Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

They would if they could hear you, True-of-voice.

Then let them hear. Through you. Sing to them.

My song, my voice — not the same. Cannot be the same for them. They need the center, the soul, the strength.

The strength is gone. Death is too near. From True-of-voice take the center and the soul. From you, add the strength.

Thistle couldn’t answer. She could make no reply. Only to search within herself for what he asked for.

And then, as Quiet Hunter reeled back from another vicious strike and the threatening snarls from the hunters grew deeper, Thistle lifted her voice in the song.

Ratha looked up at the sky. The sun had moved only a little, but somehow things below — in hearts, bellies, and heads — had moved an immense distance.

She glanced at Quiet Hunter, who was with his people. The one who had first struck him was now licking and soothing his wounds. Such was the power of the song, even when it came from Thistle.

I’ll never understand these hunters, she thought. I’ll probably never like them, but at least I’m willing to give them a chance.

She crouched by the cliff edge, watching Thistle send Biaree down with bits of food and thirst-quenching melon for True-of-voice. Thakur had said that hunger and thirst were probably weakening him more than any injuries he might have. The hunters lay as close as they could get, yet out of the way of the rescue effort.

Thakur crouched close to Thistle so that Biaree could take the bits of life-preserving food to the one who so desperately needed them. In his mouth Thakur held the end of the slender vine safety rope. The other end was knotted securely about the treeling’s middle. Bira and Khushi stood ready to help Thakur with the rope or get more food.

Biaree had already made several trips up and down the cliff face, carrying as much as he could, but to Ratha, the amounts seemed woefully small.

She joined the rescuers, settling beside Thakur.

“I think we’ve fed True-of-voice as much as we can,” the herding teacher was saying to Thistle. “We don’t want to tire Biaree out; he’s still got to get the vines tied onto the leader’s paws and around his chest, if possible.”

Ratha felt a growing apprehension. Soon would come the moment that she dreaded, when Thistle would descend with her borrowed treeling. She felt that she had too many things to say, yet could not say any of them. She wished deeply that she could be the one to act in Thistle’s place, but she knew that she couldn’t. All other considerations aside, there was the simple fact that Thistle was the smallest of the party and better able to sidle along the narrow shelf. She, like the treeling, would have a safety line, and her lighter weight would minimize the chances of it snapping.

Although a good jerk probably would break it,Ratha thought.We don’t know. We haven’t been able to try it out. I wouldn’t be so worried if it weren’t for those wretched fits. They attack her at the worst possible times.

She listened as Thakur and her daughter talked about the difficulties Biaree would encounter when the treeling went down with the ropes. If True-of-voice was awake, he might be able to help by lifting his limbs and other parts so that Biaree could pass the vine rope around them. Yet, if he was awake, he might accidentally scare the treeling, especially if he was in delirium or only half-conscious.

“Can you reach him?” Thakur asked.

“Difficult. Not clear. Fading in and out.” Thistle squeezed her eyes shut. “Can’t be sure. Really reached him? Don’t know. Maybe song voices were all in my own head.”

“Well, even if they were, they were the right voices.”

“So strange,” Thistle said. “Even for me.” She shook herself. “Can’t wait any longer. Treeling Biaree,” she said, gently nudging her borrowed companion, “True-of-voice won’t hurt you. Go now. Quickly.”

She looked deeply into the treeling’s sharp black eyes, making Ratha wonder if the strange gift that made Thistle able to speak to True-of-voice’s people also worked with treelings. And then with a chitter and a scamper, the treeling was down on the cliff face, finding his way to the trapped leader, holding the end of the vine rope alternately in his teeth or wound around with his tail.

Thistle wore a vine-rope harness made of two loops.

One ran under her chest behind her forelegs; the other was a breastband that anchored the first. Thakur had suggested it and Biaree had tied it, under Bira’s direction. Biaree had also tied the far end to a stout spur of rock. It would help in case of a fall, but it was no guarantee.

Ratha, wrapped up in her thoughts, was startled when Thistle’s cool nose leather touched her own.

“Be with me,” said the soft yet strong voice. “In heart, in breath. Even in guts.”

“I will be, especially the guts,” said Ratha, for she felt her own start to roll and twist with trepidation. She forced herself to watch as Thistle started to climb down, headfirst, after the treeling.

Keep eyes fixed on True-of-voice. Don’t look beyond. Too far down. No, don’t think about down. There is no down. Just True-of-voice, looking dead.

No, he can’t be. Not after all this. True-of-voice, you aren’t dead, are you?

Can’t reach him now. Have to think too hard. Where to put each foot. How hard to drive in each claw.

Pads are sweaty. Have to stop, wipe carefully on fur. More sweat.

Biaree, don’t get too far ahead. Know you are impatient. Don’t blame you. Want to get this over as fast as possible, but sweaty pads make it slow.

Prrrp. Calling him, just like Bira taught me.Prrrp! Yes, he’s obeying. Good treeling. Wait for Thistle.

Flank against the rock…. Heart banging. Feels like it is trying to beat me right off this slab of rock.

No, don’t think about that. Just keep paws moving or they’ll freeze. True-of-voice, don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.

Stupid, Thistle. He is alive or he isn’t. Wishing doesn’t make any difference.

If only it wasn’t so far to reach him….

Slow, hard, with damp paw pads. Wish I had a tail that could curl around things the way Biaree’s does.

Biaree, you are nearly there. Move slowly, carefully. Don’t be frightened.Prrrr. Good treeling, clever treeling. Tie the rope.

Arrr!True-of-voice moved. Don’t skitter away, Biaree. He won’t hurt you. He’s trying to help by lifting his paw.

Biaree’s fur is fluffed. True-of-voice moved too fast. Startled Biaree. Please, treeling, please go back.

He looks at me. Wants me down with him. Doesn’t have the courage to touch True-of-voice again unless I’m there.

Can’t. get there! Shelf narrows to nothing.

Biaree, please.

No good. Got scared. Doesn’t trust.

Face-tail dung! Everything ruined because True-of-voice twitched.

Biaree won’t go if I’m not down there to encourage him.

Won’t give up. Won’t!

I’m coming even if I have to find clawholds on the bare rock.

Prrrp! I’m coming, Biaree. Banging heart, scrawny tail, and everything.

Ratha crouched at the top of the cliff, looking down on Thistle. Her breath came fast and felt like the Red Tongue searing her throat.

Beside her was Thakur, and she could tell from the rigidity of his muscles and the stiffness of his neck that he was nearly as tense.

Both of them had some bad moments when Thistle left the small shelf she was inching along and began to descend, head down, along the open rock face.

Ratha could hardly bear to watch, knowing that at any instant her daughter might lose her hold and go plunging to a terrible death. The safety rope was too thin to stop such a fall. But Thistle had stuck to the cliff face like a tick to skin. Long enough for Biaree to tie vine cord to all four of True-of-voice’s limbs. Long enough to cajole and encourage the treeling to actually work a heavy vine rope under True-of-voice’s belly and then loop it across the leader’s chest, to make a heavier version of the harness that Thistle wore.