The Named: The Complete Series

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 everything 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.

The crackle-hiss of the Red Tongue found its way into Ratha’s dreams. Her creature’s light and warmth were there as well, but so, too, were the charred remains of those her creature had slain and the harsh taste of their burned corpses as she had to drag them away… .

She woke with a sudden start. The horror vanished, but to her surprise the sound, light and smell of flame remained. She blinked, leaning toward the fire. It was real.

How … ? Amid the smoky scent came Thakur’s smell. She turned her head, looking up at him.

“Night-who-eats-stars. I found him. He got away, but left this.”

Ratha narrowed her eyes, suspecting that this wasn’t the whole story, but the look on Thakur’s face said that she would have to coax hard to get any more out of him. A male Firekeeper came with Bira’s treeling on his back and a load of wood in his mouth. He tended the fire while Ratha tongued her paw and scrubbed away sleep from her eyes.

Watching the Firekeeper and the treeling go about their duties was a comforting sight, especially when the Named way of life had been so badly damaged. Cub-mews made her look back over her shoulder to where Cherfan and Mondir were feeding the litterlings. One cub scrambled over to Ratha and butted its head against her belly, seeking milk. She wished briefly that she could nurse them, but Khushi came over and swept the cub back to its littermates.

“We’ve taken a few more stray animals,” he said. “The raiders seem to be ignoring our herdbeasts for now, but they won’t when they get hungry.”

Ratha got up and stretched.

“The first animals they’ll take will be our young face-tails, since those are their usual prey,” said Thakur from behind Khushi. “We should send a party to get the tuskers and any other beasts we can round up, clan leader.”

He was implying that Ratha should lead the herdbeast rescuers, but she had other ideas. “First I want to go with Quiet Hunter to True-of-voice.”

“Why?” asked Khushi.

“Because he is the source of our problem. He exiled New Singer and the other young hunter males. If he took the renegades back into his tribe, they would release the other females and leave us alone.”

Ratha heard Thakur’s hissing sigh. “I don’t think it will work, Ratha. Even if he does understand what you want, he can’t undo what’s been done.”

After a good night’s sleep, Ratha was feeling feisty. “I think he can, especially with a little persuasion.” She paused. “Thakur, you and Cherfan lead the herders. Mondir, you, one of the Firekeepers, Ashon, Bundi, and Mishanti stay here and guard the cubs with the Red Tongue. Quiet Hunter, please come with me.”

As she passed Thakur, he said, “I don’t think this is a good idea.” His fangs showed as he spoke, telling her he was annoyed.

“You told me you didn’t want me to give up leadership,” Ratha answered. “This is the best idea I’ve had, so I’ve got to try it.”

“Very well, but don’t expect much. I will meet you here at nightfall.” He left the cave, followed by Cherfan and the other herders.

“Quiet Hunter, are you ready?” she asked the dun-colored, gold-eyed male. A lift of his whiskers told her that he was.

Ratha chose two torchbearers to accompany her to True-of-voice, then set off with her party to speak with the hunter leader.

She had brought the torchbearers to counter any challenge and was mildly surprised when none came. Everything seemed to be back to normal among the song-hearers. At her request, Quiet Hunter asked one to summon True-of-voice. Again, to Ratha’s surprise, the leader came, surrounded by a group of older males.

Using Quiet Hunter as the intermediary, she told True-of-voice what she thought had happened, why it had, and what he could do about it.

As she spoke, her irritation grew. She decided that now was the time to ask the question she had delayed.

“How could you have let this happen, especially after we helped you and your people?” she had Quiet Hunter ask the hunter leader.

She watched as the dun male conveyed her message with the singsong voice, smell-changes, touches, gestures, and the other means he had previously used. Ratha had to work to sit on her impatience. Why couldn’t he just talk?!

“True-of-voice tells this one that his tribe has done nothing wrong.” Quiet Hunter turned to Ratha. “As for bringing the exiled ones back, he must not. The song told him what to do and for him it is right.”

“For us it isn’t. Can’t you make him understand?”

“This one will try,” Quiet Hunter said, but when he turned back to Ratha, there was defeat in his eyes.

“Tell him,” Ratha said through frustration-clenched teeth, “that New Singer and that gang of his are hurting our females by killing their cubs and holding the mothers captive. It is wrong, and you must stop them.”

Struggle as Quiet Hunter might, he could not get her meaning across to True-of-voice.

“The song … I mean True-of-voice … does not understand how he has hurt your clan.”

Ratha explained again how events had cascaded into the final damaging result. She tried not to snarl as she concluded, “You are hurting our friends because they don’t want to be captive or have their cubs killed or be forced to mate.”

After a very long exchange, Quiet Hunter turned back to Ratha. “You must understand that for True-of-voice the song is all. To be alone behind the eyes, to be individual—the idea is beyond his reach. What an individual wants or needs means nothing to him, thus it cannot affect what he does.”

Ratha hated the floating-off-her-feet feeling that was starting again. She wanted all four paws slammed down on solid ground.

“Tell him that if he doesn’t stop his son from harassing my people, he will taste the Red Tongue,” she growled. “Or would he prefer a slash for a slash? For every Named cub that died, many hunter cubs would be slain.”

“This one understands now how you feel,” said Quiet Hunter to her. “But such threats are of no use if he cannot understand what you want, or why.”

Ratha hackled. “Don’t you understand, song-hearer? New Singer has my daughter!”

Something hardened briefly in Quiet Hunter’s eyes. “I want Thistle back as much as you do. Attacking True-of-voice won’t help her.”

Ratha’s temper was on the point of taking over and demanding that Quiet Hunter obey and translate the message. She wanted revenge for the suffering of her people. If True-of-voice had to kill New Singer to bring the renegades under control, so be it. If he didn’t do something, he would know the wrath of the Named.

“The song is growing restive,” said the dun male, his ears flicking nervously. “We are not enough to challenge it. This one knows that if the song becomes angry, we will be killed. We should go. Please, clan leader.”

She met Quiet Hunter’s gaze. He was asking her not to throw his life away, but whatever she decided, he would do. Then came a flash of memory. The canyon. The firestorm. The dead.

It took nearly all of Ratha’s will to round up her surging feelings and pen them away. It would do the Named no good if she, Quiet Hunter, and the two torchbearers were slain.

“You are starting to sound like Thakur,” Ratha grumbled, and grudgingly told the two torchbearers to turn around. With Quiet Hunter following, she turned away, taking the path back to their streamside refuge.

Brooding, she waited by the fire for Thakur and the herders to return. She extended her claws and ran her tongue along her fangs. There was a time when leading a charge with the Red Tongue between her jaws could sweep all problems aside. That time had gone.

Near sunset, Thakur, Cherfan, and the herders returned with the young face-tails, a few three-horns, and some dapplebacks. She wasn’t surprised that the renegades had eaten a few herdbeasts. She wondered why they hadn’t killed more.

“They are more interested in mating than eating. They want to be there when the first female comes into heat,” Thakur told her. He paused. “Quiet Hunter tells me that you wanted to threaten True-of-voice with fire, but you held off. I am grateful for that, clan leader.”

“Be grateful to Quiet Hunter. He counseled me just like you would.”

“Was it just Quiet Hunter?”

“No,” Ratha admitted. “Just after I gave him the order, I thought about the fire-slain hunters in the canyon. It was brief, just a flash, but it was enough to make me hesitate when he resisted my order.” She laid her nose on her paws. “It will be a lot harder for me to use the Red Tongue against others. Every time I think about it, I get that taste in my mouth, that smell up my nose, and I see how those burned bodies fell apart. And that dead hunter up that tree …” She shuddered. “I hope this doesn’t … cripple me as a leader.”

“I think you will just seek other alternatives.”

“What worries me is when there are none.”

“Then you will do what you must in spite of your feelings. I have faith in that,” he answered.

For a while Ratha was silent, staring at the fire. Her creature had such power to harm as well as help. “Did you find more grazing space?”

“Yes. Those rumbler-creatures are useful after all. They’ve eaten down the brush and knocked over trees so that new grass is growing. There will be enough to feed the herd, at least for a while.”

He sat down by the fire with her. She watched it shimmer in his emerald green eyes.

Ratha felt her voice lower into a growl.

“I wanted to kill their cubs, Thakur. Revenge for every Named litterling that New Singer slaughtered. I still do.”

Thakur was quiet.

“Revenge would feel good,” he said, surprising her. “My teeth ache to tear New Singer’s hide. I could even kill the hunter cubs, if you ordered. I saw how our litterlings died.”

“Then …”

“I can feel this way and not act on it,” he said. “I know that such revenge would destroy us. We value the light in the eyes. True-of-voice’s people have that light, even though it has taken a strange form.” His voice softened. “Retaliating by killing cubs will not only cost our lives, it will taint us and everything we are trying to be. I think you understand me, clan leader.”

This time it was Ratha who fell silent. At last she asked, “What are we trying to be?”

“I don’t know. I hope I get a chance to find out. And I hope that True-of-voice and New Singer get that chance as well.”

“It seems so easy for you to forgive them.”

He lay down beside her. “It may seem so, but I struggle as much as you do.”

“Is that another kind of courage?” Ratha asked him as he laid his head on his paws and let the fire reflect in his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”