Ratha's Courage (25 page)

Inside, she cried at the unfairness of it all. What she had felt so strongly to be right—kindness, reaching out, looking
beyond—they weren’t what made a leader. The tyrants Meoran,
Shongshar—even they were better leaders than she. Cruel as they were, they would have led the Named to triumph rather than destruction.

It would be better for the clan if she just crept away. She felt mocked by the ghosts of the tyrants she thought she had defeated. Were they right after all in believing that a female didn’t have the strength to lead, that she would always be seduced by gentleness, kindness?

She didn’t realize that she had let a despairing cry escape her until she felt a paw on her shoulder and the ends of whiskers brushing her cheek.

“What we are now,” Thakur’s voice said, “could not be ruled by the old ways of claws and teeth, or even the new way of the Red Tongue. Never mistake kindness for weakness, Ratha. Kindness takes far more strength than cruelty.”

There was more than understanding in his voice, or even affection. There was love.

It made her gulp and then choke out all the despairs that rent and tore her. He listened quietly.

“I’m no leader. I only became one by accident and then stayed when you placed the torch in my mouth,” she moaned. “Ever since then, all I’ve done is blunder. I misjudged Shongshar. I was blind about True-of-voice, and New Singer took me by surprise.” She took a sobbing breath. “I can’t even keep a proper watch without getting distracted by my feelings! If anyone came, they’d have easily gotten past me.”

In answer, Thakur turned his head one way, to where Ashon stood, looking silvery in a shaft of moonlight. When he turned his head the other way, she followed his head to Mondir, eyes gleaming, ears erect.

“They asked me if they could come out and take the watch. They wanted to. They know it is hard to keep alert when you suffer.”

“A leader shouldn’t go to mush like this,” Ratha growled. “If I suffer, I deserve it. Look at what I’ve done.”

“Yes, look at what you’ve done,” Thakur said, soft mockery lilting his voice. “Created a clan where all can speak without fear and know they will be heard. Where all feel safe; where they can use their talents without being squashed; where they can be safe, live, mate, raise cubs in freedom. Where I can teach and grow with my students, Fessran can rant, Mishanti can be a nuisance, Thistle-chaser can be stubborn, Bira can groom that tail of hers; most of all, you’ve created a clan where we can be ourselves.” He stopped for breath. “You know how precious that is, Ratha. I’ve seen you fight savagely for it.”

She felt her ribs heave in a deep sigh. “You shouldn’t trust something precious to someone who stumbles and loses it.”

“Since when does a leader have no right to stumble or fall? Only if you have someone or something else doing your thinking for you, like True-of-voice’s hunters, can anyone expect you to always be perfect. ” Thakur’s teeth flashed as he spoke. “You may feel like everything is lost, Ratha, but we haven’t lost what is most important, and we won’t, unless we deliberately give it up.”

“I feel I should just step aside and let you or Cherfan take over. As the only female left among you, maybe the best I can do is give you cubs. I’m not sure I can even do that.”

Thakur crouched down before her, nudging her head up with his nose, looking her in the eyes. His eyes had a deep glow that penetrated the blanket of despair she had cast over herself. “Ratha, if you really feel this way, I won’t argue you out of it. It wouldn’t be me who leads. I’m a teacher, not a leader, and they know that. Cherfan could, but he’s not really a leader.” Thakur paused. “Besides, you wouldn’t really be happy, and we wouldn’t be either.”

“ ‘In your eyes I will always see challenge,’ ” Ratha said. “That is what Meoran said to me when I promised to obey him in order to return to the clan.”

“The one thing he was right about,” said Thakur gently. “Yes, eventually you would challenge. I wouldn’t want to face you. Neither would Cherfan or any of the rest.”

“Being a leader has spoiled me. I don’t think I could to go back to being a clan female, or even just a Firekeeper or herder.”

“You could if you truly wanted, but I don’t think you do. Not yet.” He paused. “Don’t make any decisions now. Come inside and rest. You’ve had a bad shock and you‘re spent. Let things go for a while.”

Ratha felt a yawn building up in the back of her jaws and gave in to it. Hauling herself back to her feet, she followed Thakur back inside their refuge.

“We’ll get Thistle back,” she heard him say as she finally let herself drift loose, floating into sleep. “And Fessran, Bira, and the others. I promise.”

In the morning came a pleasant surprise. Ratha woke to the sound of a joyous tumult outside the rock-fall shelter. Mixed into it was the sound of small hooves. Startled, she tumbled out, fur sticking up at all angles. She saw Mondir, Khushi, and Ashon dancing around a newcomer and three dapplebacks. Unsure, she sniffed and then knew. Quiet Hunter had returned, bringing the little horses with him. To Ratha’s sleep-blurred eyes, his back looked a little odd, a little lumpy. Then, as her vision focused and she caught more scents, she realized what the bumps were.

One lump leaped off Quiet Hunter and bounded to her, chirring excitedly. Small wiry arms encircled her neck, fingers wove into her fur, treeling-scent surrounded her. Ratharee!

Ratha was so involved in the return of her treeling that she couldn’t pay attention to anything else. Finally looking up from all the licks and nuzzles, she saw that Quiet Hunter had brought back all the treelings, even Thistle’s Biaree and Bira’s Cherfaree. With Ratharee clinging to her nape once again, Ratha rushed inside to wake Thakur. He bounced to his feet and shot through the crevice. When Ratha came after him, she saw him sitting up on his hind feet, cradling his Aree between his forepaws while the treeling licked his face so vigorously that he toppled over backward, grinning with delight.

Quiet Hunter still had two furballs left. Cherfan sauntered up, his tail curving. He smelled Cherfaree. “Since that bug-eater’s got my name, I’ll take him until Bira comes back.”

“This one will keep Biaree for Thistle-chaser,” Quiet Hunter replied.

“I thought you didn’t like treelings,” Cherfan said, as Cherfaree sniffed him cautiously, then made a quick decision and skipped up to his nape.

“This one . . . I didn’t. But I felt so bad when I nearly killed the cub I felt this one had to do something . . . To make up for it.”

“Quiet Hunter, I’m so glad to see you,” Ratha said, nose-touching and then sliding alongside him with a tail-flop. “And not just for bringing the treelings back, either. We missed you.”

“How did you get those dapplebacks all the way from the meadow up here?” Mondir wanted to know.

“They weren’t in the meadow. New Singer isn’t looking after the herdbeasts and they are straying. After find the treelings, this one came upon these horses.”

“You weren’t seen or chased?”

“This one was chased, but the chasing only made the horses run fast ahead of me.”

“You still had to round them up and bring them here,” Ratha said, still buoyed by Ratharee’s return. “And with the treelings, too. Quiet Hunter, you are amazing!”

“It took me all night. This one is a bit sleepy,” he confessed.

Giving his face a last grateful lick, Ratha asked Mondir and Khushi to take care of the little horses while she led Quiet Hunter inside, fed him, and then settled him and Biaree in the most comfortable place she could find.

“I know you want to hear about Thistle-chaser,” he said, making Ratha’s heart give a sudden bound. “She and the others—New Singer is not treating them badly. They are frightened but not hurt, and they are being fed. New Singer has Fessran and Bira making Red-Tongue-nests for him. This one hid and saw.” His gold eyes darkened to deep amber. “This one wants Thistle back. I will fight for her.”

“That time will come,” Ratha promised, watching his eyes close. And I’ll be right beside you.

That same day, Cherfan and Thakur led a team to catch more of the straying herdbeasts. Ratha led another to watch New Singer and his Named captives.

Quiet Hunter was right—the renegades were not treating the clan females badly. Ratha couldn’t get close enough to speak to any of the captives, but she and her party saw that Fessran was keeping the blaze in the fire-den alive. Bira was even allowed, under guard, to gather wood and stack it in the fire-den. Ratha paid close attention to how far Bira was allowed to go, and which renegades guarded her on these trips. Sometimes Thistle went with Bira to help carry the wood back.

Ratha remembered the joyful dancing around and through the fire-den when they had first dug it; the Named and their treelings celebrating the end of Shongshar’s tyranny. Now the fire-den and the Red Tongue had again fallen under the control of a usurper. How long would the seizure last this time, and could the Named ever dance around the fire-lair again?

We will. I swear that we will.

Thakur and Cherfan returned with a few more herdbeasts and found a sheltered area nearby to graze them. Ratha returned with the beginnings of a plan to free her friends from New Singer. It would have to wait until next day, however, and Ratha still felt drained from the previous two days. She meant to think over her plan and discuss it with Thakur on the rocky sill just outside the refuge. Instead, before twilight, she fell asleep with her treeling still on her back, leaving Thakur keeping watch.

Chapter Eighteen

The night was warm, and the herding teacher saw no reason to interrupt Ratha’s slumber. Thakur stayed outside with her, silently requesting that the other clan males step quietly around her or use another entrance to their refuge.

With his own treeling, Aree, curled up against his neck, Thakur listened to Ratha sleep. She made an odd sound that he wouldn’t exactly call a snore. It was more like a squeak or creak that she made while inhaling and then a little exhaling sigh.

He thought about what had happened to her and why, what she had said, what he had said. He hoped he had chosen words wisely enough to bring her out of despair and give her the hope she badly needed.

Yearling, he thought, you are so young to have done as much as you have. That is one reason things hit you so hard. Quiet Hunter, bless him, had brought Ratharee back. Ratha rejoiced at her treeling’s return, but Thakur knew how easily she could slide back into paralyzing despair.

Hearing her say that she had blundered made his throat tighten. Anyone would have. None of the Named had any experience with a tribe like True-of-voice’s, an enemy like New Singer, or the strange forces that pulled at the situation, turning everything upside down and backward. Trying to cope with it all was like having each foot on a separately rolling log and trying to stay up. You have to dance like crazy, and Ratha had, longer and better than he had expected or hoped.

He looked down at the sleeping face, the graceful curve of the nose, the delicate yet strong sculpting of the muzzle and jaw, traced out in moonlight. It woke pangs in him that were not just the urges of mating.

Ratha, how I want you, how I want to be with you, take care of you, keep you from harm, give you what you need, delight in you, stand at your side while you hold the Red Tongue in your jaws and dance with you forever. Instead, all I can do is offer what is sometimes wisdom, sometimes foolishness.

He studied the markings on her face, wanting to run his tongue in a soft caress along her tear-lines. All the Named had such markings in black, brown, or dark amber—they accented the expression on feline faces so that intent could be read from afar. All had them, but there was something unique and beautiful about the way hers began at the inner corner of her sleeping eyes, swept down the sides of her nose, then S-curved to end at the patch of white fur behind her whiskers.

He saw an elegant arch-line that followed the swell of each brow and softer streaks that flowed down her cheeks. Not too many—that would have made her look striped, and she wasn’t; she was a self-colored tawny. And what a wonderful color. Even paled by moonlight, her rich gold shading stole his breath, the creamy fur on her chest and belly made him want to nestle up against her like a cub and wrap himself in its warmth.

He knew these were not the usual thoughts of a Named male. The females were just other clan members until the mating season, and then it was their intoxicating scent that drew the males.

No, what he experienced now was far more visual, perhaps because he tended to use sight more than smell. It was also far more aesthetic, for he had taught himself to see and value beauty.

The Named language had no words for what he was feeling now, a surge of joy and fear so strong it shook him to his depths.

She had asked him once about courage. He had no good answer then. Now he knew, as he bathed himself in the sight and smell and sound of her and trembled so that his whiskers vibrated, courage was the strength to hang over the abyss no matter how far the fall. Courage was the strength to love.

The faint sound of a footstep had the effect on Thakur of a splash of cold water. It was all he could do not to jump up and roar his resentment. He had so little time to be alone with Ratha that this unfair interruption seemed like an outrage.

Silently he got up as if to defend a mate against an intruding male. The footfalls stayed quiet but grew nearer. Thakur tried to catch an odor, but the newcomer had approached upwind. He heard teeth grate on wood and wondered if it might be a Firekeeper.

He saw a sliver of red light against a dark form. The red light went ghostly as if it had been covered. A wave of scintillation swept over the still-indistinct shadow, followed by a wave of even deeper dark that swallowed it. One flank seemed have been draped with a cobweb. The eyes opened, their shine an unearthly pale blue-green.

Night-who-eats-stars,
Thakur realized. I thought he was gone, vanished. What has brought him back?

The herding teacher thought that the star-eater might have come upon him by mistake, but as Night moved closer, Thakur realized his approach was deliberate. Thakur’s first reaction was to hackle, but he saw two things that made him stop. First, Night was carrying something, a something that leaked intense orange-red light. Second, the way Night stood and the look in his eyes reminded Thakur powerfully of his lost brother Bone-chewer.