Ratha and Thistle-Chaser (The Third Book of the Named) (25 page)

Quickly he nuzzled Ratha, checking for injuries. He found one forepaw stuck directly down into a crevice, where jagged rock clamped the foot. Gently he nudged her all over, looking for broken bones, but found nothing. She was still breathing, but she was so cold, Thakur thought to himself.

“Tried... tried to warm her,” Newt said in a thin voice. “She said we both Dreambiters, and she is right, so want her to live.”

Thakur began to rub himself against Ratha to warm her and get her alert enough to start moving. He used his tongue on her face and ears, cleaning away salt crystals from the fur around her eyes.

“Come on, yearling,” he muttered as he scrubbed. “It would take more than a dunking to kill you. Fessran!” he called over his shoulder to the Firekeeper, who came flying out from behind the rocks. At the sight of Fessran, Newt flattened and retreated.

“She won’t hurt you, I promise,” said Thakur to Newt. He sent a warning look toward Fessran, but the Firekeeper was taken up with nuzzling Mishanti to make sure he was all right. Then she began licking and rubbing Ratha.

A sneeze was the first indication that Ratha was reviving, then a series of shivers and a moan. Thakur saw her gulp, blink, and open her eyes. Fessran was rubbing her so enthusiastically that the motion pulled Ratha against her trapped foreleg, and she winced with pain.

“Arr! Firekeeper, you always overdo things,” she growled. Her gaze turned to Thakur. “I don’t know how you got here, herding teacher, but I’m glad you did.” She tried to lift her head. strained, and sagged back.

Then her gaze traveled to Newt and rested on her daughter. “I wouldn’t have lasted this long if someone hadn’t given me some warmth. I thought you hated me, Thistle-chaser. Why did you save me?”

Newt hung her head, as if what she had done was shameful. “I don’t know, Dreambiter.”

Thakur interrupted. “Don’t question her now, Ratha. Save the questions for later. We have to get you off this rock.” He slid his foreleg under Ratha’s chest and tried to pry upward. Ratha clamped her teeth together and made no sound, but he could hear her breathing hard in pain. Her leg was locked fast.

He called Fessran over and both tugged, but with no greater success. Newt stood to one side, watching, then started forward to help.

Thakur stopped her. “No good,” he said. “All we’ll do is pull her leg off.”

He hopped down onto a lower rock, peered sideways through the crevice where Ratha’s paw was stuck. The cleft widened toward the front, where he was looking in.

“Ratha, if you could pull your leg sideways instead of straight up, you might have a chance.”

She tried, failed. Thakur and Fessran got their jaws around the upper part of her leg near her chest and tried to shove her forelimb toward the wider part of the crevice.

They strained and grunted while Newt watched. “No good,” Thakur groaned after several tries. “We’ll either snap our teeth or break her foreleg.”

Ratha lay back down. He could see by her panting and her glazing eyes that she was losing strength rapidly. “Maybe the leg will have to stay,” she whispered softly. “Thistle-chaser has shown me that you can get along without one paw.”

Thakur went cold at the idea of having to cripple Ratha to free her. He shot a glance toward Newt. What was she thinking? It would be suitable revenge on Ratha. And Newt’s foreleg was much stronger than it had been; she was no longer severely hampered by the old injury. It would be as if the two had changed places.

He studied Ratha’s position, how deeply her foreleg extended into the crack and how much room there would be for the horrible task, if they were forced to do it.

“No,” he said roughly. “Your leg is in too far. We’d have to work above your elbow, near your chest.” He faltered. “You would bleed to death before... ” He broke off. “There must be another way. There must!”

Jumping down beside the crevice, he peered in once again. If he could somehow snag her stuck foot and yank it sideways, she might be able to get free. He tried to fit his paw in through the opening, but his toes were too large.

“Mishanti,” Ratha said, watching him. “A cub’s paws are smaller.”

“But his leg isn’t long enough,” Thakur said, still crouched down by the crevice, peering in from the side.

Fessran’s yowl interrupted him. “There’s a big wave coming. Get up high or hang on!” He saw the Firekeeper grab Mishanti by the scruff. Thakur leaped up beside Ratha, jerked and tugged at her furiously.

“Get the cub and Thistle-chaser to high ground,” Ratha growled. “Now!”

With grief tearing at him, Thakur made himself obey, shepherding a stunned Newt after Fessran, who had already climbed to the highest point on the tiny island. He was still scrabbling for a hold when gray water spilled across the islet. He strained to look back at Ratha. The frothing sea lashed her, robbing her of the last vestiges of warmth she had gained from her daughter and the others. Thakur knew that if they did not get her off the island soon, with or without her foreleg, she would die.

Even before the water drained away, the three were back beside Ratha. Mishanti was left clinging to his perch.

“Newt’s got small paws,” Fessran said. “And her lame leg is narrower than her good one.”

Thakur turned to Newt, but she was already peering into the crack. The thoughts raced in his head. Would she do it? Could she, even if she had the wish to try? Why was she hesitating? Was she judging the situation, or was she just stalling, hoping to force him to cripple Ratha? It would be a suitable revenge, he thought. If she wants it.

Newt lifted her lame foreleg and slowly threaded her paw into the crevice. She gave Thakur an unreadable look. “For my Dreambiter,” she hissed.

“For you,” he answered softly. Ratha lay, coat still streaming, eyes closed. He wondered if she could hear them.

With grunts of effort, Newt wiggled her lame forepaw deep into the crack.

“She’s close,” said Fessran, peering down from the top. “Just a little bit more, Thistle.”

Thakur saw Newt’s lips draw back from her clamped teeth as she forced more of her leg in.

“You’re touching now,” came Fessran’s voice from the top. “Spread your pad. Get your claws out.”

Newt snarled and strained. She shot an agonized glance at Thakur. “Not strong enough. Claws won’t go far enough.”

Thakur swallowed, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t her fault if her leg had not completely come back to normal. If it hadn’t, she would never have been able to get in this far. But will could overcome weakness, if she wanted to free Ratha badly enough.

I can’t condemn her if she fails,
he thought.
But I won’t be able to keep away the doubt.

Newt gave a grunt, then a startled gasp.

“She’s got a clawhold,” Fessran said from the top. “Come up here and look.”

Thakur bounded up beside the unconscious Ratha and peered down at Newt’s rust-colored forepaw, lit by a stray beam of sunlight. She had one claw hooked into the side of Ratha’s leathery pad. Thakur saw the tendons in Newt’s foot stand out as she strained to spread her forepaw and extend the claws. She got another claw into Ratha’s pad and then another.

“Pull slowly,” Thakur called down to her. “Don’t jerk, or you’ll lose your hold.” He heard her panting shallowly and knew her leg was cramping. Then he saw her foot starting to inch back, Ratha’s paw moving with it. He suppressed his impulse to yowl at the sky. Instead he joined Fessran in trying to lick the salt water from Ratha’s coat and lie across her to provide what warmth they could.

From his position atop the rock, he peeked down in the crack. Ratha’s foot had stuck at a cluster of mussel shells in the crevice. Newt wriggled and panted but couldn’t get past the obstacle. Slowly she unhooked her claws from Ratha’s foot and began to scrape and pry at the shellfish, breaking away one fragment at a time. It was an agonizing effort for the weakened forepaw, but Newt kept doggedly at her task. Thakur started to call down instructions then stopped. No. He trusted Newt to do everything that was needed. He and Fessran should concentrate on reviving Ratha, getting her ready to move should Newt’s efforts be effective.

They lay one on each side of her, warming her, trying to wring the water from her fur. Fessran scanned the sea anxiously for any sign that another wave was about to break over them.

Then Newt gave a yowl that was both triumph and pain as she snagged Ratha’s foot again and pulled it free. Carefully Thakur got his jaws around the bruised and cut limb, gently drawing it out of the crevice.

“Thakur, another wave’s coming,” Fessran warned.

He wormed himself under Ratha’s belly, heaved her up on his nape and shoulders, and half dragged, half carried her while yowling at Fessran to get Mishanti. He felt his load lighten slightly as Newt came up beside him and grabbed Ratha with her jaws. She was limping again, her leg drawn up and folded over in a fierce cramp. She grimaced with pain but said nothing as she helped Thakur carry Ratha away from the surging water.

The two hauled her to the highest spot on the island and then, when the water receded, wrestled her across the wave-washed boulders connecting this outermost islet with the chain leading back to the jetty. Fessran helped them as much as she could while carrying the cub.

Ratha, after being warmed and shaken around by her short journey on top of Thakur, began to show some signs of life. Thakur took her a short distance to a hollow that screened out the wind. He laid her down on a slab that slanted at an angle, allowing water to drain from her fur instead of puddling around her.

Thakur and Newt began to lick her again, helped in their task by weak sunlight that grew stronger as the clouds parted. Her eyes remained closed, but her whiskers twitched and she whispered, “Thakur, I’m so numb I can’t feel anything in my legs. Is my forepaw... ”

He answered her unspoken question by pushing her limp foreleg toward her nose. “You’ve still got all your paws, thanks to your daughter.”

He saw her rib cage rise then fall in a huge sigh of relief.

“Where’s Thistle-chaser?” she asked, her eyes still shut. Thakur’s gaze went to Newt, and he watched her ears flick nervously.

“Here,” she answered, her voice thin with exhaustion and uncertainty.

Ratha’s teeth chattered but she managed to say, “Lie down with me. I need you.”

With another uncertain glance at Thakur, Newt arranged herself with her belly against Ratha’s back. Thakur saw her grimace as her lame foreleg cramped. “Here,” he said, taking her paw in his mouth and pulling it to ease the tight, knotted muscles. He massaged it gently with his tongue.

“Well this is certainly a cozy group,” said Fessran as soon as she had dried Mishanti as well as she could. “I’m starting to feel left out.”

“Well, join us,” said Thakur. “Ratha needs all the warmth she can get.”

“After what I did, I’m not sure... ”

“She doesn’t need apologies or arguments,” Thakur replied. “Just a warm pelt against her.”

“Mine’s pretty damp, but I’ll do what I can.” Fessran shook herself off and fluffed her fur.

Together they rubbed against Ratha and wrung as much water out of her fur as they could by pressing against her. The sunlight brightened, helping to dry her pelt, while the sheltering rocks kept the wind from blowing away the heat.

Yet as Thakur worked alongside the others, he felt that there were many things yet to be resolved. As Ratha started to recover, Newt began inching away from her, as if she could only dare to touch Ratha when she was too sick or weak to really notice.

And as Ratha became more like her old self in the warmth and dryness of the sun and those around her, she seemed ill at ease with Newt. She let her daughter gradually retreat without calling her back. Perhaps, Thakur thought, everything that had happened on the island was just a feverish dream to her, unsure, unreal. And perhaps to Newt the intimacy that crisis allowed was gone.

He looked at Ratha and then at her daughter and felt angry. Both were strong, stubborn, and adamant about denying the tie that bound them together, yet both were clearly driven by it.

He shook himself, bristled his whiskers, and said, “Ratha, Thistle-chaser, there is someone I would like you to meet.”

Both stared at him as if he had gone mad.

“What, by the Red Tongue’s ashes, are you talking about?” asked Fessran. “There’s no one else on this wave-washed rock but us.”

He ignored the Firekeeper. Instead he went to Thistle-chaser, nudged her back toward Ratha. “This is your mother,” he said, looking into the sea-green eyes. “She birthed you, fed you, and desperately wanted to love you.”

He turned next to Ratha, still lying on her side, looking up at him. “And this is your daughter. She came from your belly, suckled at your teats, and never had the chance to be what you wanted her to be.”

Pausing, he surveyed both of them. “That is the simple truth between you. You may deny it at the top of your voices, but everything you have done shows that it is still at work.”

There was a very long silence.

Ratha lowered her muzzle, looking at the ground, then gave a sideways glance at Newt. “Thakur has the most sense of any of us, doesn’t he? Do you think he’s right?”

“He is right,” said Newt softly, choosing her words carefully and slowly. “But want to know. Why you bite me bad when I was small?”