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eBook Category: Fantasy
eBook Description: It's North America, but very little of what you know is the same. The sun still shines and the grass still grows, but there are no people. There are, or perhaps there aren't, twelve Curials--kit fox, dolphin, raven, lioness, and the rest--who intervene in the lives of the inhabitants. There are the inhabitants, a myriad of animals: mice, otters, meerkats, and buffalo, to name a few. They live in their towns and cities, pursuing their various occupations, having occasional celebrations ... and now and then they live in fear. In fear of the Blood Jaguar, the thirteenth Curial, who returns from time to time and visits a horrible plague on the world, nearly killing it entirely. At such times, a fisher, a skink, and a bobcat are somehow impelled to go on a quest to stop her. They always fail. There is no reason to think that this time, of all times, Bobcat will somehow not fail.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: 1999
Fictionwise Release Date: February 2003

17 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [848 KB], eReader (PDB) [276 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [282 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [249 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [228 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [280 KB], hiebook (KML) [636 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [335 KB], iSilo (PDB) [233 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [290 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [358 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [376 KB]
Words: 90352
Reading time: 258-361 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"To call The Blood Jaguar a talking animal fable for adults would be both true and misleading, like calling Moby Dick a whaling adventure novel. These talking animals are variously hip, intellectually subtle, cynical, mystical, and portrayed with real characterological depth. Bobcat, the main catnip-head protagonist, may be superficially reminiscent of Fritz the Cat, but emerges as a true hero in the archetypical sense. The novel has plenty of humorous moments, but these waters run deep. The Blood Jaguar is the sort of thing for which the word 'sui generis' was invented. Believe me, I have never read anything like it before, and neither have you."--Norman Spinrad

"Michael H. Payne's The Blood Jaguar is one of those books that is nearly impossible to categorize. Is it a fantasy quest, a piece of post-apocalyptic science fiction, an allegory or just a talking animal yarn? Whatever you want to call it, it's highly enjoyable and completely original. Payne sets his tale in a world that resembles North America, only remade by intelligent members of the animal kingdom. It chronicles the adventures of three very different creatures: Skink, the skittish little reptile whose luck has been stolen; Fisher, a witch of sorts, with a very practical bent; and Bobcat, the catnip fiend who first encounters The Blood Jaguar, a terrifying being whose appearance foretells a great plague. Unless this trio can travel halfway across the continent and defeat the jaguar, nearly everyone they know will die horribly. Payne displays an excellent grasp of the elements of myth, and he has the good sense to give those elements a twist just before they take on the aspects of cliche'. "The Blood Jaguar" seems as if it's going to be a fairly predictable quest, but the trio's encounters with various allies and antagonists never end quite as one might expect. By the time Bobcat comes face to face with the jaguar, the reader is confident that the author will wrap everything up in a satisfying resolution, and Payne does not disappoint. In a time of over-blown fantasy sagas that comprise half a dozen volumes or more, "The Blood Jaguar" displays exemplary subltety and concision and deserves a wide audience."--San Francisco Chronicle

"Once upon a time, Michael H. Payne tell us, thousands and thousands of generations ago, everyone lived in the sky. Then they decided to build a world and chose a Curia--a Lord and Lady from each type of folk--to run the project. When they were done, the Curials began to argue over whether they should remain in charge or disband and give up their powers. In the end there remained a dozen Curials, with a thirteenth, Lady Jaguar, as a goddess of death. Lady Jaguar? The others are Lion, Leopard, Tiger, Dolphin, Raven, Kit Fox, Eft, and so on. And the types of folk are hardly human, but badger, skink, and meerkat, rabbit, squirrel, and otter, critters all. The Blood Jaguar is thus a mythic story, redolent of children's tales and Native American myths (the skinks have kivas), among others. Many fantasies of this general sort are insufferably cute. Payne avoids that judgment by deft use of irony: His hero, Bobcat, is a catnip junky, a ne'er-do-well who loves to chase the local bunnies to exhaustion until he runs up against a clever bunny maid, one Garson Rix (a field supervisor at Brackens Farms), who thoroughly outsmarts him. Now they're sweeties, but Bobcat doesn't have much to pursue that issue. Skink has lost his luck and told him that when a skink loses his luck, the nearest Bobcat had better watch out, for the worst possible fate awaits. Hah, thinks Bobcat. You mean the catnip crop will fail? But no, for as he sets off to do some mischief, a fiery cloud appears, all eyes and terror, pitches him into a bramble patch, and settles into his heart to stay. That's The Blood Jaguar. Whoa, says Bobcat. Back to Skink, who says they must go see Fisher, the local shaman. Soon they have uncovered dim memories of a previous skink-bobcat-fisher expedition that had many years ago set off on a quest to prevent disaster and failed, for it was followed by the Plague Year, when half of all living things died. Whoa again! You mean..." And that's our job too? Off they go a-questing. The first part of the job is to figure out exactly what is going on, which means a visit to the desert city of the meerkats. There they learn something of the history of the world and that skink-bobcat-fisher quests and Plague Years are recurring events, perhaps designed by the Curials to prevent population explosions. Yet still their path lies ahead, Lady Jaguar awaits, and Bobcat's hopeless job is somehow to persuade her to spare the world, his friends, his sweety. His predecessors have chosen to fight it out, to try to slay Death with tooth and claw. They failed. What can Bobcat do? Must he abide by the traditional script? Or is there a way out of the bind? Poor Bobcat. All that catnip has had a lasting effect on his faculties, but he hasn't touched it for ever so long. He's trying, he is, for his bunny's sake, and in the end indeed the ne'er-do-well becomes a do-well. The Blood Jaguar is a classic tale of redemption done up in a very appealing form. I enjoyed it greatly."--Analog

"This is a talking-animal fantasy, but though the promotional copy compares it to Watership Down, it's a lot closer to a grown-up "Redwall Abbey" novel, with animals living in mixed-species communities with buildings, asphalt-paved roads, and even coffee. Bobcat is just an ordinary guy, in his younger days a bit of a rebel and adventurer, but now all he asks of life is "a little catnip, a few bets on the [otter] water polo matches" nd an occasional evening with his lady friend. But then a scared skink's prophecy and a giant flaming cat monster make Bobcat realize something terrible is about to happen, and he, Skink, and the local Fisher shaman head out on a quest to stop the death goddess, the Blood Jaguar, from bringing a terrible plague to the land. Various appearances by animal gods make this more fantastic than the "Redwall" novels, as well as more adult. The questers make an entertaining trio, with Skink and Fisher equally happy to discuss deep theological questions or hometown gossip, both to Bobcat's annoyance. (He doesn't believe in gods, and he's embarrassed to be dating a rabbit.) This adult version of an animal world adds considerable interest to an otherwise standard quest, for an amusing fantasy (and very promising first novel.)"--Locus

The morning sun shone bright over the forest, cool and tangy with the snap of early spring. Bobcat lay in the doorway of his tree stump and blinked for another moment. Then with a yawn, he stretched himself outside onto the grass along the riverbank.

The River flowed quickly here, rocks tickling the shallow water and making it trip and laugh. Bobcat smiled at the leaf shadows dancing with the morning breeze over the River's surface, at the smell of the flowers' first bloom in the woods around him, at the birds just starting to call out, wishing one another a happy equinox and wondering if they could borrow each other's brooms to start their spring-cleaning.

He took a breath and puffed it out. A nice morning to be out without a hangover.

"Well, well, well," came a familiar voice from behind him, and Bobcat turned to see Garson Rix hopping out from the trees. "Usually when I pass here in the morning, all I get is snores. What, no catnip last night?"

She settled into the grass next to him, the sunlight catching the white swirls in her black fur, dazzling from the tips of her ears to the nub of her tail, and Bobcat suddenly wasn't sure if he was breathing or not. Oh, yes, definitely a nice morning to be out without a hangover.

He realized he was staring when Garson cocked her head at him. "I don't know, though; you are looking a little glassy-eyed." She reached up a paw, pressed it to his nose. "Are you off the catnip?"

"Me?" Bobcat got ahold of himself and gave a laugh, but quietly, hoping she wouldn't pull her paw away. "Never. Though I haven't had a roll in three days, I'll have you know. You're a bad influence on me."

"Do tell." A smile spread through her whiskers, and a tingle spread over Bobcat's spine. "Well, if you're not busy tonight, I've got some more of that eggplant." She gave his nose a little tap. "I know it's not rabbit stew, but you seemed to like it last week."

He winced. "You're never gonna let me forget that stew crack, are you?"

Garson put a paw to her chin, seemed to consider for a moment, then shook her head. Bobcat gave a growl. "Shouldn't you be at work, bunny? I understand they can't run the Farms without you."

"Just on my way, kitten." She stood and stretched, her ears spread, her nose twitching, her dark eyes half-closed. "Mmmm. Lovely morning, isn't it?"

Bobcat could only nod. "Yeah," he got out. "Lovely."

She rubbed her whiskers, gave him a nod, and started down the riverbank. "I'll see you tonight, then."

"If I'm not busy!" he called after her, but she just gave her cottony tail a flick, leaped to the first stepping-stone, and scurried from one to the next till she reached the opposite bank, Bobcat watching till she was lost in the trees.

Well, this morning just kept getting better and better. He yawned again and figured the best thing to do right now would be to wade across the River; find the biggest, laciest fern leaf he could; fold it into a net; fill it with mud, rocks, moss, and maybe a little tree sap; carry it up to Ree's Meadow; pick a bright yellow daisy to lay gently on top; carry the bundle through the woods to Rat's house; sneak inside; and dump the whole mess over the rodent's head. Bobcat was sure Rat wouldn't be up yet, and it would be a real shame for him to miss such a lovely morning.

Bobcat chuckled, moved down the bank, and slid into the River. The stones in the bed slipped a little under his paws, but since the water here barely reached his chest, he just watched his step, leaned against the current, and enjoyed the coolness rushing through his fur. Out onto the other bank he waded, then shook himself, whole body first, then each paw--front, front, back, back--a quick flick of his tail, and he settled onto the warm rocks to lick his fur down.

But as he started on his left flank, he began to notice a strange little noise under the River's rushing and the leaves' rustling and the birds' warbling: a dry, whispery noise, like the wind sighing through an old and dying maple tree. Bobcat stopped, focused on the sound, and found that it was coming from a big, flat rock just down the bank.

Bobcat tapped a claw against his nose. Did he really want to know what Skink was up to this time? Sure, most of the words the lizard used went in one ear and out the other, but his weird stories were usually good for a laugh or two....

So why not? Bobcat rose, padded over to the rock, and squatted down beside the mailbox to peer under. And there lay Skink curled around a pebble, his claws stroking it, his eyes closed, the dry, rustling moan Bobcat had heard keening from his parted lips.

For a while, Bobcat just watched, but finally he clicked his tongue and asked, "There some kinda problem here, Skink?"

Skink's eyes drew open. "Ohhh..." he said. "Ohhh..."

"Ah." Bobcat nodded. "Well, that sure clears it up."

Skink was shaking his head. "Oh, Bobcat," he whispered. "It's terrible, just terrible...."

Bobcat waited, but Skink only moaned again. Bobcat blew out a breath. "Okay. Fine. Be that way. I got things to do, so I'll see you--"

"My luck, Bobcat. It's gone, just ... gone...."

"Your what?"

"My luck." Skink's voice broke, and a few drops trickled from the corners of his eyes. "Look." He grasped the pebble in his claws and held it up.

Bobcat looked at it. He looked at it again. He looked at it with one eye, then with the other. Each time, he saw a pebble, a small, not quite round pebble.

"See? My luck is gone." Skink let go another moan and wrapped himself around the pebble again.

"Uh-huh." Bobcat eyed the lizard for a moment. "Skink, you been under that rock too long; why don't you just come on out and get a little spring air into you? Believe me, you'll feel a lot better."

Skink was moving his head back and forth. "No, you don't understand. My grandmother, she said ... she said that to lose your luck ... She said it was too terrible, too terrible to contemplate, too terrible for everyone. She said--" And Skink's eyes sprang open, his whole body stiffening. He jumped up, shot out of his cave, and jerked to a stop pointing straight at Bobcat. "Ohhh!" he cried. "Ohhh!"

Bobcat stared, the fur prickling at the back of his neck.

"Bobcat!" Skink squeaked. "Bobcat! You've got to be careful! You've got to hide! You've got to go home right now and stay in bed for ... I don't know, for a long time! If I've lost my luck ... oh, Bobcat, you've got to!"

"Wait a minute; I what? What're you--"

"My grandmother, Bobcat! She said! She said that when she lost her luck, something awful happened to Bobcat! And then, oh, then she said the worst thing in the world happened! The worst thing in the world!"

Bobcat rolled his eyes. "Ah. Another story."

"No, Bobcat, this comes straight from my grandmother! We've got to do something!"

"Skink, I--"

"Right now! Before it's too late!"

"Look, Skink, I've gotta--"

"No, Bobcat! You've got to listen! She said--"

"Lizard?" Bobcat let his claws spring out, crooked one till it just touched Skink's neck, and Skink froze, his eyes wide. "Now, you can have all the little fantasies you want; I don't care. But you leave me out of 'em, okay? The last thing I need is you mixing me up in some weird reptile story." Bobcat ran his claw slowly along Skink's side, but the lizard stayed just as cold and still as a stone. "Now, I got better things to do with my day than listen to some crazy lizard, so you have fun under your rock, okay? I gotta go."

Bobcat stood, turned, and padded back up the bank toward the woods, just shaking his head when Skink called to him. Then he only heard the birds singing, the River behind him splashing, the morning breeze rustling warm in the trees. And a dry sobbing now, very quiet, just underneath it all.

"Feh!" Bobcat snorted. He moved through the undergrowth and into the woods, the rushing of the River fading as he wound between the trees. It was still a nice morning, and he was determined not to give Skink another thought.