Ratha and Thistle-Chaser (The Third Book of the Named)

by Clare Bell

So Fessran remained free of the seamare stink and avoided those who had it. But Ratha noticed that she seemed to sit at a greater distance from her than from Thakur. And that whenever Ratha approached, she would stop grooming her belly and immediately switch to washing her face.

  Ratha knew that not all of the Firekeeper’s coolness to her was due to her smell. The forced abandonment of the Un-Named litterling still rankled; there was resentment in Fessran’s eyes, even though the Firekeeper had said she didn’t care.

  It was late in the summer and a hot day, even on the sea coast. The herdbeasts sought shade in the forest, and the seamares wallowed in the shallows enclosed by part of their corral. With heat making the animals lazy, the herders too could relax. Ratha decided to take a break from overseeing the seamare herders and went to drink from the pool beneath the spring.

  Coolness from the spring seemed to blow away the heavy, hot air surrounding her as she came down the deeply shaded path. Spray-moistened moss cushioned her feet when she crouched to drink. She lapped her fill, then laid first one side of her face, then the other, in the pool, letting the chill seep through her fur. As she dangled a forepaw in the water, she glanced up to the rock ledges above, wondering which one would be best for a nap.

  One ledge was already taken. Sandy fur showed against blue-tinted stone. Fessran was there, relaxing and starting to groom herself. One rear leg stuck stiffly over her head as she began licking the creamy fur on her belly.

  The soft chuckle of the stream had covered Ratha’s footsteps, and the wind blew her scent away. Fessran didn’t know she was here. The idea of spying on the Firekeeper made Ratha uncomfortable, and she was about to announce herself when something disquieting about Fessran’s grooming caught her attention.

  Slowly she backed under a hanging bunch of ferns, shielding herself from Fessran’s view. Absently she licked the back of her own forepaw and began to scrub her cheek, wondering what it was about Fessran’s grooming that disturbed her. And then, aware of the motion of her own forepaw over her face, she froze, knowing she had found her answer.

  When Ratha groomed, she always started by scrubbing her cheek with the side of her forepaw. So did the others of the Named. Only if a Named female was pregnant or nursing did she break the inborn pattern and start by grooming her stomach. Ratha peeked out from beneath the ferns. Fessran wasn’t carrying cubs. She hadn’t come into heat this year. But she could be nursing.

  A Named female could give milk without birthing a litter. If a female took in a motherless orphan, the cub’s suckling could make her produce milk in a matter of days—even sooner if she badly wanted to feed the litterling. And Fessran had wanted to.

  Ratha watched Fessran lick and nibble, taking great care over her belly. She felt a slow anger start to burn away the refreshing coolness from the pool. Yes, Fessran must be nursing. She had kept the cub, despite the orders to Khushi that the litterling be returned. Ratha crouched beneath the ferns, feeling hot-and-cold surges of anger and betrayal. What a fool she had been!

  Her first mistake had been letting Fessran go with Khushi. She imagined how the Firekeeper must have persuaded the young herder not to obey the clan leader’s orders and instead to turn the cub over to her. And then the two had stayed away to make it look as though they had made the journey. It must have been then that Fessran found she could suckle the orphan.

  Ratha ground her back teeth. She could see them now in her imagination, Fessran lying in the shade, nursing the Un-Named cub. Such a sweet maternal scene it must have been! And Khushi, sitting by, looking torn and bewildered because he had not wanted to disobey Ratha’s orders.

  But well-chosen words from his mother about the value of a cub’s life and the sorry blindness of a clan leader might well have swayed him. Fessran, she remembered, was very good at choosing words.

  So they had kept the Un-Named orphan, the two conspirators, and even brought him along when the herds moved from the old clan territory to the coast. No wonder Fessran had been so itchy to return from the first expedition.

  And I saw all of that, but I chose to look the other way. Now they’re shoving my nose in it.

  She repressed an urge to bound up from ledge to ledge until she reached the one where Fessran sat. That would do no good and might lead to embarrassment or worse, should her sense of balance be overwhelmed by her sense of outrage. Instead she came out from beneath the ferns and called Fessran down. After a few grumbles, the Firekeeper came.

  Ratha sat, looking at the ripples that spread from the cascading of the falls into the pool. Fessran sat down a short distance away from her. Deliberately, Ratha said nothing until the Firekeeper started to fidget.

  “Am I keeping you from your grooming?” Ratha asked. “Please continue. I’m just nursing my thoughts.”

  With a sidelong look at her, Fessran wet a paw and slowly started massaging her cheek.

  “Shouldn’t you start with the fur on your belly?” Ratha made her tone more pointed.

  “Ratha, what are you talking about? If you have something to tell me, just say it and quit chasing your tail.” Fessran’s own tail switched irritably.

  Ratha got up and paced toward her, keeping her eyes fixed on Fessran’s. “You know what I’m talking about: keeping your teats clean to nurse a cub. That Un-Named litterling I made Khushi return never was taken back to the place he was found, was he?” She felt the hackles on her neck rising. “You may be keeping your teats clean, Firekeeper, but the rest of you stinks, and the smell is worse than the seamare dung on me.”

  Fessran’s face grew tight as her ears flattened. “All right. Yes, I kept Mishanti.”

  “Mishanti? By the Red Tongue’s ashes, you’ve already given him a name?”

  “Yes, because he deserves one. You are wrong about him, Ratha. As soon as Khushi stopped for a rest, I looked at that cub, and I knew that if we took him out and abandoned him, I would hate myself for the rest of my life. It would be like killing one of my own litter.”

  Ratha closed her eyes. “We’ve trodden this path already, Fessran. You know where it leads. I thought when you turned from me to support Shongshar and his fire-dance, it was something that would happen only once. Now you have disobeyed me again, tricked me, lied to me. ”

  Fessran swallowed and her laid-back ears began to droop, but the determined glitter stayed in her eyes. “The part of you I disobeyed and tricked and lied to,” she said slowly, “is not the part of Ratha that I know. The part I know would not have me kill or abandon this cub out of a fear of what he might become.”

  Ratha gritted her teeth. “You forget too easily. Shongshar... ”

  “Stop holding Shongshar over my head,” Fessran hissed. “This isn’t the same at all. A cub’s life is what I seek, not power over the Named.”

  “What is the same is a headstrong Firekeeper who does what her belly tells her without regard for what anyone thinks, even me.”

  This stung. Ratha could see Fessran flinch. “You don’t think I didn’t worry about your feelings? I’ll tell you, I spent a lot of time thinking.”

  “With that misbegotten Un-Named suckling curled up next to you, kneading your belly,” Ratha sneered.

  Fessran’s voice and eyes went cold, stabbing Ratha deeper than she expected. “You are wrong about Mishanti, clan leader. You don’t know how wrong.”

  Ratha turned away from her, began to pace the banks of the pool. She stopped to look at herself, saw the bared teeth, the angry eyes that did not look quite like hers. Was Fessran right? What part of her was saying these ugly things? And was there something blinding her to what Fessran saw?

  She made an angry turn, tore up moss with her claws as she pivoted. When she came back to Fessran, she had trodden down her doubts and felt as cold and determined as the Firekeeper looked.

  “Fessran, I won’t exile you from the clan, as I have the right to. I need you too badly. I also know that you don’t have the skills to survive outside.”

  At this, Fessran bridled, but Ratha could s
ee she knew the truth of those words. Fessran had managed her own stays away from the clan only by depending on the hunting and fishing skills of others.

  “I will, however, break you down in rank to the lowest wood-stacker and give you a few good swipes into the bargain if you don’t get rid of that cub. And if I come and find him in your den, I’m taking him. Is that clear?”

  Fessran’s sides heaved. She looked at the ground. “It is, clan leader. And I am very sorry for you.”

  “If you’re sorry for me, don’t hurt me any more. Do what I told you to in the first place.” Ratha turned and left, without waiting to see what Fessran’s reaction would be.

  Thakur watched Newt’s foreleg sweep back and forth beneath the water of the lagoon. She could move it fast enough now to make a little wave curl over her paw.

  “Stronger?” Newt asked.

  “Much stronger,” Thakur answered. “Good. You’ve been working.”

  “Swim. Out there.” Newt jerked her muzzle toward the ocean. “Helps.”

  “Now let’s try stretching again,” Thakur said, wading out of the pool toward a heavy driftwood log. “See if you can keep your claws fastened in the wood and then pull so your muscles stretch.” He watched as Newt emerged, still limping, but no longer holding her foreleg against her chest. Now her foot brushed the ground, and Thakur hoped she might soon be able to put some weight on it.

  She did the exercise as he directed, getting a clawhold in the gray driftwood and pulling back with all her weight to limber and stretch the contracted muscles. He saw Newt grimace as she pulled hard, straightening her leg.

  “Hurts,” she said between grunts of effort. “But good for leg.”

  Then Thakur saw her abruptly freeze, her claws still embedded in the log, her stare fixed at a point beyond. Even as his gaze followed, his nose caught the smoke-tinged scent of the Firekeeper leader. Beside him, he felt Newt tense, jerk her claws from the driftwood, and start to growl.

  Fessran sat in a hollow between two dunes, cocking her head to one side. “Phew, herding teacher,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I had to force myself to follow your trail. You don’t have to roll in seamare dung now that we’ve got the creatures penned.” She got to her feet, her eyes roving over Newt. “And who is that? She stinks as much as you do.”

  Thakur didn’t know whether Newt understood Fessran or not, but he heard her growl deepen. “No,” he said sharply, pushing Newt back with his shoulder.

  “So I’m not the only one who has dealings with the Un-Named.” Fessran grinned. “What does our clan leader have to say about this?”

  “If Ratha has anything to say about it, you can be sure she will,” he said irritably.

  Fessran fixed her gaze on Newt, who bristled. “When did she turn up?”

  “She’s the one who gave me the idea about herding seamares.” Thakur turned to Newt. “Put your fur down,” he told her. “That is Fessran. She’s often rude, but she won’t harm you.” He halted. Newt’s eyes had gone glassy and started to swirl.

  “The smell,” he heard her hiss. “In her coat. The Dreambiter’s smell.”

  Before Thakur could stop Newt, she was over the log in a bound and charging at Fessran. The puzzled stare on the Firekeeper’s face turned to an angry snarl. Thakur sprinted after Newt, trying to launch himself between the two, but he wasn’t fast enough. Newt and Fessran met in an angry flurry, then broke apart. Newt suddenly withdrew, muttering to herself. Fessran stood, her head lowered, her nape erect, ready to fight off another attack, but Newt had gone into a strange trance in which she circled aimlessly for several minutes, looking confused, then toppled over onto her side.

  “What, by the Red Tongue’s ashes, is the matter with her?” Fessran demanded.

  Thakur lost his temper. “What is the matter with you, Firekeeper? I told the others I didn’t want to be disturbed, but you obviously didn’t listen.”

  “I’m sorry, Thakur,” Fessran said contritely. She flattened her fur, came a few steps closer. “Is she all right?”

  “Her name is Newt, and she’s not going to die, if that’s what you mean. But she’s not all right. She gets these fits. Her foreleg is injured, and I was trying to help her when you stuck your whiskers in.”

  “What was she saying about my smell?”

  “I don’t know. I think your scent had something to do with the fit. Maybe you’d better back off.” Thakur nosed the fallen Newt, who had started to twitch and stir. Fessran retreated downwind as Newt slowly rolled onto her front and shakily got up. “Just because I don’t cover myself with duck-footed dappleback dung . . .” Thakur heard the Firekeeper mutter. Newt shook her head in confusion then peered at Fessran. For an instant, he thought she was going to attack again. Then she took a breath and spoke.

  “You,” she said hoarsely to Fessran. “You carry smell. You not biting one, but you carry smell.”

  “What’s she yowling about?” Fessran asked.

  “I don’t know. Fess, just go away, please.”

  Newt startled him with a roar. “No! Stay. Tell about smell.” She turned almost desperately to Thakur, stumbling badly on her words. “The one who bites. In my head. Smell is real. Newt didn’t make up.” She lunged away from Thakur, facing Fessran. Then she seemed to catch sight of the scars on Fessran’s leg and chest. She looked up, searching Fessran’s eyes.

  “Not only smell, but scars,” she breathed. “Like me.”

  Caught in the intensity of Newt’s gaze, Fessran twitched back her ears and narrowed her eyes.

  “You know Dreambiter,” Newt insisted stubbornly, unwilling to release Fessran from her stare.

  “I have many scents on me, from all those in the clan,” Fessran answered cautiously. “Who do you mean by Dreambiter?”

  “She comes. From behind, in darkness. I hear her feet, then she leaps on me and wounds me with teeth. I remember taste of milk, sound of purring, but then came pain and this.” Newt thrust her lame forepaw at Fessran.

  Thakur tried again to ease himself into the conversation, but the two were intent upon each other and took no notice of him.

  “Newt, who was your mother?” Fessran asked.

  She got only a blank stare.

  “Mother. You know, the one who birthed you, gave you milk.”

  “The Dreambiter gave me milk.” Newt’s voice was flat. “I don’t know mother. Does mother bite?”

  “A little nip once in a while, if cubs are being rowdy. But mostly she feeds them, keeps them warm, gives them nuzzles and licks. I’ve had young ones myself, so I know.” Fessran gave her a quizzical look.

  Thakur saw that Newt was retreating into her memories, muttering to herself. He saw the link she was forging between Fessran’s description of a mother and the Dreambiter image that plagued and terrified her.

  “The one who bit me is the one you call mother, and she is in your clan.” Newt’s ears flattened slightly, and her pupils widened with fear then narrowed with rage. Thakur felt a stab of alarm.

  “Who in the clan could... ” Fessran broke off. Thakur saw her mouth a name to herself and felt it tremble on his own tongue: Ratha.

  “Enough, Fessran,” he said sharply, wishing he’d stepped in before things got this far. Newt was starting to shiver and growl.

  The Firekeeper bristled. “Why shouldn’t I tell her the truth? If this cub is from the loins of our clan leader, then Ratha has no right to judge others.”

  “I don’t think it will help us or her to dig up old and rotted dung,” Thakur snapped. “Firekeeper, if you are going to cause trouble, do it somewhere else.”

  Fessran left, her tail low and switching. Thakur didn’t like the way Newt’s gaze followed her.

  Newt extended her patrol range and hobbled along her new trails with raised nape and bristling tail. Now that she had gone beyond her own beach, she caught the scents of the intruders in the wind and found a trace of the Dreambiter’s among them. It made her shudder—and fight off rising panic that threatened to tip her o
ver into an attack of her strange illness.

  The gentle one who called himself Thakur had not come since that meeting with the other female, the one who carried the scent of the Dreambiter. After that encounter, he refused to answer Newt’s questions and at last had turned away, saying he should no longer visit her.

  She found herself missing Thakur with a keenness that added to her misery. Why had he come if he meant only to go away again? Why had he tempted her to speak if there was no one to hear her and answer?

  She thought of becoming silent once again, but she found that she couldn’t. It seemed as if the words were jammed up behind her tongue, pushing to get out, yet she didn’t know how to say them. Something had changed in her. He had done it.

  Her rage made her reckless, and she followed the scents of the Named until she found herself crouched in the lee side of a dune, looking down at a strange sight.

  She had come to another river resembling the one that formed her lagoon. This stream meandered its way across sand flats that lay at the base of a sandstone cliff. At one point the cliff was gouged inward, forming a pocket, and there, on the narrow mud-beach beneath the cliff, Newt saw a cluster of seamares.

  She stifled her impulse to go and herd them back to the rookery, for the Named invaders on both sides of the river guarded the captives. From this distance, she couldn’t tell if any of the sentries was the Dreambiter.

  When she crept closer for a better view, she saw something going on that she didn’t understand. The intruders were doing something she had never seen any animal do: carrying long sticks in their jaws and poking them upright into the mud on the seamares’ beach.

  A line of poles already extended down the beach into the water, and as she watched, two of the Named waded out with saplings from which the branches had been stripped and shoved them into the sandy bottom, continuing the line of upright sticks in the river itself.

  As the pole-setters worked, forcing the sticks into place with their jaws, another group followed them. This bunch carried odd little animals on their backs. Newt remembered the creature Thakur always carried with him. The ringed tails, strange paws, and sharp little muzzles were the same.