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The songs—there were many, all beautiful and different—faltered.
—Call?— The voice was faint and alien, unlike any animal voice she’d heard in her life.
She strained to hear without using her power to help her listen. Yes! I’m calling! Me, here by the rocks—
—No call—
I called! I did! Where are you? Who are you?
—Calf-call?—
—No call—
I’m not loud enough, she realized. If I used my magic, maybe they could hear me, but I don’t dare.
Thayet yelled, trying to get Daine’s attention. Daine turned, but before she could answer a heavy form slammed into her. Down she went, mouth filling with brine. Trying to rise, she was slammed again and thrust deeper in the water by the animal’s impact.
She opened her mouth to scream, and breathed seawater.
Miri and Evin said later she popped into the air to hang upside down from an unseen hand, pouring water as she fought. She only knew she was free to cough and vomit out the liquid that had nearly killed her. Looking down, she shrieked, clawing at the invisible grip on her ankles. Then the hands that weren’t there whisked her to the beach, where Onua waited with a blanket. Daine was put gently on her feet, but her knees gave. Onua caught her before she fell.
Numair strode down the beach toward them, his face like a thundercloud. Black fire shot with white light gathered around his outstretched hand. Sarge grabbed up a quiver of javelins, Buri her double-curved bow. Both raced to attack the brown creature lumbering up onto shore.
Daine saw them just in time. “No, don’t!” She threw herself in front of the animal. “Don’t!” she screeched when fire left Numair’s fingers, flying at them. He twisted his hand, and it vanished.
Clutching the blanket around her, she faced the one who had tried to kill her. He returned her look with huge, liquid brown eyes set in a pointed face capped by a small crest. His body was wide in the center and pointed at both ends. Covered with slick, blond brown fur that went light and shaggy around his head, he waddled toward her on fins that ended in claws. Curiously she touched his chin and lifted his head, the better to see his slitlike nostrils and small, curled-leaf ears.
Like most of the big predators she had met, he chose to speak in sounds. He chattered away in sharp, varied barks. He was confused: he’d thought she was a rival male, come to take his harem. She looked where he did: twelve furry lumps, all a fourth to a third smaller than the male, watched her from the most southern arm of the cove.
“Why did you think I was another male?” she asked, curious.
She felt like one, a king bull. He’d been terrified. He was young, and the power of her mind had convinced him she could easily take his females.
“Well, I’m no king bull,” Daine assured him, tickling his curving whiskers until he calmed down. “I’m just me—whatever that is.”
He was relieved. His harem was safe.
“May I visit after supper?” she asked.
Food? Pictures of fat, juicy fish were in his mind, and the knowledge he couldn’t leave the females to hunt.
She promised to bring something. It seemed the least she could do, after giving him such a scare. He barked his thanks and slipped into the water, anxious to return to his mates before another male sneaked up on them.
“I forgot to ask what he was,” Daine muttered to herself.
“Sea lion.” Miri had come to stand beside her. “They’re touchy in the breeding season. The way he went for you, it looked like he thought you were another male, coming to steal his wives.”
“Do they eat in the breeding season?” Daine asked, curious.
“Not the beachmasters. If they hunt, another male will take their harems. They can go two months without food—Wave-walker defend us—look!”
A huge shape, far bigger than the sea lions, shot out of the water at the mouth of the cove: a great, lumpy gray thing that cleared the water and plunged back in with a tremendous splash.
“I can’t believe they came so close to the land,” Miri whispered.
“They who?” Daine’s heart was thudding. “Is that a fish?”
Miri shook her head. “They suckle their young, like furred animals.”
“Mammals,” Daine supplied, from what Numair had taught her.
“Oh. That was a humpback whale—whales are the biggest things in the sea. They sing, you know.”
Daine grabbed her friend’s arm. “What d’you mean, sing?”
“Well, not singing, not like us. They talk in sounds—whistles, some of them, and moans—eerie noises. You should hear them from a boat in the middle of the ocean. It comes right through the wood, and fills the air.”
Supper was ready by the time Daine had washed in a freshwater creek and put on dry clothes. She ate little, pondering the whale songs and her failure to reach the singers. After chores, she gathered up extra food and h
er bedroll.
“No lessons?” Numair asked quietly.
“I promised I’d bring him something to eat. And I do need a holiday.” She looked away, rather than meet his eyes and see the disappointment in them.
“If that’s what you want. Good night, then.” But he watched her all the way as she walked down to the sea lions.
The beachmaster greeted her—and her food—with enthusiasm, and let one of his wives show the girl the first of that spring’s new pups. When she slept, it was with her cheek pillowed on a yearling’s flank, and with heavy, fishy-smelling bodies ranged all around her.
The badger came. His fur was puffed out; he was very, very angry.
“I have lost patience with you,” he snarled. “If you were my kit, I’d knock you tail over snout. When will you stop being stubborn? I didn’t guide you all this way so you could fail to learn what you must! Tell these people what happened at that town of yours. Tell them what you’re afraid of! Did you think I would send you to more hunters?”
“Predators,” she told him.
With a smack of one heavy paw he knocked her onto her behind and jumped onto her chest. “Don’t talk back, youngster. Have you no sense? Your time is running out! Soon the storm will be here. Lives depend on learning your lessons. I realize you are only a kit, but even you must see more is at stake than your fear of the hunt. Now, promise me you will tell them.” She hesitated, and the badger snarled. “Promise me!”
He bore down on her with his will, thrusting his face into hers. She wondered later if it was the force of his mind, or the overpowering reek of his supper (decayed rabbit and a few worms), that made her surrender. “I promise.”
“Tomorrow, and not one day later.” He climbed off her chest, and she could breathe. She sat up, pulling air into her squashed lungs.
“Well, you’re a good enough girl,” he grumbled. It was as much of an apology from him as she would get. “I just worry about you, and things are moving so fast.” He lifted his nose and sniffed. “Phew—these friends of yours stink of fish!”
