by Clare Bell
And then, deep inside, she heard the echo of something she had never heard before. Not a Named song, not like the sound clan members made, but a thread of something mystical, lyrical. It was without words, yet it had an eloquence that she knew would overwhelm her if she heard its full power.
This was what they called “the song.”
She went breathless with the distant beauty of it and longed to rush headlong into the deepest caverns where the source lay. She suddenly wanted, more than anything in the world, to hear the full voice, to bathe herself in it and let it soothe her spirit as the ocean did her body.
A touch on her nose brought her out of herself. It was a male, but not Thakur. The Other One’s whiskers brushed hers; his breath went into her mouth; his eyes shone, waiting.
“It is heard,” he said, his voice rich, deep, rolling like the swells of the sea.
“The song,” she said, knowing that what he meant was that distant, compelling whisper, so faint she feared she might lose it. “So soft, so hard to hear ...”
The eyes before her seemed puzzled. “Should not be hard to hear. Do what the song says.”
She was struggling so hard just to keep hold of the elusive thread that she could have cried aloud with the weight and unfairness of the demand. The song wasn’t telling her what to do, except to plunge to the depths of her own being in search of the source.
It was easy to make that headlong dash of the spirit, for something in her was as thirsty for the song as was her throat for fresh water. But another sound, beginning as a hiss and building up to a roar, sent her reeling back. To reach the welling spring of the song, she must meet the Dreambiter.
“No!” she cried, shuddering, dread overwhelming her. Her cry cut the fragile filament of the song, leaving only the wind and the Dreambiter hissing in the caverns.
The Other One knew she was not his kind. The eyes turned away and a growl rose from his throat. Thistle knew she had failed. Sudden agony made her turn and flee, away from the eyes, away from the song, the Dreambiter, and everything.
Chapter Five
Thakur had been watching as Thistle’s nose met the hunter’s muzzle. He had thought for an instant that the other male would attack him, for he clearly had been recognized as an outsider. But the other seemed to have forgotten about him.
He listened. Thistle was speaking, in the same disjointed phrases as the hunter. Her eyes had the same turned-inward look. Was it possible? Could she walk the same trails as these strange, entranced ones?
Thakur admitted he had no real reason to expect that she could. Just a feeling down in his belly. But somehow she was reaching across the boundary, going where he could not, hearing what he could not....
His thoughts were suddenly shattered by a scream from Thistle, a ragged sound that was barely a word.
“No!”
The cry slashed through his hopes, through the slender tie of restraint holding the other clan-cats back from him. Growls and roars exploded from behind him. Instantly he was streaking away beside Thistle, running for his life from the rage of the others who cried out that he was not known to True-of-voice.
Thakur knew that the only thing slowing the hunters was the weight of face-tail meat in their stomachs. Even so, he and Thistle ran far. He could see the strain on her leg, but if he faltered or slowed, they would be overtaken and slain before either Ratha, Khushi, or Bira could catch up and drive the attackers off.
Thistle was limping badly by the time Thakur lost the pursuers. He collapsed together with her in the high grass. The dread that had been making her shudder, even as she ran, now seized her entirely. She went rigid, her eyes blank and glassy.
The spasm tossed her about and then released her, letting her crumple into an exhausted heap of fur. He could not even ask her what had happened, much less tell Khushi, Ratha, and Bira when they galloped up.
“Did the others attack you?” Khushi asked. “I heard Thistle yowl.”
Before answering, Thakur nudged Ratha over to lie down by her daughter. When Thistle came out of the unconsciousness that followed her seizures, she needed warmth and comfort. Only when Ratha and Bira were curled about the sleeping Thistle did Thakur say anything about what had happened. Khushi sat to one side, his ears up, his eyes wide.
“It was her cry that started the attack. Before she screamed, I thought everything was going well,” Thakur said.
“Then why did she ... ?” Bira asked softly.
“Something happened ... inside, I think,” Thakur replied. “Bira, maybe what you said is true. I may be asking far too much of her.”
Ratha licked Thistle’s ruff. “That thing she dreams about. That’s what frightened her. But why did it happen just then?”
“I don’t know,” Thakur admitted.
“What will you do now?”
“Wait until she recovers and try again.”
Ratha fell silent. He watched the expression in her eyes as she stared down at her gifted, troubled daughter.
* * *
Thistle had dived very deep in the sea and now she felt herself drifting up. The water was opaque, as if mud had been stirred into it. High above shone a red-orange glow. Not the sun. Another source of illumination. She felt herself rising, turning slowly, moving closer toward the fierce light.
Then, with an odd, sideways motion, as if someone had stuffed her abruptly back into her body, she was in herself again, feeling the warmth of someone beside her, smelling the mingled scents of Thakur and Khushi, Ratha and Bira. Someone else had been lying beside her before she woke. She thought it might have been her mother, but now it was Thakur.
The red light came from a fire-nest that Bira had built and was tending. She saw the Firekeeper move around the flame, feeding it dry wood. The treeling on Bira’s back helped, doing with its small hands what the Firekeeper could not accomplish with paws and teeth. On the other side of the flame crouched her mother, fawn coat turned orange by the light, green eyes turning to gold.
Thakur was beside Thistle now and she was glad. He was the one she wanted with her when she came up from those strange sea depths.
He seemed to sense that she had come back, for his voice was low and warm in her ears.
“Thistle?”
She lifted her head, swiveling her ears. Her vision swam and she let her chin drop onto her paws. “Still dizzy,” she mumbled, closing her eyes against the firelight. He moved to her other side, blocking out the fire, letting her stare into the cool, soothing velvet of the night. Her mother and Bira were on the far side of the fire. That was good. She wanted them away. What she needed to say now, she could say only to Thakur.
“What made you scream?” he asked softly.
“Wasn’t the other clan-cats. Not their fault.”
“Could you hear this song they were talking about?”
“Not sure. So faint and far away. Had to go inside. To a scary place. It was there.” She faltered, starting to tremble. Thakur knew what “it” was.
“Did your fear of the hunters bring your fit on?” he asked.
“No. Felt strange even before we started. The thing ... It started prowling.... I didn’t tell you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thakur’s voice was faintly reproving, though still gentle.
“Knew you had waited. So long. Wanted to try. For you. Means a lot to you. Didn’t want to make you wait ... anymore.”
She heard and felt the depth of his sigh.
“Oh, Thistle ...”
She snuggled closer to him, felt the warm weight of a paw as he draped it over her. He, more than any of the Named, could accept her for what she was. Yet there was coldness inside her because she had disappointed him.
“All ruined, Thakur? No chance to talk to others?” she asked. “Because of me?”
“Without you we would never have been able to try at all. Next time, though, you must tell me.”
“Next time?”
“Yes. If you are willing to try again. If you start feeling s
trange, though, we will back off and wait.”
“Won’t they fight us? Chase us away again?”
“I don’t know. One time they chased me; another time they let me approach. It is hard to tell what they will do. The only way is to approach them cautiously.”
“Want to help you, Thakur,” Thistle said. “Will try hard as I can. Maybe next time... bad thing... will stay away.”
Feeling his warmth and his tongue licking the back of her neck, Thistle drifted into sleep.
Chapter Six
Three days later, Ratha settled with the other members of her group beside an evening campfire. Thistle crouched beside Thakur, her eyes closed, her whiskers drooping. Ratha’s heart went out to her daughter. She had watched Thistle try again and again to approach the hunters, only to be attacked and overcome by the prowling terror that lived inside of her.
The thing that wears my shape and uses my teeth, Ratha thought bitterly.
And then Thakur had tried, both alone and with Bira. The face-tail hunters refused. Each encounter was more savage and frightening than the last.
Thakur is going to get himself killed. When I watched from the bushes, I saw nothing to suggest these strangers might be like us. There is no reason to try to talk to them now.
The Named had then changed their tactics, leaving the hunters alone and concentrating on the animals. This hadn’t worked either. Any attempt to capture or kill a face-tail sparked retaliation from the other clan. They might not speak, but they certainly thought they owned the face-tail herd, Ratha thought. When the Named even ventured near, they were met with blind ferocity.
Ratha tried to groom her matted and soot-streaked fur, but gave up. Everybody else looked equally bedraggled and out of sorts.
Too many skirmishes in the last few days had taken much out of them. Ratha could see how her people were starting to suffer. It angered her.
She heard Khushi muttering to Bira as the young Firekeeper and her treeling tended the flame.
“Those hunters are greedy,” he growled. “There are plenty of face-tailed beasts for all, yet they keep driving us away.”
Bira agreed, her fur ruffled and her usually calm green eyes fiery with indignation. From the corner of her eye, Ratha caught a glimpse of Thakur and Thistle, who had heard Khushi’s words. She couldn’t help seeing Thakur bristle. Thistle looked tired and defeated. She was also limping slightly—having to run away from the attacks had strained her leg.
Seeing her daughter struggle inflamed Ratha’s anger even more.
“I think we have shown enough patience with these hunters,” she said. “I heard what Khushi said to Bira and I agree. Trying to speak to them is getting us nowhere.”
“I disagree,” Thakur said slowly. “Thistle and I did make some progress when we first tried. I understand them a little better than before.”
“I don’t understand them at all,” Bira said, wrinkling her nose. “There is plenty of meat for everyone. Why don’t they share? As far as I can see, they are no different than the savage Un-Named.”
“Ratha?” The clan leader felt Thakur’s gaze go to her.
She answered, trying to control her own impatience. “I sent Khushi here to scout for face-tails. My intent was to add them to our herds. The hunters are making that impossible.”
“So you would attack the other clan with the Red Tongue,” Thakur said in a low voice.
“Herding teacher, what choice do I have? If we are to survive and grow, we must enlarge our herds. I think these face-tailed beasts can be managed, but we have never really been able to try—the other clan keeps driving us off.”
“Perhaps we would be better to look in other places for other animals,” Thakur said stubbornly.
Khushi yowled scornfully. “And run away with our tails between our legs if someone else claims them? Herding teacher, I mean no disrespect, but we are the Named, after all. Are we going to back down just because this scruffy bunch is being unreasonable?”
“Enough, Khushi,” Ratha said, raising a paw. “Bira? You look like you have something to say.”
“Yes, I do,” said Bira in her soft voice as she curled her plumed tail around her feet. “I am a Firekeeper. I know how cruel the Red Tongue can be. It is not easy for me to think about using it against others. If I thought these strangers might be like us, I would be horrified by the idea.” She paused. “But I have watched them, looking for signs that they are like us. I haven’t seen any.” She glanced at Thakur and then away again. “Herding teacher, I am sorry.”
Despite herself, Ratha was startled. Gentle Bira would give anyone the benefit of the doubt. If even she had hardened her heart, then it must be because the other clan didn’t deserve any sympathy.
“What makes you feel that way, Bira?” Thakur asked.
“All the time I have watched this other clan, I have never seen them show any sign of caring for each other—not the way we do. Each one walks past the others as if they were not even there.”
“They think differently than we do,” Thakur began, but Bira gently, yet firmly, cut him off.
“That should not make a difference. Our treelings think very differently than we do, yet they care for us.” She nuzzled her treeling, Biaree, who was snuggled up against her neck.
Thakur had no answer for that. Ratha saw him staring down at the ground between his paws. “I think,” he said after a long silence, “that they do care for each other, but in a very different way than we do.”
“Herding teacher, is it possible you are seeing something in these people that you only wish was there?” Ratha asked softly.
“I admit I have made that mistake in the past, clan leader. We both have. But this time I think I am right. I only ask for the chance to prove it.”
Ratha felt her ears twitch back. “I’ve given you that chance. I’ve given the other clan that chance. What can I do if they refuse it?” She sighed. “To be frank with you, Thakur, I don’t like these hunters. I like them even less than the witless Un-Named. At least the Un-Named do not enslave themselves willingly to a tyrannical leader, as this True-of-voice seems to be. And they walk around in an endless dream, unable to wake up. It makes me shiver.”
“And because you judge them different, you are willing to drive them with the Red Tongue, like animals?” Thakur’s voice was very low, nearly a growl.
“My duty is not to the other clan,” Ratha snapped. “The Named must come first.”
“I thought there might be room in the world for the Named and others as well,” Thakur said softly.
“It is their choice whether to attack us,” she retorted. “Thakur, the decision is made. We will catch a face-tail tomorrow. If any of the hunters interfere, Bira and I will use the Red Tongue.”
She heard Thistle gasp softly, almost a moan of pain, as if she had been struck. For an instant anger burned away the exhaustion in her eyes, and Ratha braced herself to endure a passionate defense of the hunters.
But the spark died, extinguished by weariness. Her daughter only said, “Doesn’t matter what Thistle feels. No right to speak anyway. Not clan member.” She limped away into the darkness before anyone could stop her.
As much as Ratha wanted to go after her, she knew it would be useless.
She turned instead to Thakur. She thought she had succeeded in becoming hard both inside and outside, but it hurt her to see how Thakur stared at the fire and fell silent.
Chapter Seven
The fire was banked and burning low. Above its crackle Thistle could hear the sounds of breathing—Ratha, Bira, and Khushi were asleep nearby.
Thakur wasn’t asleep. Thistle could tell by the way he moved restlessly beside her. She wasn’t asleep either, and it was not just his squirming that was keeping her awake.
She was angry at Ratha. Khushi and Bira too, but mostly Ratha. Once again her mother had chosen to strike out at those she did not understand.
She did that to me and she is doing it again to this other clan. I thought she would
have learned better by now.
Beside her, Thakur rolled over again, sighed, and started to get up.
“Thakur?” she said, not wanting his comforting warmth to be replaced by the cool night air.
“Sh, Thistle. Don’t wake the others. I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d go watch the stars for a while.”
“Can’t sleep either. Go with you?”
“All right, but be quiet.”
They left the campfire and the sleepers behind, Thakur moving noiselessly through the scrub. Thistle glanced back. The fire had become a dim glow in the distance between the trees. When the low boughs and brush overhead opened up to a clear night sky, Thakur sat down and lifted his chin. Thistle did too.
There was no moon that night. Each star was as sharp as the point of a claw. Across part of the sky there was a misty light wafting outward like a plume of smoke from the Red Tongue. To Thistle, the night had a stark, aching beauty.
“It makes me want... something I do not even know about,” she said, wriggling a little closer to Thakur’s warmth.
Thakur said, “It makes me want to lift my paw to the sky, even though I know I cannot reach the stars.”
“Night-flying birds,” Thistle said. “The mice with wings and big ears—could those creatures fly high enough?”
She felt him give a sigh again. “Somehow ... I don’t think so.”
After a long silence, she asked, “Thakur, does... she... ever sit like this and look up? My mother, I mean.”
“I think she did when she was a cub. But that was a long time ago. She hasn’t done it for a while.”
“Being clan leader is hard. Too many things to think about,” Thistle said.
“Too many,” Thakur agreed.
Again the silence fell and covered them both. The stars seemed to shimmer against the night sky.
“You were right,” said Thistle abruptly. “What you said—to my mother and the rest—you were right. Don’t let anyone make you back away from what you said.”
