The herding teacher answered, “I would still move carefully, clan leader. And do not make the mistake of underestimating them. They could take the Red Tongue and use it against us.”
Ratha disagreed. “They can barely get themselves organized enough to drive us away. Without True-of-voice, they are falling apart. It’s not a pretty thing to watch, but nothing we can do will change what happens to them.”
“So if they sit and rot, it is no doing of ours.” Thakur’s voice had an edge to it. “And you think there is nothing wrong with hastening things a little with the Red Tongue.”
“I am doing what is necessary to protect my own people,” Ratha snapped. “If the hunters would leave us alone, I wouldn’t have to.”
“If we had left them alone, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Ratha felt her ears twitch back. “Thakur, I can’t deal with what ifs. I have to cope with what has actually happened.”
“That is what I am trying to say,” said Thakur, but Ratha was too irritated to answer him, and at last he sighed and went away.
* * *
For Quiet Hunter, Thistle and daylight arrived together. The eyes had opened on a new world.
No. The words were not right, he thought. My eyes have opened on a new world. Thistle’s face and everything that surrounds it.
He blinked.
So this is the world outside the song. It is the same as I have always known, but now bathed in a hard, aching light.
Here, there is only one behind the eyes. One looking out. In the song, there were many—beyond counting. All, alive and dead, sang through True-of-voice.
Now there is only one. That is what makes the light hard and aching.
He knew that Thistle could get close, but however much she rubbed or lay against him, she could not get inside.
His throat caught with a strange new pain.
The pain came from feeling stripped bare of fur and even of skin. So tender that even a soft paw stroke hurt. It was never that way within the song. It enfolded all of us. But the song ended. The choice was either death or this.
He wanted to cry aloud, Thistle, how do you bear it? What is your word for being only one behind the eyes?
Awake? No.
Alone.
* * *
Ratha was still brooding over Thakur’s words when she saw Thistle approach her. She watched her daughter with mixed feelings. The events of the previous days had drawn them closer together than Ratha had thought possible, but she knew Thistle would oppose any decision to defend the interests of the Named with fire.
With a heavy feeling in her stomach, Ratha wished she were not clan leader. Or that Thistle could separate the Ratha who was her mother from the one who fought to preserve her people at any cost.
“How is Quiet Hunter?” Ratha asked.
“Hurting. Tired. For him to follow our trails … he has to fight his own nature.”
Ratha knew that she meant much more than the trails that led to the Named camp.
“He is welcome to live among us if he wants,” she offered.
“Don’t know if he can. Needs True-of-voice. The song. Thought that me caring for him would be enough. May not be, though.” Thistle sighed.
I want to ask if there is anything I can do to help Quiet Hunter. But what Thistle would say would oppose the decision I have to make.
“Quiet Hunter is not a weakling,” Thistle said abruptly. “Not a coward.”
Ratha cocked her head. “Did anyone say he was?”
“No, but can see it in Khushi’s eyes. Even in Bira’s. Even in yours, a little bit.”
“I’m sorry,” Ratha said, startled by the accusation. “I have been trying not to judge him. It isn’t easy.”
“None of you could do what he has done,” Thistle said passionately. “Everything is new trails to him. Has to change ways of speaking, ways of thinking. Even way of being, right down to the core. Not something a weakling or coward could do. Would go screaming crazy at the confusion.”
Ratha tried to speak calmly, yet she felt herself bracing for a confrontation. “Thistle. You want something from me. Is it the same thing that Thakur wants?”
Her daughter looked back at her.
“No. Thakur wants that you not use Red Tongue against Quiet Hunter’s people. I want more. Want you to help them.”
Thistle’s voice was quiet, yet determined. Ratha felt her own start to rise in frustration.
“Help them? How?”
“Save True-of-voice.”
“Thistle, it is too late. He’s dead. And even if he wasn’t—”
The small yet powerful voice interrupted Ratha’s stream of objections. “Not dead. Have felt things like little flutters. Heard things like cries in the distance. They say he is not dead.”
“But it has been several days since he fell. How could he possibly be alive?”
She was startled again at Thistle’s eloquence as her daughter said, “If you are … center and soul of your people; if you are … source of everything they need … if you know that when you die they will have nothing, then you fight to the last against death.” Thistle paused. “You are leader. You would do same for Named ones if they needed you so much.”
Again Ratha stared at her daughter, floored by the mixture of bluntness and desperation in Thistle’s words.
She is right. I would do it for the Named. I would do it for her, too, but she finds it hard to believe that.
“So you think that … concern … for his people … is keeping True-of-voice alive?”
“Do not think. Know.”
“Thistle, even if he is still alive and what you feel is not in your own imagination, what can we do?”
“Save him.”
“How?”
“Do not know,” Thistle admitted. She lifted her head and stared deep into Ratha’s eyes. “Only know that when you Named ones decide to do something, you figure out a way.”
Ratha let her hindquarters drop and sat down, feeling overwhelmed by the demand. But was it so unfair after all? Thistle was right in her observations—the Named were resourceful. The hard part was the decision.
“Why are you asking for this? Is it for Quiet Hunter’s sake?”
“He is some of the reason. Not biggest part.”
“Then for your sake?”
“Not biggest part either.”
“Then what is the biggest part?”
She watched Thistle take a deep breath. “The Dreambiter, Mother.”
Puzzled to the point of irritation, Ratha tried to get Thistle to explain what she meant.
“Can’t say it any different way,” Thistle retorted. “That’s how it comes out.”
Ratha tried a different approach. “What does your nightmare have to do with saving True-of-voice?”
Thistle’s tone sharpened. “Dreambiter is not just mine. Yours too. Don’t know what joining part is. Have to dig for it. But there is one. Feel it.”
What you mean is that the Dreambiter will soon claim True-of-voice and his people as victims. But I don’t have any alternative, Thistle. How can I make you understand?
* * *
After Thistle had finished speaking, she left. Ratha thought for a while and then called her people together. She told them what Thistle had asked her to do.
Everybody gave her incredulous looks. Except Thakur. He just looked amazed.
“Are you asking for help in deciding this, clan leader?” Bira asked in her gentle voice.
“I must make the choice,” Ratha said. “But hearing what all of you have to say will help me.”
“I like Thistle a lot,” Bira said, curling her plumed tail about her feet, “so this is hard for me to say. I do not think that her suggestion is a wise one. Perhaps it would be, if she were the only one involved. For us, it is not.”