Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

Thakur smelled the odors of females in heat. He prickled and quivered as each smell tantalized his nose. He jerked his tail restlessly, wishing the mating season hadn’t come so soon.

He would leave clan ground, he promised himself. His work preparing the youthful herders was done. Now he and the other clan adults would have to trust the skill and courage of the youngsters. Judging from the smells and the yowling courtship songs that filled the air, he doubted that any of the other clan members were thinking about the herd. Perhaps the cries of the courting males would have irritated him less if he hadn’t recognized Shongshar’s voice among them.

Thakur had hoped that the silvercoat’s youth would delay his mating for a year, postponing difficulties that might arise over the cubs he would sire. But Shongshar was older than he looked, and his rapid development into a fully mature male surprised many in the clan. A few days earlier, he had begun courting the young Firekeeper Bira, edging out Cherfan, who was also seeking her attention. The herder retreated with good grace, but admitted to Thakur that he had underestimated Shongshar as a rival. “That young rake has a louder voice than I do, if you can believe it,” Cherfan had said, lolling his tongue in a rueful grimace.

Thakur tried to tell himself that his reaction to Shongshar’s success was only jealousy, but there was a part of his mind that refused to accept such an easy answer. He had spoken to Shongshar about the possible consequences of his mating and the silvercoat’s answers had disturbed him.

“Shongshar, have you thought about Ratha’s words to you when you joined the clan?” Thakur had asked him one rainy evening not long after the ceremony that made him one of the Named. He remembered how the silvercoat turned his head, blinking as rain dripped from his eyebrow whiskers onto his nose. “She make me say when I mate and cubs are born I must bring them before her. Only if they have light in their eyes can my mate and me raise them.”

“And if your cubs don’t have the light of the Named in their eyes, they must be left to die. Have you thought about that?” Thakur persisted.

“I think it will be harder for female I mate with than for me,” Shongshar answered. “I won’t bear the cubs and nurse them. If eyes are empty, cubs will mean little to me.”

“You wouldn’t regret having to give them up?”

“No, herding teacher. Why you ask this?” Shongshar stopped, then cocked his head at Thakur.

“You seem to like being with the litterlings. I’ve seen you working with them. You almost got into a fight with Shoman when he bullied Bundi.”

“Is that bad?”

“No,” Thakur answered, “but it isn’t something I expected from you. Are you sure your fondness for the litterlings might not make you want to keep the cubs you sire?”

Shongshar looked thoughtful.“Herding teacher, not to worry. There is big difference between litterlings that are stupid as herdbeasts and those whose eyes shine bright. Even if they are mine.”

I wonder, thought Thakur.

“It won’t be hard for me. Don’t worry,” said Shongshar lightly, and he had walked away, leaving the herding teacher full of doubt.

More yowls from the forest interrupted Thakur’s thoughts. He got up and shook the leaf litter from his fur. The yearlings were busy with the herd and no one was watching him. He should go.

He left the oak and paced away as a deep roar answered one of the calls.What a fuss everybody made about the mating season! he thought crossly.Why couldn’t one choose not to be involved without being thought peculiar? He had never been very successful with the females; they drove him off in favor of stronger, louder or more odoriferous males. Even when Ratha’s leadership had raised his status from one who was barely tolerated to one who was eagerly accepted and respected, habit had still made him shy away.

Habit and something else, he admitted to himself as he jogged across the meadow. He, too, could share in the joys that this time brought if it weren’t for the uncertainty of his half Un-Named parentage. There was a small chance that cubs he sired would bear the gift of the Named, but he knew that his brother Bonechewer’s mating with Ratha had produced witless young. Any cubs that Thakur sired were likely to turn out the same.

If he went to her now, as her smell, wafting on the breeze, tempted him to do, she would accept him eagerly without thinking of the consequences. In that she would be like any Named female caught in the fever of her heat. Yet if she did, and her cubs were born as he feared, he would have wounded her in a way that might never heal.

He knew that she took a partner each season, but the male left only a lingering odor on her fur, for there were never any cubs. He had once asked Ratha if she understood why. He never asked her again, however, for the look of pain on her face had tightened his own throat as she answered.“I mated after Bonechewer and I lost the cubs. Again I took a mate, but my belly never swelled. Why, I don’t know. Somehow my body won’t let me bear another litter. Perhaps I can’t forget what happened to the first.”

“Your cubs wouldn’t be witless this time,” Thakur had said. “Not if you take a clan male. Why don’t you try again?”

“I will. I can’t help but try again. When the heat draws me I don’t think of such things, but afterward …”

There would be nothing to regret. Still, he would not risk siring empty-eyed cubs on her. It was better that he stay away and so he had done each year, wandering the forests and grasslands beyond clan territory. This self-imposed exile was a lonely and bitter time for him. Without a companion, the journey became a weary one, and his mind often strayed back to those he had left behind. Had Shongshar not reached adulthood this season, he might have joined Thakur on the trail, but now he was back there in the midst of all the growls and tail-wavings. Thakur would go alone, returning only when his belly called him, to eat of the yearling herders’ cull and slip away again before he could be drawn into the fever of courtship.

With these thoughts burdening his mind, Thakur jogged heavily toward the stream that marked the edge of clan territory. It was just beginning to swell with the first winter rains. The water buffeted his legs as he waded in the shallows. It was only deep enough to splash his belly, but if more rain came he might have to swim back across. That thought and his wet paws did nothing to ease his temper. Mournful cries in the sky made him lift his head to see birds circling high over the tree-covered hills in the direction he was going. The cries made him think of hooked beaks and quick, sharp talons; he wondered what carrion they had found.

The wind that stole the warmth from the wet fur on his belly seemed to chill his mind as well. A good run would warm him up and stretch his muscles, he decided.

On the other side of the creek, Thakur swung into a fluid canter, watching the foliage race past as a blur on either side of him. He was proud of his speed and often ran for the sheer joy of feeling the ground slip away beneath his flying paws. He was galloping down a long grade on a deer trail beneath overhanging boughs when something darted onto the path between his legs.

One of his front paws struck it. There was a sharp screech as the object flew into the air. Whirling his tail to keep his balance, Thakur bounced to a stop, then retraced his steps to see what had tripped him.

The object moved slowly and unevenly. The culprit was a small furball dragging itself crabwise through the fallen leaves. It was the same size as a nursing cub, although not at all the same shape. He cocked his head, torn between caution and curiosity. Carefully he sidled up to it and reached out with an inquisitive paw. The creature showed tiny teeth and a pink tongue. It tried to hitch itself across the trail again but soon stopped. One rear leg was limp and dragging.