Firebirds Soaring

by Sharyn November

  When Bira returned with the herding teacher, the sight of Thakur’s copper fur both gladdened and hurt Ratha. Bira, with an understanding glance at both, excused herself and left them alone.

  Ratha could see the question in Thakur’s eyes when he caught sight of the excavation around the pine tree’s roots. Instead of asking it, he went to Ratha, nosed her head against his shoulder and spread a kind paw across her back. She realized again how much she had come to care for Thakur, even while the memories of Bonechewer tore at her.

  “Easy, yearling,” he said, using his old name for her. She felt his voice vibrating through his body and into hers.

  Ratha buried her head against his neck and squeezed her eyes shut. She panted and gaped in silent pain. Thakur held her there.

  “I didn’t thank Bira . . . I hope she doesn’t think I’m angry at her. . . .” Ratha stumbled, not knowing how to begin.

  “I thanked her. And she knows you’re not angry.” Thakur’s voice was light and youthful, despite his age, but it had a gentle power.

  “She did . . . what I asked her. And she did it well. She always does.”

  Though Thakur didn’t coax or push her, Ratha sensed that he was waiting to hear why she had his brother’s remains unearthed. Slowly, haltingly she told him, beginning with her dream and the image she had seen beyond the fire.

  “They were both dreams,” Thakur soothed when she had finished.

  “No.” Ratha sat up with lifted forepaws to show him the singed fur on her chest and belly. “I jumped through the fire.”

  “Hrrr. Perhaps the dream lasted until you saw the face.”

  “No, I woke up before that. I was awake when I saw him.” Ratha let her paws down. “This morning I thought it might have been you. But you don’t have a broken fang, and you would never do such a cruel thing to me. You wouldn’t startle me like that, then not say anything and run away. Even if you had been eating fermented fruit.”

  Thakur lolled his tongue briefly in a silent cat-laugh. “Even if I had been, you’re right. I wouldn’t and I didn’t.”

  “Either someone really was there, or I’m starting to see hallucinations like Thistle-chaser does.”

  “So, to show yourself that you aren’t—” Thakur began, but Ratha interrupted.

  “I had Bira dig around the tree.” Ratha paused. “I’m sure this is the right one. At least I was sure until . . .” She broke off.

  “It is the right tree. I know,” Thakur said.

  Ratha felt her lower jaw begin to tremble. “Thakur, I should have asked you before I sent anyone to dig there. I didn’t think that you might want him to be left alone. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I never do. I just . . . pounce on things.”

  Thakur put out a big warm paw and drew her to him again, muffling her voice under his chin as she murmured, “. . . He was your brother.”

  “Hush, yearling. You haven’t hurt or upset me. Yes, Bonechewer was my brother, but he was your mate and I know how much it clawed at you to lose him.”

  “Well, I must be having Thistle-fits. I think I’m having one now. I can’t find . . . his bones, Thakur. They aren’t there.”

  Ratha could tell that the news startled Thakur. He pushed her back to look deeply into her eyes. She stared into the emerald of his, wanting to lose herself in their depths, but they seemed to change color, amber seeping in and filling the green.

  “Maybe I’m just too frantic to really look,” Ratha said, dropping her gaze, “and just getting myself all tangled in a thornbush over nothing.”

  “I’ll look,” Thakur said, and did. After nosing around the holes and the out-flung dirt, he stopped. His tail made several puzzled flicks. “Hmmrrr,” he said, swiveling one ear forward, the other back. “Speaking of Thistle, where is she now?”

  “With her mate, Quiet Hunter. They are visiting True-of-voice and his face-tail hunting tribe.” Ratha felt her eyes widen. “Thakur, do you think this is one of Thistle’s tricks?”

  “She might have done something similar long before you took her back into the clan. She wouldn’t do such a thing now.”

  “Are you sure?” Ratha asked. “She and I haven’t resolved everything yet.”

  Thakur gave his tail an emphatic whisk. “Whoever did this wasn’t Thistle. It just doesn’t have her paw print.”

  For an instant Ratha wanted to argue, but Thakur knew Thistle better than she did. She felt relief that the culprit probably wasn’t her once-lost daughter. “Then who is stealing bones and playing ‘let’s fool the clan leader’?”

  “That I don’t know,” said Thakur, his voice roughening, “but when I catch whoever it is—”

  “You’ll have to pull me off him first,” Ratha snarled, flexing the muscles that extended her claws.

  “We can chase this down if I stay with you at your fire tonight,” Thakur offered and Ratha eagerly agreed. She felt so glad she had Thakur. He’d herd this straying beast straight-away. He’d dig until he uncovered the truth. She’d be lolling her tongue at herself tomorrow for all the upset and worry. Thakur would make everything right.

  How attracted to him she felt. The feeling wasn’t just intense friendship or the lust of heat. It was something more: something for which the Named, she realized, had no words.

  Several evenings later, Ratha felt less confident. Thakur, sitting beside her in front of the fire, yawned hugely. “Yearling, is it possible that you just had a very strange dream?”

  Ratha’s ears twitched back in annoyance. Her tail writhed on the ground where she sat. “Why is my belly fur singed then? ”

  “You did jump over the fire. Just after you woke up.”

  “I saw Bonechewer, Thakur,” she growled.

  “Then he obviously doesn’t want me here,” was Thakur’s not entirely patient reply.

  Ratha scratched furiously behind one ear, jostling Ratharee. “I hope I’m not getting those scatting ear mites. Thakur, that doesn’t make sense. He’s your brother.”

  “He was.”

  Ratha flopped by the fire and fell silent. Thakur lay down close beside her, cuddling one side while the Red Tongue warmed the other. She tried not to be sulky as she said, “I know what you’re going to say. I’m seeing Bonechewer because I want to see him.”

  “No, yearling, I wasn’t going to say that. I miss him too. Sometimes I sit alone in my den and think of him.” The sorrowful note in Thakur’s voice and scent told Ratha that if he could have a vision of his lost brother, he would welcome it.

  “Then why don’t you see him? And why are his bones gone? ”

  “I don’t know,” the herding teacher admitted.

  “Thakur, I must be having Thistle-fits. Or this is all a dream. Or I’ve got the frothing sickness as well as ear mites.”

  “Well, something I do know, yearling,” he said, his voice gentle. “You don’t have fits or the frothing sickness. I don’t think we’re dreaming, and you probably don’t have ear mites.” He paused. “Feel better?”

  “A little.” Ratha laid her nose down on her forepaws. “I’m glad I have you, herding teacher.” She took a deep breath; let it out. She felt as though she could finally fall asleep, but one last question threaded its way through the oncoming drowsiness: If I have Thakur, why do I keep thinking about Bonechewer?

  Clan life went on as fall slipped toward winter. At night, gusts fanned the flames of the guard-fires and the campfire. Coats grew thicker, the night’s dark lingered deeper into the mornings, and the Firekeepers stacked more wood in the fire-den in order to keep the source-fire alive.

  Ratha dug out more of the excavation under the pine tree. With Ratharee’s help, she sifted through the piles of dirt. Nothing remained of her first mate but memories, and sometimes she wondered if she might have imagined those as well. Finally she gave up and asked some young herders to help her fill in the holes and trample down the loose soil. Dew formed during the cold nights, watering grass that grew again beneath the pine.

  Ratha tried to bury the experien
ce and move on with the clan’s preparations for winter. Soon, she knew, Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter would return. She looked forward to seeing them. Quiet Hunter had a steadying effect on Thistle, making her less flighty and less touchy. The experience of working together with Thistle and having to trust each other during True-of-voice’s rescue had also helped to bring mother and daughter closer. Perhaps, Ratha thought, it would help to talk with Thistle about Bonechewer.

  The only concession Ratha made to Bonechewer’s memory was to ask the Firekeepers to relocate her campfire to a more isolated place. She wanted it away from the winter lairs, the meadow, the fire-den, and the connecting trails. Fessran and the others did so without question, although they often stopped by on their rounds. They seemed more puzzled than worried. She told them that she had to be by herself to think things through. Her treeling, Ratharee, would provide sufficient companionship, although Ratha understood and appreciated the Firekeepers’ concern.

  No one asked for a reason, so that Ratha didn’t have to admit the truth. She was giving her elusive visitor another chance. More than that, she was enticing him, perhaps even begging him to come again. The slender hope that somehow Bonechewer was still alive kept her sitting alone in the night with only her treeling and her creature.

  As Ratha fluffed her fur against a chill that had gotten through the campfire’s warmth, she decided that this would be her last night alone. She couldn’t continue to indulge this obsession. The clan needed her. They feared that she was drawing away from them. Continuing this pursuit wouldn’t be good for her or her people.

  This resolution brought a wave of grief, which Ratha wisely allowed to run its course. She mourned Bonechewer again, quietly but intensely, shuddering and covering her face with her paws. Finally, when the sorrow was spent, she snuggled up with Ratharee. She felt exhausted but cleansed. Tomorrow night, she would have the campfire in its previous place and she would invite everyone to share it. They could help her leave the past and its dead to rest.

  The snap of a twig woke Ratha. She rolled over, gazing blearily at the campfire, now settling into embers. The sound had come either from her creature or from another late-night check by the Firekeepers.

  She realized slowly that it was neither.

  A shape stood beyond the fire with a familiar cocky arrogance. It had the same copper fur, the same face, and the same derisively wrinkled nose. He was back. This time, he spoke.

  “Greetings, clan cat. It’s been many seasons.”

  Ratha choked the cry in her throat. Her emotions had been flung up and down too often in the last few days. Then, painfully, she had come to some sort of a conclusion and with it some calm. Now . . .

  Every hair on her body bristled so hard that it vibrated. Her heart felt as though it would hammer itself through her ribs. She wanted to leap at him, but whether to cover him with caresses or shred his face, she didn’t know.

  She took a few hesitant steps toward her visitor, but Bonechewer backed off quickly. Her whiskers drooped in dismay, thinking he had vanished again. Instead, his face reappeared on the other side of the fire.

  “Impulsive as ever, aren’t you, Ratha?” came the slightly mocking voice.

  Again she tried to approach him, and again he dodged.

  “Bonechewer,” she quavered.

  “Yes, that was the name you gave me,” he agreed, with a flash of the broken fang. “No, stay back, clan cat. I’m not used to being overwhelmed.”

  Ratha wanted to scream out in frustration and fling herself at him. Instead she sat, trembling. “You never used to hold me away like this,” she grumbled.

  “It has been many seasons. I haven’t taken any mate since you. I’ve gotten used to being alone.”

  Ratha shivered, hot and cold at the same time. “I can’t believe that it is you, Bonechewer.”

  “I can understand that,” he answered mildly. “You Named ones thought you’d slain me. But remember, clan cat, I’m hard to kill.”

  We didn’t mean to kill you, she thought. It was the fever of wielding the Red Tongue against the UnNamed enemy. All she said was, “Come closer. Show yourself.”

  The words came out more harshly than she intended, but after a long stare, to ensure that Ratha stayed put, he sauntered out from behind the fire, turned sideways, and displayed himself.

  He was exactly as she remembered him, a wilder, rangier version of Thakur. From black-edged ears to rough coppery fur to dark brown tail-tip; he was exactly, almost unbelievably the same. She saw some differences, which she expected; the fur over the left side of his ribs was speckled with gray, betraying the old injury. His eyes had lightened, but age often did that to clan eyes as well.

  Ratha got to her feet, saw him tense, and said, “I just want to circle you, to get a good sniff.”

  “Sniff away, clan cat. I’m sure my scent has changed a bit. So has yours.”

  She sidled around Bonechewer, inhaling his aroma. This too, she remembered. His scent was wild and woody, with the marshy tang of the lakeshore where he’d lived. She recalled that the UnNamed had called him “Dweller-by-the-water.”

  “I heard that you found Thistle-chaser,” he said, startling Ratha.

  She found her voice. “Yes. She’s . . . she’s getting a lot better.”

  “I don’t smell her scent on clan ground. Where is she?”

  “She took a mate from the face-tail hunting tribe. His name is Quiet Hunter.”

  “Oh, yes.” Bonechewer’s voice took on a note of scorn. “That bunch. They trail after their leader like cubs. You had some trouble with them.”

  “We settled it. We haven’t solved everything, but we’ve kept things peaceful.”

  “That’s a change.”

  His words stung Ratha. She grimaced. “I know what you think. But we have learned. I understand now that I can’t solve everything by shoving a firebrand into someone’s face. Thistle helped teach me that,” she added. “She’s amazing. I never thought she could get this far, considering what happened to her.”

  For an instant Ratha thought he would interrupt with “Considering what you did to her,” but he didn’t. Instead he said, “I know. I’ve been watching. That’s why I came back.”

  Ratha was still shaking so hard that when she narrowed her eyes at him, her sight blurred.

  “If you’ve been watching, why did you wait so long?”

  “Don’t assume that I didn’t miss you, Ratha.” His voice softened. “I did.”

  “Then why did you stay away?”

  “I wasn’t ready. For one thing, I nearly did die.” He nosed his side. “It took many seasons for this wound to heal. Now I’m ready, and so are you. You and your people have grown up.”

  Ratha stared at him, lost. “Ready? For what?”

  Bonechewer turned his head, fixing her with the full power of his eyes. “To bring your dream to life.” He paused. “The one you once told me about when we were curled up together in a hollow tree. Surely you remember.”

  Ratha halted in her circling, one foot lifted. The crazy, impractical idea she had when she was barely beyond cub-hood, that the Named could meet the UnNamed not with fire but with friendship. She’d envisioned that she could lead her people in reaching out and gathering in the frightened, the struggling. That she could found new groups of Named and UnNamed that would spread and flourish. Her experience with Thistle-chaser and other Named-UnNamed crosses had shown that the witless cub problem was not intractable, though not simple either.

  Her recent encounter with True-of-voice’s tribe had taught her even more. Her long-denied, long-delayed vision could, at last, take steps on the trail to reality.

  “So you do remember,” Bonechewer said.

  Ratha spluttered, “You mocked me for it, Bonechewer.

  You called me a fool. You said that most of the UnNamed weren’t worth saving.”

  There was a long interval where the two just breathed and measured each other. Finally he said, “You weren’t the only one who had to
grow up, Ratha.”

  She listened, hoping. Was it true? Youth often judged prematurely and callously. Maturity had brought her a more patient and generous outlook. Had it done the same for him?

  “So you’ve . . . come to help me?”

  “Yes. If you try to reach out to the UnNamed ones by yourself, you’ll fail. You don’t know them. I do. Furthermore, they trust me.”

  “Why do you trust me?” Ratha had to ask.

  “Because I cared for you once, as my mate. I feel I could care again,” he answered, making her dizzy with hope. “I’ve seen what you and your people have done, Ratha. With Thistle-chaser. With that young UnNamed cub, Mishanti. With the face-tail herders and True-of-voice.”

  “True-of-voice? But you disdain them all.”

  He swept his flanks with his long tail. “My personal attitude toward them has been . . . regrettable, I admit. I am opinionated, as you well know. But they have as much right to live and flourish as you and I do. That applies to others of the UnNamed as well.”

  He really means it, Ratha thought, overjoyed and amazed. And he says he could care for me again. I could have both my dreams, not just the one.

  This time it was she who tensed, eager to run and call the rest of the clan.

  “What are you doing?” Bonechewer’s voice was sharp. “No, don’t get the others yet. We need to talk. Alone.”

  Ratha blinked in surprise. “Don’t you at least want to see Thakur? He’s missed you.”

  “And I have missed him. But I am not yet ready. For him or the others.”

  “Well, you’d better get ready,” Ratha snapped, cocking her ears. “Someone’s coming.”

  “I will see you tomorrow night at your fire,” he said quickly. “This place is still too close. Move it to the edge of clan ground. Be there alone. Don’t talk to the others about this.”

  Before Ratha could protest, he was gone.

  She went to where he had stood, but she had no chance of tracking him. He was far too light and quick. There was nothing left but a strong, strange scent that made her head swim. The campfire?