Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

Ratha swallowed. This had to be some sort of trick, she thought. How could this youngster repeat precisely what had taken the best of the Named herders endless practice?

“He’s done it exactly the same way,” she muttered under her breath.

“No, clan leader,” said a voice near her ear. Thakur had sprung up quietly beside her. “He’s done it better.”

“How can …?” Ratha faltered, then narrowed her eyes. “Wait. What is he doing now?”

Instead of freezing in position, the black continued to wrestle the deer, forcing its head far back. Ratha suddenly knew that the hunters were as capable as Thistle said, and more. She should never have allowed this. She felt a sudden panic. Smell as well as sight told her that blood was starting to stain the black’s jaws as his fangs sank in. The deer screamed.

“No!” Ratha howled over the growing unrest among the Named onlookers. True-of-voice and his people kept their eyes on the young male and his struggling prey, as if they hadn’t heard.

She used her position on the sunning rock to locate her daughter.“Thistle!” she cried, her voice raw. “He’s killing the fawn. Make True-of-voice stop him!”

She saw Fessran and Bira already charging the black, their eyes burning with bewilderment and outrage. Thistle turned to True-of-voice in alarm, but the fawn’s eyes were already glazing, the body relaxing, the head falling. The hind legs gave one last kick and then went stiff and still.

Rage rose in Ratha at the unexpected and unnecessary slaughter. A glance and sniff at Thakur told her that he, too, was upset.

“Hold!” she heard him roar at Bira and Fessran, who seemed intent on tearing the black male to shreds. The killer pivoted quickly on his hind legs, dragging his limp catch around in his jaws. At Thakur’s call, Bira slowed but Fessran didn’t. “You son of a dung-eating, bone-crushing belly-biter!” she screamed, leaping at the black with fangs and claws bared. Ratha launched herself off the sunning rock, but Thakur was already far ahead of her.

With a wrench of his head, the black slung the fawn’s body around as he spun toward the attacking Firekeeper. Blood sprayed from the torn throat as he threw the body at Fessran, knocking her down and away.

Before the Firekeeper could pick herself up again, Thakur was beside her, his teeth in her scruff, pulling her back. The black stood over his kill, tail starting to lash, muscles rippling, ears flattened.

Ratha sought Thistle-chaser. Her daughter was already halfway to her. When they met, Thistle scampered back through the throng to True-of-voice, who had risen at the disturbance. Ratha saw Quiet Hunter, concern in his eyes, speaking quickly and softly to the gray leader. Quiet Hunter was also using tail-waves and paw gestures, coupled, no doubt, with the subtle changes in scent that he had used before.

“Trying to tell him,” panted Thistle, confirming Ratha’s impression that Quiet Hunter was attempting to explain what had happened and calm not only True-of-voice but those around him. “Trying to say no killing here, now.”

When they reached True-of-voice, Quiet Hunter turned to them and said,“He doesn’t understand why the Named are angry, but he will stop the black one.”

True-of-voice was already facing into the arena, eyes fixed on the black. He gave a loud rasping snarl that brought the young male back to the hunters, tail and eyes down. The fawn still lay on the field, the clan starting to cluster around it. Nearby, Thakur was wrestling an enraged Fessran into submission.

“Let me go and I’ll feed that belly-biter his own guts!” Ratha heard the Firekeeper’s muffled yowl.

Ratha knew she had to get control of the situation before it erupted into a fight.“Bira,” she called, “get everyone away from the kill.”

Bira, red-gold coat flying, was already in action, rounding up her fellow clan members, gathering and calming them. Ratha gave a relieved breath, thankful that she was now free to question True-of-voice. His two interpreters stood beside him.

After conferring briefly with Quiet Hunter, Thistle turned to Ratha.“True-of-voice questions why killing a prey animal causes so much fuss.”

“That fawn was one of our herdbeasts, not prey.” Ratha tried to soften the sharpness in her voice.

“He asks, why send hunter to stalk if not to kill?”

Ratha controlled the urge to grind her teeth in frustration.“I thought he just wanted to show us what his people could do.”

“Yes, but he says that stalk is wasted if kill not made. He asks may black one take the fawn?”

“Doesn’t he understand that to kill without a reason is also wasteful?”

Ratha met True-of-voice’s concerned yet implacable gaze. He seemed stuck on the idea that a stalk had to end in a kill, no matter if the hunter was hungry or sated. She wondered if this was another expression of the killing instinct in her kind that she often had to fight while working with the clan’s herdbeasts.

Yet she could and chose to control it. True-of-voice was as intelligent as she. The light in his eyes shone as strongly as hers, even if it differed from that of the Named.

“It is the song,” Thistle said softly. “Once it has begun, it must complete.”

All this was shredding Ratha’s patience. Trying to keep from hissing, she said, “Thistle, I know you and Quiet Hunter are doing the best you can. But I have to make True understand that he and his people are guests. While they are on clan ground, they must respect clan ways, as we have tried to respect theirs.”

“They make some allowance,” Thistle said, “but not this. Not when prey-taking. The song says there is only one path. No others.”

“Can’t you tell him that this was supposed to be just a demonstration? A show?” She watched while her daughter conferred again with Quiet Hunter, who in turn translated the message to True-of-voice. When Thistle turned back to her, there was resignation in the little pointed face.

“No words for ‘show,’ no words for ‘demonstration,’ just like no words for practice. They act to do, not to pretend.” She paused. “Is my fault. Asked him to do this because I got mad at you. Shouldn’t have. Another Thistle-mess.”

“Thistle, no. What happened isn’t your fault.” Ratha licked her daughter’s forehead, and bumped it gently with her own. It’s really more of a Ratha-mess, she thought. “In some ways it isn’t that important. The black one only killed a fawn.”

“Bad thing though. Couldn’t make the song understand why fawn not to be killed here and now. Song too stiff.”

Though she herself wouldn’t have said it that way, Ratha agreed with her daughter’s assessment. She had been aware of others waiting while she spoke to Thistle. This awareness sharpened. She couldn’t stop to puzzle this out. Not now. True-of-voice’s people were getting restive and many of the Named were looking resentful.

“Wait,” Thistle commanded suddenly. She listened to Quiet Hunter and then gave a brief moan of dismay. “Oh, no. Now True-of-voice asks if the black one’s stalk with the fawn was not enough. He asks, should it be done again, with another animal?”

“No!” The word was out of Ratha’s mouth before she could bite it back. “Absolutely not. One wastefully slaughtered deer is enough. Tell True that this … gathering … is ended. We must think about what has happened.”

Evidently Thistle and Quiet Hunter were able to get this across to True-of-voice. His people gathered around him and prepared to leave. Ratha asked Bira to escort them politely off clan ground.

“Sorry to ask again,” Thistle said as the party began to depart. “Leader wants to know, may black one take kill?”

“Yes,” Ratha snapped. “I don’t want to look at it, but don’t tell True that.”