Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

“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 knewif 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.