by Clare Bell
“Since when does a leader have no right to stumble or fall? Only if you have someone or something else doing your thinking for you, like True-of-voice’s hunters, can anyone expect you to always be perfect. ” Thakur’s teeth flashed as he spoke. “You may feel like everything is lost, Ratha, but we haven’t lost what is most important, and we won’t, unless we deliberately give it up.”
“I feel I should just step aside and let you or Cherfan take over. As the only female left among you, maybe the best I can do is give you cubs. I’m not sure I can even do that.”
Thakur crouched down before her, nudging her head up with his nose, looking her in the eyes. His eyes had a deep glow that penetrated the blanket of despair she had cast over herself. “Ratha, if you really feel this way, I won’t argue you out of it. It wouldn’t be me who leads. I’m a teacher, not a leader, and they know that. Cherfan could, but he’s not really a leader.” Thakur paused. “Besides, you wouldn’t really be happy, and we wouldn’t be either.”
“ ‘In your eyes I will always see challenge,’ ” Ratha said. “That is what Meoran said to me when I promised to obey him in order to return to the clan.”
“The one thing he was right about,” said Thakur gently. “Yes, eventually you would challenge. I wouldn’t want to face you. Neither would Cherfan or any of the rest.”
“Being a leader has spoiled me. I don’t think I could to go back to being a clan female, or even just a Firekeeper or herder.”
“You could if you truly wanted, but I don’t think you do. Not yet.” He paused. “Don’t make any decisions now. Come inside and rest. You’ve had a bad shock and you‘re spent. Let things go for a while.”
Ratha felt a yawn building up in the back of her jaws and gave in to it. Hauling herself back to her feet, she followed Thakur back inside their refuge.
“We’ll get Thistle back,” she heard him say as she finally let herself drift loose, floating into sleep. “And Fessran, Bira, and the others. I promise.”
In the morning came a pleasant surprise. Ratha woke to the sound of a joyous tumult outside the rock-fall shelter. Mixed into it was the sound of small hooves. Startled, she tumbled out, fur sticking up at all angles. She saw Mondir, Khushi, and Ashon dancing around a newcomer and three dapplebacks. Unsure, she sniffed and then knew. Quiet Hunter had returned, bringing the little horses with him. To Ratha’s sleep-blurred eyes, his back looked a little odd, a little lumpy. Then, as her vision focused and she caught more scents, she realized what the bumps were.
One lump leaped off Quiet Hunter and bounded to her, chirring excitedly. Small wiry arms encircled her neck, fingers wove into her fur, treeling-scent surrounded her. Ratharee!
Ratha was so involved in the return of her treeling that she couldn’t pay attention to anything else. Finally looking up from all the licks and nuzzles, she saw that Quiet Hunter had brought back all the treelings, even Thistle’s Biaree and Bira’s Cherfaree. With Ratharee clinging to her nape once again, Ratha rushed inside to wake Thakur. He bounced to his feet and shot through the crevice. When Ratha came after him, she saw him sitting up on his hind feet, cradling his Aree between his forepaws while the treeling licked his face so vigorously that he toppled over backward, grinning with delight.
Quiet Hunter still had two furballs left. Cherfan sauntered up, his tail curving. He smelled Cherfaree. “Since that bug-eater’s got my name, I’ll take him until Bira comes back.”
“This one will keep Biaree for Thistle-chaser,” Quiet Hunter replied.
“I thought you didn’t like treelings,” Cherfan said, as Cherfaree sniffed him cautiously, then made a quick decision and skipped up to his nape.
“This one . . . I didn’t. But I felt so bad when I nearly killed the cub I felt this one had to do something . . . To make up for it.”
“Quiet Hunter, I’m so glad to see you,” Ratha said, nose-touching and then sliding alongside him with a tail-flop. “And not just for bringing the treelings back, either. We missed you.”
“How did you get those dapplebacks all the way from the meadow up here?” Mondir wanted to know.
“They weren’t in the meadow. New Singer isn’t looking after the herdbeasts and they are straying. After find the treelings, this one came upon these horses.”
“You weren’t seen or chased?”
“This one was chased, but the chasing only made the horses run fast ahead of me.”
“You still had to round them up and bring them here,” Ratha said, still buoyed by Ratharee’s return. “And with the treelings, too. Quiet Hunter, you are amazing!”
“It took me all night. This one is a bit sleepy,” he confessed.
Giving his face a last grateful lick, Ratha asked Mondir and Khushi to take care of the little horses while she led Quiet Hunter inside, fed him, and then settled him and Biaree in the most comfortable place she could find.
“I know you want to hear about Thistle-chaser,” he said, making Ratha’s heart give a sudden bound. “She and the others—New Singer is not treating them badly. They are frightened but not hurt, and they are being fed. New Singer has Fessran and Bira making Red-Tongue-nests for him. This one hid and saw.” His gold eyes darkened to deep amber. “This one wants Thistle back. I will fight for her.”
“That time will come,” Ratha promised, watching his eyes close. And I’ll be right beside you.
That same day, Cherfan and Thakur led a team to catch more of the straying herdbeasts. Ratha led another to watch New Singer and his Named captives.
Quiet Hunter was right—the renegades were not treating the clan females badly. Ratha couldn’t get close enough to speak to any of the captives, but she and her party saw that Fessran was keeping the blaze in the fire-den alive. Bira was even allowed, under guard, to gather wood and stack it in the fire-den. Ratha paid close attention to how far Bira was allowed to go, and which renegades guarded her on these trips. Sometimes Thistle went with Bira to help carry the wood back.
Ratha remembered the joyful dancing around and through the fire-den when they had first dug it; the Named and their treelings celebrating the end of Shongshar’s tyranny. Now the fire-den and the Red Tongue had again fallen under the control of a usurper. How long would the seizure last this time, and could the Named ever dance around the fire-lair again?
We will. I swear that we will.
Thakur and Cherfan returned with a few more herdbeasts and found a sheltered area nearby to graze them. Ratha returned with the beginnings of a plan to free her friends from New Singer. It would have to wait until next day, however, and Ratha still felt drained from the previous two days. She meant to think over her plan and discuss it with Thakur on the rocky sill just outside the refuge. Instead, before twilight, she fell asleep with her treeling still on her back, leaving Thakur keeping watch.
Chapter Eighteen
The night was warm, and the herding teacher saw no reason to interrupt Ratha’s slumber. Thakur stayed outside with her, silently requesting that the other clan males step quietly around her or use another entrance to their refuge.
With his own treeling, Aree, curled up against his neck, Thakur listened to Ratha sleep. She made an odd sound that he wouldn’t exactly call a snore. It was more like a squeak or creak that she made while inhaling and then a little exhaling sigh.
He thought about what had happened to her and why, what she had said, what he had said. He hoped he had chosen words wisely enough to bring her out of despair and give her the hope she badly needed.
Yearling, he thought, you are so young to have done as much as you have. That is one reason things hit you so hard. Quiet Hunter, bless him, had brought Ratharee back. Ratha rejoiced at her treeling’s return, but Thakur knew how easily she could slide back into paralyzing despair.
Hearing her say that she had blundered made his throat tighten. Anyone would have. None of the Named had any experience with a tribe like True-of-voice’s, an enemy like New Singer, or the strange forces that pulled at the situation, turning everyth
ing upside down and backward. Trying to cope with it all was like having each foot on a separately rolling log and trying to stay up. You have to dance like crazy, and Ratha had, longer and better than he had expected or hoped.
He looked down at the sleeping face, the graceful curve of the nose, the delicate yet strong sculpting of the muzzle and jaw, traced out in moonlight. It woke pangs in him that were not just the urges of mating.
Ratha, how I want you, how I want to be with you, take care of you, keep you from harm, give you what you need, delight in you, stand at your side while you hold the Red Tongue in your jaws and dance with you forever. Instead, all I can do is offer what is sometimes wisdom, sometimes foolishness.
He studied the markings on her face, wanting to run his tongue in a soft caress along her tear-lines. All the Named had such markings in black, brown, or dark amber—they accented the expression on feline faces so that intent could be read from afar. All had them, but there was something unique and beautiful about the way hers began at the inner corner of her sleeping eyes, swept down the sides of her nose, then S-curved to end at the patch of white fur behind her whiskers.
He saw an elegant arch-line that followed the swell of each brow and softer streaks that flowed down her cheeks. Not too many—that would have made her look striped, and she wasn’t; she was a self-colored tawny. And what a wonderful color. Even paled by moonlight, her rich gold shading stole his breath, the creamy fur on her chest and belly made him want to nestle up against her like a cub and wrap himself in its warmth.
He knew these were not the usual thoughts of a Named male. The females were just other clan members until the mating season, and then it was their intoxicating scent that drew the males.
No, what he experienced now was far more visual, perhaps because he tended to use sight more than smell. It was also far more aesthetic, for he had taught himself to see and value beauty.
The Named language had no words for what he was feeling now, a surge of joy and fear so strong it shook him to his depths.
She had asked him once about courage. He had no good answer then. Now he knew, as he bathed himself in the sight and smell and sound of her and trembled so that his whiskers vibrated, courage was the strength to hang over the abyss no matter how far the fall. Courage was the strength to love.
The faint sound of a footstep had the effect on Thakur of a splash of cold water. It was all he could do not to jump up and roar his resentment. He had so little time to be alone with Ratha that this unfair interruption seemed like an outrage.
Silently he got up as if to defend a mate against an intruding male. The footfalls stayed quiet but grew nearer. Thakur tried to catch an odor, but the newcomer had approached upwind. He heard teeth grate on wood and wondered if it might be a Firekeeper.
He saw a sliver of red light against a dark form. The red light went ghostly as if it had been covered. A wave of scintillation swept over the still-indistinct shadow, followed by a wave of even deeper dark that swallowed it. One flank seemed have been draped with a cobweb. The eyes opened, their shine an unearthly pale blue-green.
Night-who-eats-stars, Thakur realized. I thought he was gone, vanished. What has brought him back?
The herding teacher thought that the star-eater might have come upon him by mistake, but as Night moved closer, Thakur realized his approach was deliberate. Thakur’s first reaction was to hackle, but he saw two things that made him stop. First, Night was carrying something, a something that leaked intense orange-red light. Second, the way Night stood and the look in his eyes reminded Thakur powerfully of his lost brother Bone-chewer.
Thakur thought about rousing Ratha and the rest of the Named. Part of him wanted to jump on this enigmatic stranger, take out his anger on Night, and invite Ratha and the others do the same.
Instead, he held still, letting Night make the next move. Much as he wanted to challenge the star-eater with a direct stare, he kept his gaze averted.
Like the shadows he so resembled, Night flowed in out of the dark, carrying the shrouded glow. Thakur’s heart bounded. There was no source of such light other than Ratha’s creature, the Red Tongue itself. Bira had shown Thakur the charred sand-filled hollow log she had found while the Named were trying to track Night.
What Night bore and laid down in front of Thakur was another log, this one full of sand and live coals. The herding teacher didn’t move until the star-eater nosed the log gently over to Thakur. Very slowly, the herding teacher raised a paw and laid it on the log, afraid that the gift would be snatched back.
Why had Night done this? Thakur was baffled, but he didn’t want to upset the delicate balance between him and the star-eater. Only when the log and its precious contents rested securely under both forepaws did he look up at Night, half expecting him to have vanished.
Night remained, but he wasn’t looking at Thakur. Instead his gaze rested on the other shape sleeping nearby, now dimly lighted by the escaping glow. Night’s tail twitched, making and eating tiny specks of light. He took one step toward the slumbering clan leader.
Gift or no gift, Thakur wasn’t about to let any stranger near Ratha, especially one whose intentions were questionable. Sweeping the hollow log under a bush, he moved to shield Ratha by placing his body sideways between her and the star-eater. He met the other’s gaze. The moon paleness of Night’s eyes made Thakur shiver, but he recognized the light that burned within those eyes. It was the same light he’d sought in Thistle-chaser and struggled hard to bring out.
The eyes and the star-eater’s uncanny way of reminding Thakur of his brother convinced Thakur that Night was not only Named, but kin to Bone-chewer and Thakur himself. Now that the hunter tribe’s group-scent had worn off, Night’s smell also spoke of kinship.
“Who are you, star-eater?” Thakur asked very softly, feeling the tip of his own tail twitch.
Night, however, was silent, waiting. Again he looked beyond Thakur to the sleeping Ratha and then met the herding teacher’s eyes. Night wanted something very much. The star-eater’s scent and attitude told Thakur that Night wouldn’t harm Ratha.
“All right. You can come near her, but don’t wake her. She’s tired.” Thakur backed off, opening the approach. Night set his feet noiselessly one step at a time, lowering his head as he approached Ratha. Thakur remained alert for any change in the star-eater’s smell or movement that might betray a change of intention. No. All Night wanted was to look at Ratha and inhale her scent.
Sniffing very gently and circling her as if he were floating, Night seemed to immerse himself in the sight and smell of the clan leader.
Thakur hoped none of the Named would wake and interrupt this odd yet touching encounter. The stars in Night’s coat seemed to twinkle briefly before they vanished. The star-eater was trembling.
Thakur felt his head slowly cock to one side. He was suddenly eaten up with curiosity, yet he feared to indulge himself.
Abruptly, Night closed his eyes and swung away, tensing his hindquarters as if to spring into the dark.
“Wait,” Thakur hissed. Night halted, telling the herding teacher that the star-eater understood at least one word of clan speech.
“Don’t you speak? Where did you come from?”
Night either couldn’t answer or chose not to. Thakur suspected it was the latter.
Again he thought of rousing the Named, but it would be an ungrateful response for what Night had done. In the resulting turmoil, the fire-bearing log might be broken and the precious embers scattered. Thakur also had the feeling that Night valued his privacy intensely and would shy away beyond reach if it was violated.
“We appreciate your gift. We need it badly. All that happened before . . . is forgiven, at least by me. Do you understand?”
The star-eater’s whiskers lifted in a Named yes, but he still remained silent.
“May you eat of the haunch and sleep in the driest den, Night-who-eats-stars,” Thakur said softly.
He could have sworn later that he saw an echo of Bone
-chewer’s sardonic grin creep along the line of Night’s mouth just before the star-eater disappeared.
And Night’s reaction to Ratha. It all added up to something, and Thakur wasn’t stupid. He would keep this to himself for now. When the clan leader woke to the comforting flame of her creature once more, she would ask, and Thakur would tell her as much of the truth as he could.
Once sure that Night was completely gone, Thakur nosed the ember-containing log out of its hiding place. He woke two male Firekeepers and silenced their questions. Getting Bira’s treeling Cherfaree from a snoozing Cherfan, he gave him to the Firekeepers and asked them to build and light a small campfire inside the refuge, where it would warm the cubs.
Despite the fact that Cherfaree had been violently parted from Bira, then given briefly to a new and unfamiliar partner and borrowed again for this task, the treeling cooperated willingly. Soon a tidy little fire was flickering inside the rock-tumble shelter that had become a new home for the Named.
With help from a Firekeeper, Thakur carried a sound-asleep Ratha into the refuge and laid her down near the fire. She didn’t stir or break the rhythm of her soft snoring.
Thakur settled beside her, Aree nestling into his flank. For some reason, things were starting to look up for the Named. They had come from unexpected sources. Quiet Hunter had brought the treelings back, and Night-who-eats-stars had returned Ratha’s creature to her. If the star-eater was who Thakur suspected, Night might be able to restore something even more precious. Whatever happened, it would take time.
Thakur decided that he wasn’t going to force things by telling Ratha his speculations. For one thing, she wouldn’t believe it. What line had produced Night’s ghostly blue-green eyes and star-shifting pelt? Surely not hers. Such a coat had never been seen within the clan. Thakur would watch and see what developed. When Ratha was ready to believe, then she would.
