Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

The eyes before her seemed puzzled.“Should not be hard to hear. Do what the song says.”

She was struggling so hard just to keep hold of the elusive thread that she could have cried aloud with the weight and unfairness of the demand. The song wasn’t telling her what to do, except to plunge to the depths of her own being in search of the source.

It was easy to make that headlong dash of the spirit, for something in her was as thirsty for the song as was her throat for fresh water. But another sound, beginning as a hiss and building up to a roar, sent her reeling back. To reach the welling spring of the song, she must meet the Dreambiter.

“No!” she cried, shuddering, dread overwhelming her. Her cry cut the fragile filament of the song, leaving only the wind and the Dreambiter hissing in the caverns.

The Other One knew she was not his kind. The eyes turned away and a growl rose from his throat. Thistle knew she had failed. Sudden agony made her turn and flee, away from the eyes, away from the song, the Dreambiter, and everything.

Thakur had been watching as Thistle’s nose met the hunter’s muzzle. He had thought for an instant that the other male would attack him, for he clearly had been recognized as an outsider. But the other seemed to have forgotten about him.

He listened. Thistle was speaking, in the same disjointed phrases as the hunter. Her eyes had the same turned-inward look. Was it possible? Could she walk the same trails as these strange, entranced ones?

Thakur admitted he had no real reason to expect that she could. Just a feeling down in his belly. But somehow she was reaching across the boundary, going where he could not, hearing what he could not….

His thoughts were suddenly shattered by a scream from Thistle, a ragged sound that was barely a word.

“No!”

The cry slashed through his hopes, through the slender tie of restraint holding the other clan-cats back from him. Growls and roars exploded from behind him. Instantly he was streaking away beside Thistle, running for his life from the rage of the others who cried out that he was not known to True-of-voice.

Thakur knew that the only thing slowing the hunters was the weight of face-tail meat in their stomachs. Even so, he and Thistle ran far. He could see the strain on her leg, but if he faltered or slowed, they would be overtaken and slain before either Ratha, Khushi, or Bira could catch up and drive the attackers off.

Thistle was limping badly by the time Thakur lost the pursuers. He collapsed together with her in the high grass. The dread that had been making her shudder, even as she ran, now seized her entirely. She went rigid, her eyes blank and glassy.

The spasm tossed her about and then released her, letting her crumple into an exhausted heap of fur. He could not even ask her what had happened, much less tell Khushi, Ratha, and Bira when they galloped up.

“Did the others attack you?” Khushi asked. “I heard Thistle yowl.”

Before answering, Thakur nudged Ratha over to lie down by her daughter. When Thistle came out of the unconsciousness that followed her seizures, she needed warmth and comfort. Only when Ratha and Bira were curled about the sleeping Thistle did Thakur say anything about what had happened. Khushi sat to one side, his ears up, his eyes wide.

“It was her cry that started the attack. Before she screamed, I thought everything was going well,” Thakur said.

“Then why did she …?” Bira asked softly.

“Something happened … inside, I think,” Thakur replied. “Bira, maybe what you said is true. I may be asking far too much of her.”

Ratha licked Thistle’s ruff. “That thing she dreams about. That’s what frightened her. But why did it happen just then?”

“I don’t know,” Thakur admitted.

“What will you do now?”

“Wait until she recovers and try again.”

Ratha fell silent. He watched the expression in her eyes as she stared down at her gifted, troubled daughter.

Thistle had dived very deep in the sea and now she felt herself drifting up. The water was opaque, as if mud had been stirred into it. High above shone a red-orange glow. Not the sun. Another source of illumination. She felt herself rising, turning slowly, moving closer toward the fierce light.

Then, with an odd, sideways motion, as if someone had stuffed her abruptly back into her body, she was in herself again, feeling the warmth of someone beside her, smelling the mingled scents of Thakur and Khushi, Ratha and Bira. Someone else had been lying beside her before she woke. She thought it might have been her mother, but now it was Thakur.

The red light came from a fire-nest that Bira had built and was tending. She saw the Firekeeper move around the flame, feeding it dry wood. The treeling on Bira’s back helped, doing with its small hands what the Firekeeper could not accomplish with paws and teeth. On the other side of the flame crouched her mother, fawn coat turned orange by the light, green eyes turning to gold.

Thakur was beside Thistle now and she was glad. He was the one she wanted with her when she came up from those strange sea depths.

He seemed to sense that she had come back, for his voice was low and warm in her ears.

“Thistle?”

She lifted her head, swiveling her ears. Her vision swam and she let her chin drop onto her paws.“Still dizzy,” she mumbled, closing her eyes against the firelight. He moved to her other side, blocking out the fire, letting her stare into the cool, soothing velvet of the night. Her mother and Bira were on the far side of the fire. That was good. She wanted them away. What she needed to saynow, she could say only to Thakur.

“What made you scream?” he asked softly.

“Wasn’t the other clan-cats. Not their fault.”

“Could you hear this song they were talking about?”

“Not sure. So faint and far away. Had to go inside. To a scary place. It was there.” She faltered, starting to tremble. Thakur knew what “it” was.

“Did your fear of the hunters bring your fit on?” he asked.

“No. Felt strange even before we started. The thing … It started prowling…. I didn’t tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thakur’s voice was faintly reproving, though still gentle.

“Knew you had waited. So long. Wanted to try. For you. Means a lot to you. Didn’t want to make you wait … anymore.”

She heard and felt the depth of his sigh.

“Oh, Thistle …”

She snuggled closer to him, felt the warm weight of a paw as he draped it over her. He, more than any of the Named, could accept her for what she was. Yet there was coldness inside her because she had disappointed him.

“All ruined, Thakur? No chance to talk to others?” she asked. “Because of me?”

“Without you we would never have been able to try at all. Next time, though, you must tell me.”

“Next time?”

“Yes. If you are willing to try again. If you start feeling strange, though, we will back off and wait.”

“Won’t they fight us? Chase us away again?”

“I don’t know. One time they chased me; another time they let me approach. It is hard to tell what they will do. The only way is to approach them cautiously.”

“Want to help you, Thakur,” Thistle said. “Will try hard as I can. Maybe next time… bad thing… will stay away.”

Feeling his warmth and his tongue licking the back of her neck, Thistle drifted into sleep.

Three days later, Ratha settled with the other members of her group beside an evening campfire. Thistle crouched beside Thakur, her eyes closed, her whiskers drooping. Ratha’s heart went out to her daughter. She had watched Thistle try again and again to approach the hunters, only to be attacked and overcome by the prowling terror that lived inside of her.