by Clare Bell
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.
Chapter Five
Cherfan came next, Thakur taking over as announcer while the big herder performed. Cherfan’s display used a three-horn buck, and he had to step on the beast’s Y-shaped nose-horn to keep its head down and the antlers away. Though not unusual, it was very well done, and Cherfan earned the yowling applause he got from the Named side.
After Cherfan came Thistle-chaser, her treeling Biaree on her nape. Biaree held a coiled length of vine in one small hand, the other wound tightly in Thistle’s fur. The herders released a dappleback mare.
The treeling hunkered low between Thistle’s shoulders as she stalked belly-down through the grass. Ratha wondered whether her daughter would try the stare-down. Thistle chose the classic technique, using her sea-green gaze to immobilize the dappleback until she could get her forepaws around the horse’s neck. She pulled the animal over, but Ratha was startled when her daughter did not go for the throat.
Instead, Thistle spread herself across the beast, holding it down. Biaree hopped off her back, dodging the horse’s hoofed toes. With her rear foot behind the dappleback’s rump, Thistle pushed the hind legs forward while using a forepaw to swipe the front legs back until both sets crossed. Biaree sprang onto the uppermost hock and wound the vine around the crossed fetlocks. Pulling it tight, the treeling made a knot, and then bounced back onto Thistle’s nape. When Thistle climbed off the dappleback, the mare stayed on her side, feet tied together. Struggle as it might, the dappleback couldn’t escape. At last it lay, spent and heaving.
Ratha listened to the clan herders’ voices. They were impressed by this way of restraining a beast so that the herder who made the capture didn’t have to keep fighting the animal or kill it. How Thistle had combined Biaree’s skill at making knots with her own newly learned herding abilities, Ratha had no idea. As she watched, she decided that her daughter had contributed something else valuable to the clan. Thistle’s use of a treeling was so strange, however, that clan herders might take a while to understand and accept it.
Ratha wondered about True-of-voice’s reaction. Could he be thinking that treelings and vines could be used to hunt face-tails? No, Thistle’s technique worked far better on smaller animals such as the dapplebacks.
She imagined that True-of voice would have a difficult time understanding Thistle-chaser. Of the independent Named, Thistle was the most individualistic. One would never think that she could also reach True-of-voice well enough to translate the hunting tribe’s song into clan speech.
Well, she does have Quiet Hunter as a partner. It is not Thistle alone, but the two of them together.
Wondering what the hunting tribe thought of the display, she surveyed their numbers. Again she was struck by how alike the other tribe’s members were as compared to the clan.
These differences might be even greater than she knew, Ratha thought. Thistle and Thakur had been playing around with the idea that the Named couldn’t see reds and oranges as well as their treelings could. Thakur suggested that one could collect some of a reddish fruit that had equal hues (at least to Named eyes), but had varying degrees of ripeness. By blanking out a treeling’s sense of smell, perhaps by scattering strong-scented leaves nearby, one could show that treelings selected the ripest fruit by the depth of its rosy color.
For Ratha, it felt odd to think that she might not be seeing the true color of the ember within a flame, or the burning intensity of Bira’s luxurious fur.
What did Bira look like to a treeling, Ratha wondered. Perhaps only Thakur and Thistle had the imagination to even ask such a question.
And herself? She might well have enough imagination but limited opportunities to indulge it. She had to pay more attention to practical questions, such as whether the differences between her people and True-of-voice’s were dangerous.
When Ratha pointed her nose toward the face-tail hunters, closed her eyes,
and let odor claim her attention, she noticed that the theme of similarity among them continued from sight to scent. True-of-voice’s people had almost no individual scents, only traces. The dominant smell was True-of-voice, and even his pure scent did not encompass his group. They had a tribal smell: part True-of-voice, part other. The scent of the song, Thakur had called it, even though his choice of words seemed muddled and contradictory.
The scents of her own people, though, Ratha could easily pick out, even if Thakur, Bira, Thistle, or whoever had been rolling in the strongest herdbeast dung. Even Quiet Hunter, in moving from True-of-voice’s tribe to her clan, had developed more of his individual scent as well as the Named group-smell. His was strong enough now that Ratha could taste it on the air that passed the sensitive area on the roof of her mouth. She envied Thistle slightly, and her gaze wandered to Thakur.
She also caught herself grimacing slightly to catch the scent and taste of the herding teacher. She bent and groomed a forepaw to distract herself from those thoughts.
Thakur followed Thistle. He would be displaying an unusual herding tactic. Though the Named herders were reluctant to admit it, some beasts couldn’t be stared into submission or easily caught. Young three-horns were often too quick and too fleet for the Named to catch and hold their gaze.
Ratha shifted on the sunning rock. Thakur had been working on this new capture technique for a while but had kept it private until he could perfect it.
Now he was ready. He stood to one side of the arena, almost within a tail-length of the Named side of the audience. Opposite him, Fessran, Drani, and Bira held a three-horn fawn. Fessran wrapped her forelegs around the deer’s neck while Drani held the tail and rump. Bira put both forepaws on the young deer’s spotted back, using her weight to keep the animal still.
She saw Thakur gather his hindquarters beneath him and lower his head. Catching the suppressed excitement in his scent gave Ratha a powerful wish to slide her forepaws out, raise her hindquarters, lay her chest down, and moan in longing. She quickly squashed the urge.
Thakur lifted a forefoot, extended his claws and gave them a quick glance, paying particular attention to the dewclaw. Curious, Ratha sat up, craning her neck. The Named didn’t use the dewclaw much, at least not in herding.
Muscles quivered and tensed in Thakur’s flanks.
He gave a sharp upward flip of his tail, the signal for the three females to release the fawn.
Ratha thought he would explode forward in a rush, using his speed to bring the fawn down before it could take a step. Instead, while the young deer stood nervously, flicking its tail, Thakur sank down low in the grass and began a hunting stalk.
The deer broke into a high-stepping trot, herders loosely ringing the creature to prevent it from running too far away. They didn’t want to let the animal think that it could actually escape.
Thakur quickened his stalk, his shoulders and haunches the only parts of him visible in the high grass. His stalk became a fast walk, a trot, and then a springing gallop, the deer bounding ahead of him.
For an instant the deer pulled ahead, and Ratha thought that Thakur would lose it. Less than a whisker-twitch later, he hit his full speed, his back bowing and arching, his reaching strides flying him to the fawn’s heels.
The deer ran hard, swerving and dodging, but Thakur stayed on it, whipping his tail out to keep his balance. Ratha saw his forepaw flash out, dewclaw fully extended. His blow struck and hooked the deer on the outside of the hock, sweeping its hind legs out from under it. The quarry fell, sliding on its side in a jumble of flailing hooves and a shroud of dust, pebbles, and torn-up grass. Both prey and hunter tumbled together, loose earth raining down on them.
With a snakelike strike, Thakur was on top of the deer, diving, twisting, dodging the hooves, seeking the throat. Ratha’s breath quickened. Was he going for a kill?
As the dirt and dust settled, Ratha saw him crouching, forearms embracing the fawn’s neck, open jaws cradling the underside of the throat, gently twisting the head back and to one side. A slight twitching at the corners of his mouth told Ratha that he was holding back, fighting the urge to bite deeply.
Applause was slow to start, for many of the Named bore expressions of puzzled amazement. When it did come, it broke from the clan side in a swelling roar that vibrated through the sunning rock where Ratha sat.
Both stalker and prey held absolutely still until the crowd noise died. Then Thakur released the deer and backed away. Bira, Fessran, and Drani were already closing in. The fawn, dazed, sat as if still held, then, with a jerk, scrambled to its feet. The three deer-wranglers ringed the young three-horn and took it away.
Thakur pivoted around, his tail sweeping the air in a flourish. Ratha knew Thakur never strutted like some clan males, but he was close. His walk was full of suppleness and pride, his chin lifted, his eyes glowing.
Again happy caterwauling and howling burst from the clan side and seemed to fountain up into the trees.
Thakur is the one who carries the true spirit of the Named, Ratha thought. She joined the applause until her throat felt scratchy. When it faded, she heard Cherfan’s voice saying, “And that was our herding teacher, showing the newest capture technique he developed. He did it without really harming that fawn. How did you do that?”
Some movement on True-of-voice’s side of the crowd drew Ratha’s gaze. It was Thistle and Quiet Hunter, leaning close to the other tribe’s leader, speaking quietly to him and one another. True-of-voice leaned forward on his forepaws, eyes narrowed and intent.
Tail high, Thakur jogged to the announcer, taking a place beside Cherfan on a low outcropping near the sunning rock.
Ratha could hear his fast breathing from the chase and a slight strain in his voice as he tried to speak louder.
“I borrowed the idea from some long-legged Un-Named ones who were hunting prong-buck. I tried it out on our fawns and it worked.”
“I imagine that getting it to work took some practice,” Cherfan replied.
The herding teacher took a large breath. “It certainly did. I was pretty winded by the time I got it right.”
His part ended, Thakur hopped down off the outcrop, leaving Cherfan to announce the next event, a contest between the cubs as to who could stay longest on a bucking animal. Ratha, having seen this several times previously, crouched down as Thakur passed the sunning rock, and asked him to come sit with her.
While the crowd’s attention focused on the next event, Ratha touched noses with Thakur, then slid alongside him, both flopping their tails over one another’s backs. She enjoyed a moment of bathing in his scent, and then spoke to him. “Herding teacher, that was amazing! Will you teach it to the cubs?”
“Yes, but I’ll tell them I don’t like to knock a beast down that way unless other culling methods don’t work. It’s a bit rough on the creatures.” Thakur stuck a rear leg forward and curled down, nibbling clots of mud out from between his spread toes. “And you get very dirty.”
Ratha licked streaks of mud from his side. Tasting the salt of minerals, she swallowed it. She spit out the coarse grass, and then sat, curling her long tail over her feet. “That’s nothing new for the Named.”
She saw Thakur grin slightly at the wry tone in her voice. When he lay down next to her, one foot brushing the base of her tail, she felt a wave of warmth surge through her, drawing sweat from her pads and the leather of her nose. It wasn’t the mating season yet. Was her heat coming early?
She distracted herself by watching the bucking contest. This time it was a tie between Ashon and Mishanti, and the latter did not have to be thrown into a tree.
“He’s getting better,” Thakur commented, watching Mishanti pick himself up and lope after his mount. “Maybe there are some things he’ll be good at.”
“Riding bucking dapplebacks and herding rumblers,” Ratha said, her voice slightly sour.
Thakur excused himself, saying that he should help prepare the next pair of riders. He leaped down from the sunnin
g rock. Ratha felt the surge of warmth fade. No, she wasn’t in heat yet.
Her gaze strayed back to True-of-voice’s people. One could be replaced by the next, she thought, and it would make no difference.
Thakur had once told her why he thought the Named varied so much from one another. It was because they had started to farm instead of hunt their prey. Hunters needed to blend into their surroundings. Pelt colors and patterns remained the same from individual to individual and between generations. One whose coat color stood out wouldn’t survive very long.
The need to match the background was far less for herders. Standing out even helped to fascinate and intimidate herdbeasts, making them easier to manage. Freedom from the constraints of the hunter allowed the Named to choose their mates for beauty as well as ability and temperament. This tendency influenced the colors of eyes as well as pelts. Clan eyes ranged from the agate blue of newborn cubs through all shades of gray, green, yellow, gold amber, honey, hazel, copper, and dark sepia.
A part of her still couldn’t be convinced that the differences between True-of-voice’s face-tail hunters and the Named were not alien. Perhaps the impulse that made her reach out, to help rather than harm, was, in the end, misguided. A voice in her kept whispering that her choice could still lead to tragedy. It still whispered, making her search among the True-of-voice’s people for any sign of initiative or individuality.
To her surprise, she did find tiny sparks of it. She saw it among the half-grown ones, the yearlings, and some of the older cubs. In some way, the traits that were so buried in their nature fought their way out. She saw eyes that would widen and brighten with the wish to see more, ears swivel and flick forward with the urge to hear more, tails lash with impatience to know more than just the song. It was then that the young of True-of-voice’s people began to resemble the young of the Named.
As if the power within the song knew that it was being challenged, it reacted. The sparks in those young eyes flamed only briefly before they were suffocated down to embers and then darkened.