The Named: The Complete Series

Chapter Eleven

Though Thakur could see well enough in the early-morning dark to tell that the seamare pen was damaged, he had to wait until dawn to tell how badly. As the sun cast its first light over the salt fens near the estuary where the pen had been built, Thakur saw Ratha striding toward him, her shadow thrown far ahead of her and her form backlit by the dawn.

At first she stepped daintily, avoiding soggy patches or stopping to shake mud off her feet. But as the ooze deepened, she gave up and slogged through it to meet him. Wading into the chill water of the estuary, he showed her how one wall of the pen had been ripped open to free the seamares. Newt had not been content with just tearing an exit but had vented her wrath on the stick-and-lash construction, wrecking an entire section of wall where it stood in the deepest water.

Ratha sniffed a pole that had been knocked askew. Thakur could tell by her expression that she couldn’t smell anything; the briny water had washed away any remaining odor. But he didn’t need the odor to know who had done this and why. He also felt the sharp jabs of his conscience. He had helped and encouraged Newt to regain some use of her leg and with it increased mobility and a greater capacity to destroy what the Named had built. Still, the healer in Thakur argued, he had done the right thing.

“This was done by someone who could swim well, since the water was high last night,” Ratha said. “Also someone who has plagued our efforts with the seamares ever since we arrived. And we both know who that is, herding teacher.”

Thakur felt his ears and whiskers sag as water dribbled off them. “I didn’t think she was strong enough to wreck the pen.”

“That was a lot of work for us and the treelings,” Ratha said. “And we are going to have to catch all the seamares again, which will be twice as hard. We may not be able to find them again.” She paused. “Thakur, I’ve tried to be nice to you about this, but this three-legged renegade of yours has caused more trouble than we can afford right now. If I catch sight of her, I am going to give her a good cuffing to drive her away, and I’m ordering everyone else to do the same. Including you.”

Thakur looked away. “You don’t have to make that an order, clan leader,” he growled between his teeth. “I know where my duty lies.” Though he was furious with Newt, the thought of chasing her off only made him feel worse. He hung his head. “Ratha, the way we were keeping the seamares penned here wasn’t a good thing. She tried to tell us in the best way she knew, and we didn’t listen.”

“By the Red Tongue’s ashes, how are we supposed to keep the beasts where we want them, then? If we didn’t pen them, they’d use those duck-feet of theirs to swim away, and then where would we be?” Ratha’s teeth clicked as she shivered, and Thakur knew the chilly water wasn’t doing her temper any good.

“The ones she keeps don’t swim away,” he retorted.

“But we can’t live among them and just scavenge off dead young ones, as she does. Even in this small group, there are too many of us.”

“Newt doesn’t just scavenge. It’s something more than that. She knows the beasts, and they know her. They accept her, and they trust her.”

Ratha only snorted.

“No, it is true. Our herdbeasts may tolerate us and accept the protection we give them from other meat eaters, but we do not have the kind of bond that she seems to have developed with these seamares. That is what I want to learn from her.”

“Is that worth a wrecked pen and so much work gone to waste?” she retorted.

Thakur was prepared to snap back at her when he realized how silly it must seem to anyone watching. Here stood the clan leader and the herding teacher, up to their bellies in clammy seawater, shivering and arguing.

“Come on, Ratha. Let’s get out and fluff our coats dry, then we can talk sense,” he suggested. He turned and splashed toward shore.

She followed, complaining that this soggy existence was going to ruin her coat. The salt crystals, she said, were already making her skin itch.

“Well, maybe the water will drown your fleas,” he answered.

“That may be true. I don’t have as many now,” she admitted, her mood lightening as the morning sun warmed both of them. “Herding teacher, I understand that you think this outcast has something we should learn. I won’t disagree with you, but”—and here she pointed her nose toward the pen—“I can’t let something like this happen again. Keep her away from our herd of seamares once we get them back. I don’t care how you do it, but keep her away.”

Thakur looked her in the eye and answered, “Yes, clan leader. ”

It took Thakur most of the rest of the day to find Newt, and when he did, he could see she was angry. But the longer she glared at him, the more her flattened ears began to droop. Savagely she turned her head away then looked at the ground between her paws.

Thakur sat down. She glared at him again, then hissed, lifting her lame foreleg with claws bared. “Paw can scratch,” she said. His eyes followed the motion of her foreleg. She was right; she had gained enough flexibility and strength in the limb that she could strike out with that forepaw.

“Thakur go now,” said Newt sullenly, lapsing into her rhyming, “or will say yow.” She waved the paw at him, swishing her tail.

“Thakur hurt Newt,” she said accusingly.

“Newt hurt Thakur too,” he answered, not letting her break his gaze. “You wrecked the pen we built.”

“Thakur and... others took... ” Newt faltered, stumbling on her lack of words for what she wanted to say. She tried again. “Big one, little one, they swim.” She made an odd paddling motion, spreading the toes of her foot to suggest the webbed, splayed feet of the seamares.

Thakur felt a sting of guilt, even though he had tried to dissuade Ratha from taking more seamares. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Me,” Newt said echoing him. “Seamares free because of me. Thakur see?”

“I asked you to stay away from that pen. Now I’m in trouble for helping you, and you are in more trouble if any of the Named catch you there again. Why didn’t you come to me instead?”

She jerked her head up and stared at him with a strange new bitterness. “Come to you. Come to Dreambiter as well. She walks with you. Her smell. Her track. Newt knows.”

Thakur felt himself on uncertain ground.

Newt’s eyes narrowed. “Thakur knows too. And doesn’t speak.”

“I haven’t said anything because I don’t know enough yet about what happened to you. And if you think you have the right to attack one of the Named because you smell her in your dreams, I’m sorry, but I won’t let you do that.”

“Named.” Newt wrinkled her nose. “Named, lamed.”

Her derisiveness and her accusations were starting to get under his skin. “You’re only describing yourself, Thistle-chaser,” he retorted, letting his temper get the better of him. Then he froze and snapped his jaw shut, but it was too late. She had heard that last utterance.

“Thistle-chaser?” Newt said the word slowly, as if tasting it. Thakur could see feelings fleeting through her eyes like clouds being whipped across the sky by a harsh wind. For an instant her eyes were brighter and clearer than he had ever seen them, then a shroud of pain wiped away the brightness.

He swore inwardly at himself. The last thing he had intended to do was use the name as a weapon, but she had goaded him into flinging it at her. And why had he used it? Because he knew from the feeling in his belly that this was Ratha’s daughter.

Newt stayed still, turned far inward. Slowly her legs gave way beneath her, and she sagged until her chin lay on the ground. Her chin moved slightly as she muttered the name again.

Thakur began to think she had gone into a gentler form of her usual fit, when she suddenly bounced up and limped around him in circles, whimpering and rubbing her nose with a forepaw.

“Newt, what’s wrong?”

“Thistle. Hurts. Jumped on. Hurts.”

He caught her long enough to pry her paw away from her nose and look to see if there was a thorn embedded but found nothing. Her circling became more frenzied and then degenerated into a series of short jumps back and forth, as if she was dodging something only she could see.

“Go to him. He will help. Not to the Dreambiter. Says she’ll never learn... eyes are empty,” she babbled. Now she was bounding around on her three legs like a cub at play, but at every other step a shudder went through her as if she had collided with something unseen. Thakur felt chilled. This was unlike any of her other fits, and it seemed to have complete possession of her. Afraid she was gone for good, he caught up with her and laid a paw on her, trying to halt her mad dance.

“Thistle. Hurts. Go to him. No, Dreambiter!” Newt cried, her voice rising. She leaped in the air, writhing, twisting, slashing out with claws and teeth at the ghost in her memory. One wild swipe caught Thakur on the side of the jaw. He pounced on her, trying to hold her down until the fit loosed its grip, but she wiggled free and shot off down the path toward the cliff edge. To his horror she did not slow or turn aside but ran right over. He heard a faint scrabbling, a yowl, several soft bumps, and then a terrifying silence.

Legs and tail trembling, Thakur forced himself to walk to the edge and peer over. He was afraid he would see nothing except the sea washing back and forth over the rocks, or perhaps a limp form, broken by the fall. When he looked down, he saw at once that the cliff was not as high or sheer as he had feared. It fell away in a series of ledges. On the lowest one, he caught sight of Newt, lying with one paw dangling and her head turned to one side. A tail length below her, the waves surged against the sandstone shelf.

Anger and guilt clawed at him. This wasn’t his fault, he growled to himself. Newt had provoked him into using the name he had learned from Ratha. She had run down the path and blindly over the edge. If anything had killed her, it was her craziness and unpredictability. Thakur argued with himself, but he could not turn away. Something held him frozen at the clifftop, staring down at Newt.

She lay still, but she was breathing. He could see there was no blood. Nor were there contorted limbs or other indications of serious injury. It was likely that she had slid down the steep slope, bounced over the upper ledges, and knocked herself out before coming to rest at the bottom.

Quickly Thakur began searching for a safe path down to the ledge where she lay.

A network of narrow shelves and ledges wove down the sloping face. Thakur found that he could keep his balance by leaning against the rock wall and placing one foot directly ahead of the next. He kept his eyes on the path, not letting them stray to the surf crashing below. Slowly he crept down each downsloping ledge until it intersected the next or gave out. Those were the worst moments—when he had to back himself over the edge, hind feet searching for the shelf below while he hung by his foreclaws. On one such drop he nearly unbalanced and toppled over but managed to catch himself.

Slowly he worked his way back and forth across the cliff face until he was a few tail lengths above Newt. He saw her stir, draw the dangling paw up, turn her head, swallow. He went a few more steps along the narrowing ledge then saw something else. The seawater beneath Newt’s ledge churned, and then the shape of a seamare loomed underneath. The creature lifted its head above the waves and pointed its muzzle at the shelf where Newt lay. Another shape surfaced beside the first—smaller, more agile.

Thakur halted and watched the seamare and seacolt. Were these the two Newt had befriended? Now both muzzles pointed upward at the rock, as if the pair could sense Newt was there and needed help. Splayfoot reached up with her black paws, but she could only scrabble uselessly at the sandstone base. A wave lifted Guzzler, and he tried to reach the ledge, but the retreating swells dropped him back before he managed a hold.

Thakur lowered his head and crept on down the path. The seamares couldn’t get to Newt. She would need his help. Two startled bellows from below made him stare at the beasts, who glared back at him and showed their tusks. He wondered how long he would last if he fell into the water with them.

He went another few steps. Splayfoot started to roar, throwing herself as high against the cliff as she could. Though unnerved by the noise and by the seamare’s frenzied efforts, Thakur did everything he could not to threaten her. He kept his teeth covered and his ears forward. He talked to her in the same tone he used when dealing with restive herdbeasts.

“Easy, easy. I’m Newt’s friend, just as you are, you duck-footed dappleback. You just stay down there and keep quiet.”

An indignant roar nearly blew him off the shelf as soon as he laid a paw on Newt. Again he fought to keep his balance and not to look down into the long, cavernous vault of the seamare’s open jaws. He ignored her long enough to give Newt a quick going-over. She had a few bruises and a lump on her head but nothing worse. He looked back the way he had come. Could he take her back up that steep path? He had barely made it down himself, and she was both shaky and lame. No. He knew if he tried, they would both fall.

Splayfoot roared at him again, accompanied by honks from Guzzler.

“You know, both you and I are after the same thing,” Thakur said reasonably. “We’ve got to get Newt off this cliff. Perhaps we can come to an understanding of sorts.”

The seamare clamped her jaws shut, eyeing Thakur as she bobbed in the water. It became clearer and clearer to him that the only way to get Newt off the ledge was by sea. And he’d have to do it soon. He could see that the tide was retreating, pulling the water level down and increasing the drop from the ledge into the breakers below.

A rumble came from the seamare, warning him of another indignant blast, but at the last minute Splayfoot seemed to change her mind. With a snort that blew spray from her nostrils, the seamare reared up. He could see her snuffle the wind that blew across his coat, and he was suddenly thankful he still bore the pungent stink of seamare dung.

Splayfoot bobbed in the surf, turning her head from side to side as if she didn’t know what to make of this strange intruder.

Thakur tried to wake Newt. She responded, but she was still groggy. Gently he turned her head so she looked down into the ocean.

“There are your friends,” Thakur said softly. “They will help you.”

“Newt go,” she whimpered, peering over the edge. Splayfoot heaved herself up again, lifted by a wave, but this time she didn’t roar, only stretched her neck to touch noses with Newt. Thakur watched as Newt tried to climb down. She was too shaky and frightened to do much more than lean down off the shelf.

“Here. Turn around. Lower yourself feet first, like I did,” he said, nudging her. Taking her scruff in his jaws as she backed over, he dug in his rear claws to hold himself and braced his forepaws to keep from sliding. Carefully he lowered her, stretching until his neck ached so that she would have as short a drop as possible.

Just before he let her go, he lost his clawhold. Reflexively his jaws opened, but he couldn’t save himself and fell into the surf between the two seamares. The surging water caught him, tumbled him over and around until he no longer could find the surface and thought he would drown. A blunt nose underneath the belly pushed him roughly, and somehow his head rose above the water. He gasped. Then a broad back rose beneath him until he lay on top of it, his paws clasping the sides of the big sea-beast.

Splayfoot rolled her eyes and gave a disapproving grunt, as if she wasn’t sure she should be helping him. Nearby Newt paddled weakly, buoyed up by Guzzler. She still looked dazed, but she had recovered enough to recognize Thakur. Slowly the odd party swam away from the cliff base, around a small point, and landed at Splayfoot’s cove near the jetty.

Shivering, Thakur waded to shore. Newt hobbled up the beach, shaking herself as she went. She disappeared between two rocks, and Thakur guessed she was heading for her hideaway.

He turned to look at the two seamares, who were lying half-submerged in the lapping waves, staring back at him.

“I don’t know if you did that for Newt’s sake or mine,” he said aloud, watching their ears swivel, “but I’m grateful.” He thought then about leaving Newt to herself, for he was wet and tired, but he knew he should go after her.

He was halfway up the beach before he realized that Newt’s fear and headlong flight had proved something he could not have learned in any other way. There was no doubt now. Though he swore he would never say that name to her again, he knew Newt was Ratha’s daughter, Thistle-chaser.

Newt huddled against the sandstone wall of her cave, trying to isolate herself from the one who had crept in after her. Part of her knew it was Thakur, but the frenzied, frightened part of her knew him only as a shadow who walked with the Dreambiter. He had tried to curl up next to her and speak to her, but his words were only a dim buzzing in her ears, and his presence drove the cold fear deeper. She struck out at him, clawing and biting, trying to drive him out. But though he withdrew, he stayed close, and she could only huddle by herself.

She remembered when she had been able to see Thakur as warm and real, not just as a shade allied with the enemy of her dreams. She knew she could lay her head against his flank and gain comfort from him. Sometimes she had been able to let herself slide into the fantasy that he was the kind one with the dark-copper face and amber eyes, who had loved her without judging.

But now all she could see were Thakur’s eyes, and they burned green, like the Dreambiter’s.

Newt curled up tightly, shuddering. She knew Thakur was there, but she could not let him come near. Not after he had spoken the word that broke through the barriers around her memories. Not after he had let the Dreambiter loose.

Her head throbbed and buzzed. She buried her muzzle between her paws, trying to fend off the rising panic. She could feel the Dreambiter prowling the caves of her mind, pacing deliberately toward the hole Thakur had made with that terrible word... that was somehow her name. She trembled, knowing the demon was real and could come down on her at any time, no longer held back or confined by her will.

Newt cried her misery to the cave wall, wishing it could somehow move or answer. The cave only seemed to close in around her, becoming a trap instead of a shelter. If the Dreambiter rose again, where would she flee? Would the terror chase her blindly over a cliff again or just make her run until she died from exhaustion?

A strange calmness settled over her, though she knew it was just a lull. It gave her strength to remember the other times when the Dreambiter had attacked, wounded, and then fled. She knew those skirmishes were over. The Dreambiter had grown strong. Now it would attack to kill.

Thakur crouched at the mouth of Newt’s cave, alarm making the fur rise all over his body as he watched her. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but each time he tried to curl up beside her, he had been met with a blind, slashing attack that drove him away. And then she writhed and muttered or drew up in a pitiful huddle.

That he could only watch and do nothing made him feel trapped and helpless. The scratches she had given him stung and bled, but because her swipes were wild and uncontrolled they were only annoying. Pity and anger wrenched at him, making him creep closer once again.

Her smell alone made him flatten his ears, for rage and despair poured from her like a thick, choking fluid. But it was her words that held him close, that made him risk another flurry of claws and teeth.

“... kill you, Dreambiter, find you kill you... smell is real, you are real, no more hurting ever ever ever... ”

“Newt!” Thakur hissed, but she only jerked and started to writhe in a way that made him wonder if she was dying.

He felt cold and exhausted. Closing his eyes, he confessed to himself that he did not have the strength to endure any more or the skill to soothe her pain. He had to have help. He could feel himself shaking and knew he would be useless both to himself and Newt if he kept struggling. Perhaps one of the females: Bira could be gentle and comforting.

He grimaced in irony. No. The one who really held the key was the Dreambiter herself: Ratha. He had allowed her to evade responsibility for what she had done to her daughter. Not just Ratha alone, but perhaps all of the Named together could do something to help. And if Thistle-chaser was dying, Ratha should know.

“Newt,” he hissed softly. “I can’t do this alone. I need help. Stay here. I won’t be gone long.”

Thakur turned away from the cave, but he could not help hearing the tortured voice saying over and over again that the price of this pain would be the Dreambiter’s life.