Ratha’s Challenge (The Fourth Book of The Named) (5 page)

From the beach, Thistle crossed onto a series of sandstone ledges beneath the cliffs. She made her way down through the tidepools until she reached the seamares’ cove.

There they all were, basking in the sun. Some lay on their bellies with their horselike heads outstretched and their tusks digging into the sand. Others sprawled on their backs or sides, sometimes flipping sand over themselves with a webbed foot.

She lifted her whiskers. She liked seamares. There was something comfortable about their tubby bodies and the way they lumbered and lolled about on land. Their raucous greeting chorus when she walked through the herd and the friendly bumps and swishes she got from their heads and tails made her feel accepted among them.

And she knew a secret about the seamares that nobody else had discovered. On land the creatures were ungainly and clumsy, but in the sea they became beautiful—elegant, streamlined shapes that slipped through the undersea dimness, leaving only a silvery trail of bubbles.

Many creatures of the shore were like that, finding their true beauty in the sea. Perhaps, Thistle mused, she was like that, too. Even though her leg was much better, she could still swim better than she could walk.

She could tell by the dryness of the seamares’ velvety fur that they hadn’t yet gone on their daily foraging expedition in the ocean. Either she had come at just the right moment or they had waited for her.

Joy surged through Thistle as she trotted into the surf in the midst of the herd of lumbering, hooting seamares. She breasted the incoming swells as they did, then ducked under and swam with powerful strokes of her hind feet. Like the seamares, she used her forelimbs to steer.

Sometimes she wondered if she really was a seamare, somehow born into the wrong body.

The only place she could not follow the herd was down to the ocean floor, where they foraged for shellfish. She had learned that neither her chest nor her ears could withstand the pressure, so while the seamares dove to forage, she remained on the surface. She could act as lookout, spotting any enemies that might come. And at the same time she could think out things that were troubling her.

It was easier for Thistle to think while drifting at the top of the ocean, while being rhythmically lifted and lowered by the swells. Everything seemed clearer out here. The mist that often clouded her mind vanished with the brilliance of the sun on the water.

Thakur had asked her to leave the shore and journey inland. How could she leave the seamares and the ocean? They comforted her, sustained her, renewed her.

It was too much to ask, too much to even think of asking. Away from the sea she became small, ugly, withdrawn into herself. The fits happened more often. The white mist descended on her mind too often, not letting her think.

He knows! Why does he ask?

Yet if he does know, a part of her argued, and he asks anyway, it must be important.

Thistle swam back and forth, trying to find her answer in the ocean’s touch. How soothing it felt, washing through her coat, lifting her and rocking her. The others of the Named seldom went into the sea, or, if they did, came out shivering and coughing.

Well, they hadn’t grown a heavy undercoat like hers that kept her body’s warmth trapped against her skin. And they had never learned to swim the way she did.

Except Thakur. He had let her teach him and he had tried to understand. It was he who had coaxed her out of herself, had helped start the healing in her leg and her mind.

Don’t have to help him, even after all he has done. But want to.

And Ratha. Her mother had also asked for her to come. Did that make a difference?

She asked for Thakur’s sake. She is not sure herself if she wants me.

Thistle glided and turned as the waves tumbled her gently about. She could feel the sea’s muted power. Sometimes it seemed that she could draw more than just comfort from the ocean.

She remembered Ratha’s words to her. Her mother had chosen the hard path—the truth. Though stung by those words, Thistle was deeply grateful that Ratha had not tried to conceal her uncertainties.

She asked me to give her a chance. Don’t have to, but want to.

When the seamares surfaced, blowing and snorting, she had her answer. Though the journey would be challenging, she would go.

* * *

On the following day, Ratha went down to the beach. She had left her own treeling, Ratharee, with Thakur’s Aree, to be cared for by others of the clan. Fessran ambled along beside her.

“Stop fretting, clan leader,” the Firekeeper said as they trotted over the rolling dunes, with seabirds crying overhead. “I think Thistle will agree. I wouldn’t have come with you to pick up Mishanti if I thought she was going to be stubborn.”

“I almost hope that she doesn’t want to come. I don’t see how she can help Thakur, and I have no idea how I am going to manage her on the trail.”

“Manage her?” Fessran howled derisively. “Clan leader, what do you think she is, a herdbeast?”

“All right, she isn’t,” Ratha snapped, embarrassed. “But I just keep thinking about those fits....”

“They are her worry, not yours. They aren’t going to kill her, and if one happens, there are plenty of pools and streams along the way.”

Ratha sighed. “I wish you were going, Singe-whiskers.”

“Thakur and Bira are already there, and Khushi will travel with you,” Fessran said firmly. “We’ve already agreed on this. I’ve got enough to do without tagging along to protect you from your daughter.”

Ratha was tempted to give Fessran a good swat for that, but the Firekeeper had already sauntered out of reach.

“I’m not afraid of her!” Ratha yowled.

“Not her claws, at any rate. That tongue of hers is sharp enough, even if a little clumsy.”

“Bury it, Firekeeper. We’re almost there.” Ratha picked up her pace, loping ahead of Fessran.

She found Thistle sitting beside her bathing pool, fluffing her coat in the sun. Ratha and Fessran also sat, waiting for Thistle to dry off.

“What did the sea tell you?” Ratha asked her at last, feeling slightly awkward.

Thistle answered simply. “You and Thakur need me. I will go.”

Ratha felt a confusing mixture of delight and dismay at the reply. Glancing at Fessran, she saw the Firekeeper incline her head and lift her whiskers as if to say “I told you so. ”

Thistle raised her muzzle and gave a high chirping call. Mishanti appeared, covered with wet sand. He had evidently been digging a den.

“When did you start calling him like that?” Fessran asked Thistle.

“Not long ago. He pays better attention to it.”

“Good thought. I’ll try it out on the little scamp,” Fessran said as she swept the cub to her with one paw. “Come on, you son of a seamare. Come with Fessran.”

Ratha watched the exchange. She envied Fessran’s free and easy manner with Thistle.

Thistle even speaks less awkwardly with Fessran than with me. But as soon as I try to be friendly, she freezes up and I feel bad. I wonder if having her on this trip is really going to work.

As soon as Fessran had gone, carrying Mishanti by the scruff, Ratha turned to Thistle. “Khushi is coming with us. He’ll be waiting at the top of the cliff. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Thistle replied softly.

Ratha paced ahead, letting her daughter follow.

* * *

Khushi joined Thistle and her mother on the way up the cliff trail. He would lead, for he knew the way back to Thakur’s camp. No more preparation was needed. Thistle knew that Ratha and Khushi had eaten enough to sustain them for several days. She had tried to do the same, although pickings on the beach were a bit sparser than eating from a kill.

“Don’t worry about food,” Ratha said to Thistle. “I asked you to make this trip, so anything Bira or I catch, we’ll share.”

Her words were meant as reassurance, but they also reminded Thistle that leaving the beach meant that she was much more vulnerable and dependent on others—something she hated.

As she followed Khushi, with Ratha bringing up the rear, she thought,
Perhaps Thakur wants me because he has found others like me.
She felt the loneliness rise up inside her along with a strange aching hope. If the other clan-cats Thakur had found were like her, they could understand the paths she had to take, paths that the Named could not follow. Perhaps the strangers could give her as much as she could give them.

Chapter Four

It was morning of the third day after they’d set out, and a light rain was falling. The three companions kept to a steady trot. Ratha put Khushi in the lead most of the time. Not only did the young scout know the way, but he chose a pace that was easy for Thistle to keep without straining her nearly healed foreleg. Ratha knew that if she went up front with Khushi, it would be hard for her to keep from leaping ahead, for she was excited and intrigued by Thakur’s message.

Another clan like the Named! Could it be? Had Thakur really discovered a group that might band with their own, providing fresh ideas and new talents?

Ratha felt her hopes soar. If Thakur was sure enough to send for her, he must have found another Named clan. His difficulties in speaking with them would quickly be resolved. They probably have a few different words and customs, that’s all.

Her tail waving in anticipation, she trotted along the trail, eager to speak to the leader of the newly found clan.

* * *

With Khushi as guide, Thistle and Ratha wound their way over the coastal foothills and then down into a river valley, where the soil was marshy.

Thistle watched as Ratha sniffed some huge round footprints in the damp soil.

She listened as Ratha spoke to Khushi about the footprints. “Face-tails,” replied the young scout. “You can’t mistake that stink. Almost as bad as Thistle’s seamares. We do choose smelly animals, don’t we?”

“Well, it makes them easier to find. How far away are Thakur and Bira?” Ratha asked.

“Just up beyond this knoll,” Thistle heard the scout reply as he began pacing through the long, waving grass that covered the hill.

Bira met them at the top. Thistle liked the ruddy-coated Firekeeper, with her long plumed tail and gentle manner. Even the acrid smell of the Red Tongue in Bira’s coat did not put her off.

Bira had a treeling, a male called Biaree. Thistle was intrigued by treelings. She had never had one and she wasn’t sure she wanted one, but they were fun to watch. She saw how they soothed and comforted the Named. Perhaps someday she might like a little companion who could comfort her.

Would a treeling ride on my back when I swim?

Biaree jumped briefly onto Thistle’s back for a quick welcoming groom before scampering back to Bira.

“Welcome, everybody,” Bira said, touching noses with Ratha and then Khushi. Turning to Thistle, she said, “If you are hungry, I caught some grouse this morning.”

Thistle’s mouth watered, but first she wanted to see Thakur. Then she would eat. Bira said she would save the birds. There were plenty for everyone.

Eager to meet her friend again, Thistle scampered after Bira as she trotted down into a little hollow where a campfire burned beneath a sheltering overhang. And there was Thakur, his coppery coat gleaming, his green eyes alight at the sight of her. She was so overjoyed to see him that she broke into a run, dashing ahead of Bira.

“Hello, little seamare herder,” Thakur purred, rubbing his chin along her back and flopping his tail over her in greeting.

“Missed you, missed you, missed you,” Thistle answered, losing her eloquence to a rush of emotion. “So much, Thakur.”

She rubbed her head against him and stood back with a satisfied sigh while the others greeted him and rubbed past him, their tails arching over his back. After the greetings were done, Bira provided the promised repast.

When the meal was finished and the leavings buried, all five relaxed around the small fire and listened to Thakur. As he recounted his experiences with the other cat clan, Thistle listened carefully. He spoke of many things that baffled her. Someone called True-of-voice. Something called “the song.” The strange way that the newly found clan seemed to speak and the way that the awareness of an outsider seemed to spread instantaneously through their group.

Thistle also cast glances at Ratha during Thakur’s tale. Though her mother’s ears stayed up, her whiskers drooped a bit in puzzlement and disappointment.

“These face-tail hunters sound even stranger than I thought,” Ratha said. “Are you sure they are not just another group of the empty-eyed Un-Named?”

“Not completely,” Thakur admitted. “But I feel that these clan-cats have the same gift as we do. They just use it differently. Their eyes are not empty, but their awareness is turned... inside themselves.” Thistle felt his gaze travel to her and rest there as he spoke softly. “As yours was when I first found you.”