated. “You must kill the kitten. I ask this on behalf of all the Spirit World. I’m sorry. My plea is not one of ill-intent. If you do the right thing, it can still lead a happy life as a ghost in the Spirit World.”

A happy life in the Spirit World? The cerrien snorted with contempt. Does death of others mean nothing to those who have already gone?

The spirit watched him for a reaction. “It just can’t stay here,” he said. “I believe that you know that, in your soul.”

“I’m not letting the last of my family go!” the Spirit-Watcher declared. “After all I’ve been through, don’t you think I deserve a life worth living—a life where I can raise a family, or at least one kitten? It hasn’t even hatched yet—it doesn’t know any better. If I raise it with love and support, it won’t do any harm. Surely you must see that if you’re so all-knowing.”

“Easier said than done!” The ghost scorned. “That cerrien is more powerful than you think. Beware of your actions, you foolish mortal. What you are doing could lead every cerrien to its death.”

“I’ll make sure it won’t!” The cerrien insisted, still glaring at the spirit. “I’ll take the egg to Scorpoterria to ensure its safety. I shall make sure that it’ll be raised in a safe, supportive society.” He remembered the fragility of the egg, how easy it was to break. “You stupid ghost with your fake little powers!”

“Ha! Scorpoterria of all places? Supportive?” The spirit scoffed once more. “You’re stupider than I thought if you think your plan is going to work! The Glaciterria or Thermoterria are closer and more likely to take in an outsider—”

“Outlandish!” The cerrien interrupted. “I’ve heard that those cerriens are too soft and cowardly for their own good. No kitten of mine will be raised by such weaklings. By moving to the desert, I shall ensure my kitten will be brought up in a community of strong cerriens, noble and cunning!”

Why would I waste time in either of those places when I could raise a kitten in a place known for their fighting skills? I will not let my young’s potential be wasted! The skill it picks up will prove to the ghosts that they have made a great mistake in wishing harm upon any more of my family!

The ghost seemed only occupied by the whole of Fintaria. “When our entire species nearly falls apart, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You are a dumb cerrien, Spirit-Watcher.” The voice sharpened, like claws running down a cave wall. “All of the land on this continent and all of the land of the spirits might even cease to exist and it will be all your fault! The blood of your whole species could be upon your paws.” He glanced at the travel-bag, narrowing his eyes. “I hope that egg freezes to death!”

The cerrien didn’t listen. Instead he bounded away, towards the desert. He was running so fast that after he was sure he was away from the ghost, he had to stop to catch his breath. The cerrien unhooked his bag from his back and glanced inside it. The egg was tucked snugly at the bottom, safe and sound, but something was not right. The cerrien gently nudged the egg aside and peered closer.

The glow radiating from his eyes lit up a pink cone hat sitting on its side, the letters S and W marked in black. Clumps of dust had fallen on the hat, as though it had not been worn for some time. A fresh wave of fury coursed through the cerrien’s body—so much that his paws itched. How did that get in there?

The cerrien took a moment to stare at it in disdain.

All this ability has done is cause me pain. I will never wear upon my head a hat symbolizing a world of lies.

The cerrien lifted his head to stare at the horizon ahead of him. The stretch of moorland ahead was bathed in blue moonlight, and the trees beyond were dark and gloomy in comparison, as though hidden from the moon’s glow. The beauty of it felt mocking, like it was taunting him. How could such an awful disaster, followed by an outrageous plea, occur on a night so alluring?

The cerrien blinked, musing for a moment. No…it’s not taunting me, it’s showing me the way out of the darkness.

The cerrien took a pace forward.

It is not the end. I can do what I want, and I say that this kitten lives. I’ll make sure it is nurtured in such a way that it will never cause any harm to anyone, and it will grow up to know the pain these ghosts have tried to cause me—Fintaria will be safe.

The kitten must die.

A screech of an owl thrust Echo back into wakefulness.  

I'm okay, he reassured himself. I'm back under the bramble thicket, and it's not like I can get hurt when I time-travel. 

The light gray cerrien blinked open his sky-blue eyes and lifted his head.

What bad thing was going to happen? The cerrien wondered. He laid in his warm, cozy nest for a moment as the scene replayed in his mind.

I wonder what happened after that. It must’ve been years—decades ago, since there was a Spirit-Watcher then, and whatever revolution there was clearly must have been resolved a long time ago. But nothing catastrophic has happened.

Echo felt a pang of sympathy for the Spirit-Watcher. He must’ve had to kill his kitten. He sounded so distraught; he suffered so much. He pushed away the sad thoughts. He has to be dead now. I hope he’s been reunited with his family in the Spirit World.