Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

Ratha learned to her surprise when she got close that the fawn-killer wasn’t solid black either. Though sparsely scattered in his midnight pelt, white-tipped hairs caught the fire’s light for just an instant, so that it seemed as if tiny stars flashed and died in his coat as his muscles moved beneath. On one flank, the white-tipped hairs were close enough that they appeared to connect in ghostly lines, as if the fur was draped with a cobweb.

Ratha had never seen such markings. She wondered if the firelight was reflecting from sand grains in his coat. When she watched him groom, however, the pattern stayed.

His eyes, too, were strange, turning from pale blue to even paler green as he turned his sleek head in the firelight. Ratha had seen similar eyes only in those whose coats were completely white.

She found herself oddly fascinated yet repelled. Who was he? Had he been birthed among the face-tail hunters or joined them later? Was he a son of True-of-voice? She could tell nothing from his scent, which was dominated by the hunters’ group smell. Yet something within told her he was not completely like them.

The impression came from his eyes, Ratha finally decided. Though they held the same dreamy far-seeing stare as other hunters, occasionally there came a sharpness as quick and intense as the shimmers in his coat. Was that why he seemed shy, turning his head away from direct stares and keeping his gaze down?

At the same time, she felt that the fleeting intensity followed her when she wasn’t looking. It almost made her ask the Firekeepers to ban him from the campfire, but what if he was True-of-voice’s son, and perhaps the next in line for leadership. She thought about trying to talk to him, but Bira said she hadn’t heard him speak.

Ratha could not let him distract her. Her role in supervising the fire sharing needed her full attention. Her emotions swung oddly from one extreme to the other. When she visited the campfire site, she felt warmed by the sight of cubs curled up comfortably in the Red Tongue’s glow. Then she was proud that she had overcome the fiercer instincts that would have used the fire not to warm but to sear.

However, she could not rid herself of a nagging doubt that closed in when she was alone. Had she done the right thing? Would her precautions be enough to prevent another tragedy? Was she indeed seeking the best interests of the Named, or would her need to befriend another tribe ultimately betray her own?

Fire’s power to help or harm was great, but even greater was the sweeping change it produced in those who used it. Living with fire tapped an unused potential within the Named for good or evil. What then would fire do to those whose potential might be even stronger? What might it release inside True-of-voice, or the song? Friendship or harm? In her mind, the image of cubs sleeping before the fire alternated with the memory of the black hunter killing the fawn.

She couldn’t argue that it was her people, not their leader, who had made the final choice. Yes, she had refrained from imposing her feelings on them, but she might have somehow herded them to a premature decision.

Was her attempt to reach out a sign of vision or blindness? Perhaps she should have listened to the instinctive revulsion that still sometimes churned in her belly. Equally strong was her sense that reaching out to these strangers was right.

As Thakur said, the paw prints were already on the trail. The only way lay ahead. If she moved with utmost care, taking all imaginable precautions, it might be enough.

Ratha could scarcely believe that, after many nights of sharing the campfire with True-of-voice’s tribe, nothing threatening had happened. Fessran and the Firekeepers soon asked for permission to build another campfire near the first. Keep it small at first, Ratha told them.

Visiting and inspecting both campfire sites, she found Fessran and Bira doing exactly as she asked. If anything, they were even more careful. The only change was that the hunters had started to bring face-tail meat as well as wood.

“I think True-of-voice realizes that building and tending the Red Tongue takes much effort,” Fessran said during one of the clan leader’s visits. “So far, sharing the Red Tongue with the hunters appears to be going very well.”

Ratha felt she could relax a little if adding a second campfire caused no problems. She waited before giving Fessran permission to enlarge this second fire.

Even if True-of-voice and his tribe didn’t express gratitude other than contributing food and fuel, Ratha accepted this limitation. The sight of cubs curled up together, comfortable and warm, felt better than words. Some cubs were from Named families, especially those of the Firekeepers.

Both Fessran and Bira encouraged Named youngsters to play and sleep among the hunter cubs. Ratha approved of this, agreeing that the two sets of cubs might understand one another better if they grew up together.

“Our hopes lie with them,” Ratha said to herself softly, as she watched one of Drani’s young sons sleepily patting a female hunter cub who licked him on the nose. Both looked so much alike in their cub-spots that Ratha had to study whisker patterns to tell them apart. Even their scents weren’t that different. This mingling of young convinced Ratha that she guided the Named along the right path.

It also helped Ratha to watch Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter affectionately grooming one another. They had opened that path, proving that two from very different worlds could meet and love. Their young would be a blending of herder and hunter; Named thinker and song-hearer. The thought helped ease the old pain of what had happened to Thistle-chaser herself and her lost siblings.

When True-of-voice asked, through Thistle and Quiet Hunter, for a fire on the hunters’ ground, Ratha thought long and hard before directing Fessran to go ahead with a small one. She asked Bira to take charge of this encampment, as Fessran was busy with the two on clan ground.

Among the first to approach the new flame was the black fawn-killer. When Ratha visited the site, with Ratharee on her back, she saw the black-coat as well as Bira, Quiet Hunter, and a scattering of others. Ratha felt alarm start up in her belly, making her ears twitch back and her nape fur ridge up. Ratharee, on her back, stiffened and crouched. Bira, her color deepened by the firelight, touched noses with Ratha and then spoke softly.

“Clan leader, the black one been coming here since we started this Red-Tongue-nest. He hasn’t done anything. He just sits and watches.”

Ratha greeted Quiet Hunter, who was minding various cubs. He seemed to enjoy them, for he was bathing one with his tongue. Another youngster wrestled with his foot while two others hunted his tail. Good preparation, Ratha thought, for having his own family.

She left him among the wiggling bodies, flailing paws, squeaks, and tiny growls. Settling beside Bira, Ratha felt the brush of the Firekeeper’s pelt against her own. Ratharee hopped from her back to Bira’s, chirring and starting to groom Cherfaree. Ratha’s gaze traveled, almost unwillingly, to the midnight shape that crouched apart.

“I thought about driving him off, but I really didn’t want to,” Bira said. Ratha felt the young Firekeeper’s whiskers tickling the inside of her ear as Bira spoke. “It wasn’t his fault that True-of-voice chose him to take down the fawn. These spring nights are still cold.” Ratha listened, trying hard not to flick her ear. “If you tell me to chase him off, clan leader, I will.”

“No,” Ratha answered, not wanting to dampen Bira’s generous spirit. “At least not yet.”

“He doesn’t talk. I haven’t heard him make any sound. I call him Night-who-eats-stars, because of the way his black fur swallows up the little white sparkles.”