by Clare Bell
“Yes, cub. Did he use words?”
She felt her eyes grow wide as she crouched and he stood over her. Was it the night’s touch that made him seem almost menacing?
“Ratha.”
She backed away from him. A hanging frond touched her back and she jumped. She whined miserably. “Thakur, I don’t understand. Everyone knows that the Un-Named Ones don’t speak. They can’t. They aren’t clever enough.”
Thakur drew back his whiskers and Ratha heard him snarl to himself, “Yes, Meoran. You believe the clanless ones are witless as well. Teach it to the cubs and see how the clan fares.”
“Thakur, the Un-Named can’t speak any more than a herdbeast can,” Ratha said hunching her shoulders stubbornly.
He sighed. His voice grew calm, changing him back into her teacher again. He paced beside her, licking her behind the ears. “I’m sorry, small one. I did not mean to frighten you. Perhaps I should take you back to Narir’s den.” He lifted his head. “This night is strange. I smell things that make me uneasy. This night is not for a cub.”
Ratha sat up and groomed some of the dried leaves out of her fur. Then they went on.
At first, Ratha could think only of the stranger whose eyes had glowed at her from the old oak. Was he one of the Un-Named? And why had Thakur asked her such strange things? There were no answers to her questions. Not yet.
Things moved abruptly at night, making Ratha turn her head and flatten her ears. She was much more aware of motion at night than during the day. Movement she seldom noticed in daylight, such as a grass blade swaying or a leaf falling, brought her head around and made her whiskers bristle. It was not fear, although night was fearsome. The pulse in her throat was excitement. She felt alive this night. All her senses were extended and her skin tingled as if the sensitive whiskers on her face were growing all over her body.
There was a rustle in the bushes ahead on the trail. Thakur skidded to a stop and Ratha nearly ran into him. Over his back, she could see a dark form fleet away.
“There he is again,” she whispered. “I did see him!”
“Arr! Fool, to show yourself!” Thakur hissed into the darkness.
“He is a bad hunter, Thakur,” Ratha said. “He is noisy, like me. He is stupid,” she added, wagging her tail arrogantly. “All of the Un-Named are stupid and I am not afraid of any of them. Ptahh.” She spat.
“Hurry then, yearling,” Thakur said dryly. “We will need your courage in the meadow tonight.”
He took up the trail again and she followed.
* * *
Teeth ground together, a drawn-out groaning sound. The herdbeast belched and made wet mushy noises as it began chewing its cud. Ratha crept near, shaking her paws every few steps. The air was moist and the grass dewy. A light mist made the moonlight hazy and muffled the crickets’ song. The animal shifted on its belly. It snuffled and grunted as it watched her with small suspicious eyes set forward in a long block-shaped skull. It flicked large ears, like those of a three-horn, and swallowed the food it was chewing.
Ratha drew her whiskers back. The idea of eating grass disgusted her and the idea of bringing it up again and re-chewing it was even worse. Meat was much better, she thought. It was chewed once and when it went down, it stayed down, unless it had been eaten too fast.
The animal clamped its jaws together and eyed the cub ill-temperedly. Although it lacked horns, the creature used its big head like a battering ram. The barrel body and short legs made it look vulnerable and clumsy. Several of the herders had earned broken ribs by assuming it was.
The animal belched again. Ratha wrinkled her nose and padded away.
She glanced up and down the meadow at other herders who stood in a ring around the flock, their faces to the forest. She yawned and stretched until her tail quivered and saw an answering gape from another shadow in the mist. Nothing was going to happen tonight, she thought. The fright on the trail was all the excitement she was going to get. And perhaps Thakur was right and her Un-Named apparition was just a clan-cub.
She ambled past a fern thicket and heard a pair of dapplebacks snorting and pushing at each other in the dark. Dapplebacks usually climbed on top of each other in the spring season, but these two were starting early. Ratha smelled the rich lure-scent of the mare, the sweat and rut of the little stallion. The odor repelled her and fascinated her, making her think of the scents on trees that clan males had sprayed.
The odor also made her think of Thakur and the way he had licked her behind the ears on the trail. She listened to the dapplebacks bumping together and the little stallion’s rhythmic grunts, her tail twitching. These thoughts were new, not cub-thoughts at all, and she approached them as warily in her mind as she had approached the belching herdbeast.
Her feet were getting damp from standing in one place. She shook them. The mist was growing thicker. She decided to find Thakur.
His scent was mixed in with herdbeast smells, forest smells and the smells of other herders. Ratha separated it from all the others and followed it to him. He was crouched on top of the sunning stone, his tail curled across his feet, speaking to Fessran who stood nearby.
Ratha trotted quickly toward them and skidded to a stop, feeling the wet grass pull between her pads. Thakur cocked his head at her. She walked to Fessran and touched noses.
“Clan herder, two of your dapplebacks are hiding in the fern thicket,” she said. “I can chase them back to the herd for you.”
“No, Ratha. Leave them be. I’ll look after them,” Fessran answered in her soft voice.
“That little stallion doesn’t stop, does he? You’ll have enough dappleback colts to feed the clan well.”
“Yarrr. Thakur, you think only of your belly.” Fessran launched a disgusted swipe in his direction and Thakur ducked.
“I am pleased that she has done so well,” Fessran said seriously, looking at Ratha.
“Yes, I am also pleased. There are not many of the female cubs who have the ability, but she does and she has worked hard.”
Ratha was startled to see Fessran bristle.
“Have you grown as short-whiskered as Meoran?” she snarled. “The female cubs have no lack of ability. Our fleabag of a clan leader won’t let me train them! Drani’s daughter, Singra, has the same talent as Ratha. But her father forbade it and Meoran said he would chew my ears if I taught my art to any cubs except the ones he selected.” Fessran lowered her head and lashed her tail. “And Singra was not among the ones chosen last season or this season. Now it is too late and she grows soft and fat. Yarrr!”
“Gently, Fessran,” Thakur soothed. “You know how hard I fought for Ratha.”
“You only succeeded because Baire still lived. Now Meoran stands as clan leader and no she-cubs train as herders. Ptahh! He would mate me to a gray-coat and put one of his whelps in my place. How I hate him, Thakur!”
“Ssss, there are other ears in the meadow tonight. Be wary of your words, Fessran.”
“Wise Thakur. You always were more cautious than I.” Fessran smoothed her fur. “Those two dapplebacks should be finished. I’ll run them back to the herd.”
“Fessran.” She stopped and looked back at Thakur. “I’ll do my best for Ratha. You are the one I can’t protect. Choose your words with care and you may be safe.”
“My temper often chooses my words for me.” Fessran’s whiskers twitched ruefully and she trotted away.
Thakur sighed and settled himself on the damp stone, fluffing his fur. Ratha lifted a hind foot and scratched herself.
Across the meadow a herdbeast bawled. Thakur sat up. Another animal bellowed. Hooves beat, rushing through the grass. A harsh yowl began. It rose to a shriek and another answered. Ratha jumped up, her fur on end. Thakur leaped off his perch.
“That wasn’t a clan voice,” he said grimly as Ratha bounded to join him. She saw other herders running; heard wailing calls and snapping branches.
“Yearling, stay here,” Thakur said sharply.
A form appeared
in the mist and galloped toward them. It was Fessran again.
“Thakur, the raiders have broken in at the end of the meadow. They’ve already pulled down two deer. Hurry!”
Thakur turned to Ratha. “Watch the dapplebacks, yearling. Keep them together.”
“What if the raiders come?”
“They won’t.” Fessran showed her teeth. “Not this far.”
“If anyone attacks my herd, I’ll fight.” Ratha lashed her tail eagerly.
“You will not.” Thakur glared at her. “You will climb the nearest tree and stay there until I call you. The clan can lose a few dapplebacks. Not you.”
“Arrr. I want to go with you, Thakur.”
“This is not cub-tussling, Ratha. I told you that before we left. You are not to fight. Is that understood?”
“Yes-s-s.” Ratha sighed.
A herdbeast cried out and then choked as it fell. Muffled yowling came through the ground mist.
“Hurry, Thakur,” Fessran hissed and the two sprang up and galloped away, leaving Ratha alone.
She shivered and looked up at the sky. The moon was a hazy smear of white, the stars were gone. She jogged toward the scattered herd of dapplebacks and began circling it, driving the little horses into a tighter bunch. They sensed the danger and were restive, squealing and milling. The little stallion shepherded his flock of mares together and tried to separate them from the other dapplebacks. Ratha drove them all back, nipping at their flanks. Once she had the herd packed together, she kept circling it, staying far enough away not to panic the animals, but close enough to catch any strays.
She stopped, panting, flicking dewdrops off her whiskers. She listened to drumming hooves and shrill cries from the other end of the meadow. A body fell. Another herdbeast down, she thought. She flattened her ears. None of the Un-Named dung-eaters would touch Fessran’s dapplebacks, she promised herself. The little horses stood together, their heads raised, their stiff manes quivering. Ratha gained her breath and began circling the herd again. Running kept her from thinking; kept her from being frightened.
On the opposite side of the herd, she caught a glimpse of something moving in the fog. A low, slender form; not a herdbeast. Ratha bared her teeth and dashed around the outside of the flock. She stopped and sniffed. She knew that smell. She nosed the ground. The smell was fading in the dampness, but footprints were there. Her tail began to flick as she peered through the mist in all directions. Where had he gone?
A sudden shrill scream told her. Ratha plunged into the middle of the herd, sending animals scattering in every direction. The killer was there, dragging his thrashing prey through the grass. Ratha opened her jaws in a full-throated roar as she charged at him. The raider jerked his head up, pulling his teeth from the dappleback’s neck before Ratha barreled into him, knocking him sprawling.
She scrambled to her feet. She had barely time to see his hate-filled yellow eyes before he leaped at her.
Ratha flipped onto her back and pedaled furiously, raking her adversary’s belly with her hind claws. She felt her front paw strike his chin as he snapped at her flailing feet. He missed, but his head continued down and before she could knock him away, his teeth raked the skin over her breastbone. She seized his ear and felt her teeth meet through the skin. As he dragged her along, she twisted her head and tasted oily fur when she scored his cheek with her small fangs. He dived for her belly and got a mouthful of her claws. His rough tongue rasped her pads; his teeth sliced the top of her foot. One claw caught and then tore free.
He seized her ruff. Her head snapped back as he threw her to one side. Her chest burned and throbbed. Warm blood crawled like fleas through her fur. Ratha writhed and wriggled, but she only felt the teeth sink deeper into her ruff as he lifted her and threw her down again. One heavy paw crushed her ribs and a triumphant growl rumbled above her. The teeth loosened from her ruff and the paw turned her over. When everything stopped spinning, she saw two glittering eyes and fangs bared for a last strike at her throat.
In one motion, Ratha curled over and lunged. Her teeth clashed against his and she felt something break. She grabbed his lower jaw and bit hard until her cheek muscles ached. His saliva wet her whiskers and was sour in her mouth. Blood welled around her teeth, tasting rich and salty as bone marrow.
He screamed and shook her off.
Ratha rolled away, staggered to her feet, spitting blood. He was crouched opposite her. She felt her chest burning and her ribs heaved. If he caught her again, he would kill her. Why hadn’t she listened to Thakur?
He pounced. She jumped aside. He whirled, lunged, and again she dodged him, making her shaking legs obey her. An idea began to form in her mind as she sprang away from him again. Thakur had trained her to trick the herdbeasts. The three-horn stag had been as intent on killing her as this Un-Named enemy. The Un-Named, Meoran had said to all the cubs, were no smarter than herdbeasts. Could she use her training to trick this killer?
She watched him carefully as he gathered for another attack. She waited until he was almost on top of her and jumped straight up, coming down behind him. She spun around and watched him shake his head in confusion until he sniffed, looked back over his shoulder, whirled and pounced. Ratha saw him land on empty grass, a tail-length away from her. She grinned at him, her tongue lolling.
The Un-Named One snarled, showing a broken lower fang. Ratha waggled her whiskers at him from a safe distance. He rushed her again and she bounced away. She started to lead him in circles until she had him almost chasing his own tail. She danced around exuberantly, taunting him.
“Dung-eater! Scavenger!” she hissed as he staggered dizzily. He glared at her, his eyes burning. “Cub-catcher! Bone-chewer!” Ratha paused and caught her breath. “Poor stupid bone-chewer,” she hissed. “You can’t even understand what I’m saying, can you?” The Un-Named One stood panting as Ratha danced around him. “Yarrr, you couldn’t pounce on your mother’s tail,” she said, showing her teeth at him. “When Thakur gets back, he’ll chew your other ear off, you eater of mud-croakers and chewer of bones!”
“Clan cub, you have lots of words. Say them now before I tear out your throat.”
Ratha froze. Her eyes went wide.
“What are you staring at?” the other said.
“Y ... you.” she faltered. “I never thought. ...”
“That the clanless ones could speak?”
Ratha stared at him, her mouth open.
“ ‘Poor bone-chewer,’ ” he mimicked, “‘you can’t even understand what I’m saying, can you?’ ” Before she had time to answer, he leaped at her. She saw his paw coming and ducked, but she wasn’t quick enough. He clouted her on the side of the head, knocking her down into the wet grass. By the time she staggered to her feet and her vision cleared, he was dragging his prey toward the forest. She lurched after him, tripped over her paws and fell on her face.
“I don’t care if you can speak,” she yelled after him, “you are still a scavenger and bone-chewer!” The only answer was the muffled sound of a body being dragged across soggy ground. Ratha tried to get up, but her paws wouldn’t stay underneath her. She sprawled miserably on her front. The dapplebacks were scattered all over the meadow, easy prey for other raiders. There was no way she could get them rounded up before Fessran and Thakur got back. She put her chin down on her front paws, wondering if Fessran was going to leave enough of her in one piece for Thakur to punish.
CHAPTER THREE
Ratha woke shivering. The heavy moisture on her coat was soaking through to her skin. Droplets from her brow whiskers dripped onto her nose. She blinked and shook her head. Fearing that she had dozed away the rest of the night, she peered into the mist for signs of dawn or of Thakur’s return. She saw neither. The sky was still murky overhead and the half-moon a faint wash of light above the dark mass of the trees.
Ratha drew her front paws underneath her and pushed herself up. Pain lanced across her chest and into her forelegs. She felt one of the bite-wounds on her neck pu
ll open as she bent her head down to lick her front. She coaxed her hindquarters up and stood, hanging her head. Everything ached, from her teeth to her tail. Neither Thakur nor Fessran had returned.
The wind blew past her ears with a hollow early-morning wail. It had no effect on the mist, which only grew thicker. Ratha could barely see the grass a tail-length ahead. She tried a step and winced as the motion jarred the pain from her jaws into her head, where it sat throbbing behind her eyes. Why hadn’t she listened to Thakur and climbed a tree when the raider came?
Ratha felt something wedged in her teeth, behind one upper fang. With her tongue, she worked it loose and felt it. A scrap of skin with slimy fur on one side and bitter-tasting wax on the other. A piece of the raider’s ear. She grimaced, spat the ear-scrap out and pawed it aside, feeling a certain grim pleasure.
She tried a few more limping steps, clamping her jaws together to keep her head from ringing. As she walked, the burning knot in her chest loosened, freeing her stride. She spotted something solid in the fog and broke into a shaky trot toward it, hoping it was one of her escaped dapplebacks. She drew her whiskers back in disgust when she realized that she’d been stalking the sunning rock. Well, at least she knew where she was. She hopped on top of the stone and sniffed, knowing that the moist, still air captured and held scent-trails. There. A faint trace, but growing stronger. She inhaled the musky odor of the little horses and climbed down off the sunning rock after them.
Ratha found the dappleback stallion and his mares huddled together, the mist swirling around their legs, their stiff manes and coats flecked with sweat and dew. The faint trace of moonlight made the dapplebacks’ eyes phosphorescent as they watched her. The stallion reared and whinnied, showing his short, pointed canine teeth. Carefully she cut in behind the herd and, as the horses retreated from her, guided them to the sunning rock. She circled the flock, driving the dapplebacks together into a tight bunch. Some of the stragglers returned to the herd, but Ratha knew from the individual scents missing from the herd-smell that many more of the animals were lost or slain.