The Named: The Complete Series

Chapter Four

The Named rose early and ate lightly. Ratha saw Bundi and Mishanti, who had stayed with their rumblers overnight, take turns at the meat, fish, and grouse meal: one eating while the other made sure the rumblers stayed at the edge of clan ground.

Ratha, washing her face after lapping water from the creek, noted the efforts of the two. Maybe things would go well after all.

She hoped so, since she was certainly prepared to enjoy herself. She nose-touched with a freshly washed Bundi and sent him off to look after the rumblers. He would send Mishanti back, since the youngster had an early part in the herding show.

Both Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter would serve as interpreters, but they had also asked for a part in the show. Ratha knew what Quiet Hunter would do, since the lead herder, Cherfan, and Thakur had been giving him some instruction. Thistle, however, said she planned something a bit different than just a presentation of the beginner’s skills she had been learning.

Thistle and Quiet Hunter arrived well in advance of the main body of True-of-voice’s people. Thistle had her treeling, Biaree, as well as a short coil of vine rope.

Though Ratha, when she was young, had often imagined what her cubs would be like, she could never have predicted Thistle-chaser. Even Bone-chewer, Thistle’s Un-Named but gifted father, had often wondered aloud where the cub got her sea-green eyes, rust and black pelt, and wiry little body. Even the stunting Thistle endured after Ratha had injured her in a fit of disappointed fury could not completely account for her small size. The light in the eyes that the Named so valued had been late in coming. Ratha was too impatient and afraid that her mating with an Un-Named male had tainted her litter.

Now Thistle’s eyes, once clouded, shone with the Named gift. They glowed as if they were sunlight seen through green seawater.

Quiet Hunter, Thistle’s chosen mate from the face-tail hunting tribe, was a light dun with no special markings except muzzle-patches and brown tear-lines on his face. His honey-brown eyes and patient temper were a gift to the Named from his own people.

Anyone who saw Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter together would know that they had a special partnership, deeper than the usual attraction that drew mates to one another.

Thistle’s fur was clean and shining. Quiet Hunter had also obviously taken pains with his grooming; every hair was in place, and he smelled strong and sure.

Ratha delighted in the sight of the young couple and even more in her daughter’s happiness. She turned the formal nose-touch greeting into an affectionate head-rub and slide-along, feeling her daughter’s tail flop over her back.

Thakur arrived, looking a little disheveled, since he had the last-minute task of organizing and arranging who would work with which animals and seeing that the presentations followed one another smoothly and without incident.

Everyone agreed that Cherfan’s cheery manner and loud voice should make him the show’s announcer.

Ratha spied Fessran, Drani, Bira, and Mishanti over by the piled-brush fence they had built the previous evening for their herdbeast-penning demonstration. Fessran and Drani didn’t have treelings, nor yet did Mishanti, but Bira’s Cherfaree and a borrowed Ratharee helped get the fence completed quickly.

When the time came for their guests to arrive, Ratha sent an escort to meet and guide them. It included both interpreters and Cherfan.

Ratha could feel the excitement building among the rest of the clan, and she admitted she felt it, too. This event would be fun and draw the two tribes closer together.

Perched on the sunning rock, Ratha craned her neck for the first view of True-of-voice and his people. Below, she heard Fessran yowling, “Your tail looks fine, Bira. You don’t need to groom it again … .”

Other Named voices blended with the chatter of treelings and the bellows, hoots, and neighs of the animals that Thakur and his students were holding in readiness for the performance.

True-of-voice paced at the head of his group, flanked by Thistle and Quiet Hunter. His stride was easy and supple, showing that he had completely recovered from his nearly fatal injuries. His gray coat shone with highlights of silver. Behind him was the old female whom Ratha recognized as Bent Whiskers and another called Tooth-broke-on-a-bone. The rest fanned out about him, reminding Ratha that the face-tail hunters formed a larger group than did her clan. This tribe had been a formidable threat once and could be again.

Some of them had fangs so long that a good portion showed outside the mouth.

“Reminds me of old Shongshar,” Ratha heard Fessran hiss. “How do they eat with those things? Can they open their mouths wide enough?”

The other group halted, and Ratha saw True-of-voice looking up at her. Other gazes followed his.

Ratha sat up and lifted her chin, suppressing a strong urge to give her fur a few quick licks. She hoped she looked as impressive to True-of-voice as he did to her.

While the clan took their places to one side of the sunning rock, Thistle and Quiet Hunter showed the face-tail hunters to the other. Ratha had asked everyone to sit so that she could see faces and forepaws as well as tails and backs. From her perch, she had a good view of the assembly.

Ratha watched Thistle and noticed that her daughter was moving in an odd, slow, gliding manner, as she sometimes did while in the trance she used to communicate with True-of-voice. Was she already speaking to him through the mysterious song? Was she so deep in her trance that she wouldn’t be able to leave it in time for her part in the display?

Well, if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem. It was more important to have Thistle-chaser as an interpreter than a participant. But Thistle would be disappointed, and Ratha herself was curious about what her daughter planned to present.

From atop the sunning rock, the clan leader called, her voice calming and stilling the Named as well as welcoming their guests.

“We of the Named greet you again on your return visit. We have already shown you some of our ways. Many are like yours, but many are different. Today we will show you how we live by keeping and tending beasts rather than hunting them. It is our hope that what you see here today helps you understand us.” Ratha paused, allowing the two interpreters to convey her meaning to True-of-voice and give his reply.

It was Quiet Hunter, not Thistle, who raised his voice. “The hearers of the song greet those who preserved True-of-voice. The sharing of ways is awaited with interest.”

“There is food, if any of your people wish it,” Ratha offered.

“The song will sate one of its hungers,” the other leader replied through Quiet Hunter. “There is acknowledgment and pleasure.”

Not quite gratitude, Ratha thought, but perhaps close enough. She wondered if curiosity was one of the song’s hungers. What others did it have?

She hopped down, approached True-of-voice, and gave him a formal nose touch. His scent was powerful, musky.

“May the song of the Named well up within,” said True-of-voice, this time through Thistle.

“May you eat of the haunch and sleep in the driest den,” Ratha answered, giving the ritual greeting of the clan. She waited as Thistle interpreted her words to True-of-voice. Her daughter sat eerily still and silent, her muzzle lifted, her nostrils flared, her eyes distant. How she did so was a mystery to Ratha, but Thistle was clearly communicating with the other tribe’s leader.

The Named and their guests still took up separate areas. The only mixing so far was between Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter, who were now licking one another’s cheeks and talking quietly. They took their places, sitting to each side of True-of-voice. Soon they would be helping him and his people to understand what the clan was showing them.

Ratha also regained her seat on the sunning rock. She wondered if, even despite the interpreters’ aid, True-of-voice or his people could comprehend the event to come. She always had the frustrating feeling that these folk were far different than the Named. Now, being near, scenting them and able to watch closely and compare them with her clan, she felt the differences intensify.

It was not a feeling she liked or wanted, at least not the rational part of her. But she could not deny the truth or depth of her feeling.

Turning back to her own people, she spotted Cherfan, who was already springing up on an outcrop near the sunning rock.

“Face-tail hunters and song-hearers, you have come here not just to learn but to enjoy as well.” Cherfan’s resonant voice had warmth as well as power. “Are we ready, herding teacher?” he asked Thakur.

“Yes,” came the reply.

Cherfan turned back to the crowd of the Named and their guests. “We are showing these herding methods with the simplest and easiest first, the more challenging later. This is the way we teach our cubs.” He stopped for the interpreters to communicate with True-of-voice, then said, “To show that these skills can be mastered by those who are not clan-born, here is your own Quiet Hunter with one of our dappleback horses.”

Ratha saw True-of-voice lean forward, his eyes widening.

Quiet Hunter moved to the edge of the performance area. The herders released the horse, which trotted into the center, flicked its tail and looked slightly bored. Ratha knew that this dappleback was another of Thakur’s practice animals.

Though very new to Named ways, Quiet Hunter had transformed the skill and control of a face-tail stalker into that of a herder. For safety, Ratha had stationed the herder Mondir nearby.

Quiet Hunter closed with the little horse before the animal noticed it, but instead of making the dappleback start and bolt, he eased his way toward it from behind. He stayed low, coming into its vision very carefully and slowly. He was patient, letting the creature’s own curiosity draw it toward him.

Then he began to press the little horse, using his presence to move it to one side, then the other. He walked it forward, turned it in a circle, and then made it back up, using a very creditable version of the Named stare-locking technique. He then delivered it to the clan herder, waved his tail at the audience, and strutted off, looking quietly pleased.

Catching Thakur’s eyes, Ratha could also see that he also looked pleased by the performance.

That should help convince True-of-voice that our ways are not so strange, she thought.

Next, a small herd of dapplebacks trotted into the show area. Fessran, Bira, and Drani cantered onto the field, followed by a strutting Mishanti. Working together, they rounded up the dapplebacks. Mishanti made good use of his speed, darting out to head off would-be strays while the others kept the herd tight and moving. Each herder cut out individual animals and maneuvered them to the brush pen, using rushes and feints to get them inside. Mishanti’s performance was slightly unusual; he ran one little horse so fast that it jumped the bush fence instead of going in the pen’s entrance.

When he seemed intent on doing it again, Fessran swooped down and lifted him by the scruff. The other three gathered up the dapplebacks and drove them into the brush-ringed corral.

“Well done,” boomed Cherfan. “Although that part wasn’t in the plan, was it, Fess? Now our herding teacher will perform something new he’s been perfecting. Thistle-chaser will show her own variation with help from her treeling, Biaree. First, Thakur.”

Again she turned her gaze to True-of-voice. She noted that he leaned forward with interest, and his eyes were alive with curiosity.

Yet this was not a trait he shared with his people. They were attentive, but not absorbed. Their real fascination was turned inward; they perceived instead the strange entity that came from True-of-voice, who called it “the song.”

It was not “his song.” It seemed to exist almost independently of him. Even though he was the immediate source, he seemed as caught up in it as the others. It was like a river flowing into a pool and then out again, but split into many smaller tributaries. He was the intake, they were the outflow, but all were bathed in the flowing water.

Her own Thistle had somehow managed to capture the song’s character when she said, “It sings through him. Those of his line, long dead, sing through him.” She had also said, “It isn’t just hearing. Not just ear-hearing. Or nose-smelling or tongue-tasting, or whisker-touching. It is all those, but it is more. It is with me behind the eyes. I am no longer one behind the eyes.”

How hard Ratha herself had fought to understand, to overcome the instinct to withdraw, pull back, cut off. Her choice had been in conflict with her feelings when she had directed the clan to rescue True-of-voice from the ledge where he had fallen. She still felt the conflict now.

She noticed that True-of voice’s tribe resembled one another more than did the clan. On the Named side, Thakur’s copper coat contrasted with Fessran’s pale sandy fur; Bira’s rich red-gold pelt and plumed tail shone against the grassy background. Silken blue-gray Ashon, head and feet haloed with glowing silver; Cherfan’s dark sepia brown; Thistle’s mix of white, brown, tan, and rust; Ratha’s own fawn, gold and cream; and the other pelt and eye colors were each as individual as each personality.

But Tooth-broke-on-a-bone and Bent Whiskers could have exchanged pelts and still looked the same brindled gray-brown. There may have been some slight difference in shade or pattern, but besides the riotous colors of the clan, that variation was insignificant. The only one who stood out at all was True-of-voice.

She put the thought aside and turned her attention back to the show.