by Clare Bell
Ratha recoiled and spat. “We have no need for a mange-ridden scavenger who thinks too much of himself.”
“Orange-eyes has sores because no food. Eating will make better.”
“I told you we don’t want you. Now go.”
The Firekeepers drew their brands aside to let the Un-Named One slink away, but he turned instead to Ratha. “Now this one wants only to die by clan fangs. Let ugly herder with kinked tail come forward and kill Orange-Eyes.”
“Gladly,” Shoman growled from the back. Thakur felt Shoman push past him roughly, leaving his fur rumpled.
“Shoman, keep your place!” Ratha narrowed her eyes at him, then at the Un-Named One. “So you think you are clever and brave enough to join us.” She raised her head. “Fessran, the dance-hunt is unfinished. Let the Firekeepers take their place.”
Again the ritual started, the quarry now a single enemy. At Ratha’s order, not a claw touched Orange-Eyes, but the torchbearers’ steps took them close to him, and they thrust their brands at him, flaunting the Red Tongue’s power. Each time a flaming torch came near the Un-Named One, he jumped and shuddered, but he held his ground. The Firekeepers’ lunges came closer until fire licked silver fur. Orange-Eyes fell on his side, no longer able to keep his balance, but he refused to either flee or cower.
Fessran, sitting next to Thakur, never took her eyes from the stranger. Her tail curled and twitched with suppressed excitement.
“Enough!” Ratha cried.
The torchbearers fell back. The silvercoat crept to the base of the sunning rock. Thakur heard the murmurs around him and knew that the stranger’s courage had impressed even those who bore the greatest hatred for the Un-Named.
The silver lifted his streaked and smeared muzzle to Ratha and stared directly into her eyes. “Orange-Eyes is worthy. Orange-Eyes stays.”
She crouched on the edge of the rock, her lips drawn back to show the tips of her fangs. For a moment Thakur thought she would pounce on the Un-Named One and shred the rest of his face for his impudence. As green and fire-colored eyes met, Thakur saw in Ratha’s gaze a reluctant and surprised admission of respect. There was a further moment of tension between them; then she wrinkled her nose at the stranger and relaxed.
“All right, Orange-Eyes is worthy,” she said. “He stays, at least for now.” She got to her feet, cutting off the mutters and growls of astonishment and outrage. “The gathering is ended. The Firekeepers may eat now. To your dens, the rest of you. There are still beasts to herd and day will come soon.”
She waited until the group had begun to disperse before calling, “Thakur, come to the sunning rock.”
His tail curled in surprise. Ratha jumped down and stood beside Orange-Eyes. The Un-Named One had regained his feet, but only by leaning heavily against the base of the rock.
“Clan teacher,” Ratha began, “since you have the most patience of any of us, I ask you to take charge of him for the night. Give him some meat from the Firekeepers’ kill and show him the stream where he may wash the blood away. If he is still alive tomorrow, bring him to my den.”
Chapter Two
Ratha drifted up out of deep slumber. She became aware of the damp, chilly ground under her chin. She squirmed further back into her den, into the warmth still held by dry leaves and grass, leaving only her nose poking out into the early morning wind. When the breeze died, the sun bathed her muzzle and dried the dew on her whiskers. She was slipping back into sleep again when a cold shadow fell across her face.
She came awake instantly, jerking her head up and pulling her paws beneath her. She squinted at the two figures who stood against the sunrise. One she recognized as Thakur, but the other she couldn’t place. Who was this skeleton with such a ragged pelt and strange long fangs? Then she caught the stranger’s pungent stink and winced.
“Last night,” said Thakur’s voice softly. Ratha didn’t need his words to remember.
“You’re early,” she grumbled, crawling from the den and trying to smooth her rumpled fur with her tongue. She was further disconcerted when neither of her visitors said anything. They waited while she stretched and groomed. She found herself taking longer than she usually did, for the stranger’s direct gaze irritated her.
“I see he survived the night despite the Firekeepers’ games,” she said to Thakur, allowing her tail one irritable wag. She saw his ears swivel back slightly and she imagined what he must be thinking. The Firekeepers’ game? No, Ratha, the dance-hunt is yours and you gave the order for it to continue.
At least he had the tact not to speak the thought aloud. She shook her head, making her ears flap. Had she really turned her victory celebration into a test of courage for the Un-Named One? And had she promised him he could stay with the clan as a reward for enduring the Red Tongue’s terror? She groaned softly to herself. I was half-mad last night. I think we all were.
She sat up, curling her tail over her feet. “Bring him here and let me look at him.” She immediately regretted her request when Thakur led his charge in front of her. The full sunlight did nothing to disguise his appearance and seemed to intensify his smell. New blisters overlay old mange and along his ridged back and sunken flanks ulcers showed from festering fly bites. Where parasites and fire hadn’t ravaged him, there were the bites and scratches from the frenzied Firekeepers.
Ratha felt sick and ashamed. Driving him away or giving him an honorable death would have been better than unleashing the torchbearers on him. He would have died last night had I not seen the light in his eyes. Why didn’t you die, she thought at him sulkily. Then I wouldn’t have to bother with you.
She caught the scent of medicinal herbs and knew that Thakur had applied a chewed-leaf poultice to the Un-Named One’s burns. They probably looked and smelled better than they would have otherwise. Thank you for showing him some kindness, Thakur. She looked at the herding teacher and felt her gaze soften.
“Lie down if you want,” she said to the Un-Named One. He dropped his hindquarters, but the rest of him remained upright. Ratha felt irritation creeping up on her again. She pressed her tail under one hind foot to keep it from wagging. Every look and move the stranger made seemed softly defiant. Inside that starvation-ravaged carcass, she could see the build of a powerful young male, and she found herself wondering what sort of opponent he would be at his full strength.
“Do you still wish to join us?” she asked.
“Orange-Eyes came to join clan. Is all Orange-Eyes wants, leader.”
“Here in the clan we use names when we speak to each other. You know Thakur. I am Ratha. You will also be given a clan name if you stay with us.”
“Will take clan name and learn clan ways, Ratha-leader.” The silvercoat flinched at his mistake and added, “Is not ‘Ratha-leader’ but ‘Ratha,’ yes?”
She relaxed. He was trying to please. Perhaps his defiance was all in her own mind.
“Yes.” She took her foot off her tail.
“I’ll take him to the meadow with me and he can watch while I teach the cubs,” Thakur offered. He turned to the Un-Named One. “Do you feel strong enough?”
“Legs still ...,” the other said, groping for a word. He raised a paw and flailed it, giving Ratha a rueful grin.
“Shaky,” Thakur supplied.
“Legs still shaky, but belly much better. Not learning bad for Un-Named One, yes?”
“Yes, you do seem to be learning quickly,” Ratha agreed. “All right, Thakur. Take him with you. If you want more leaves for his burns, I found a new patch by the stream near the meadow trail.”
“Good. I’ve nearly stripped my old one bare.”
Something small and active jumped from the Un-Named One’s pelt and landed near Ratha’s foot. She hopped away as he scratched himself.
“I suggest, Thakur, that you make him roll in the fleabane before you do anything else, or we’ll all be scratching.”
During the next few days, curiosity nagged at Ratha despite her trust in the herding teacher. It was too s
oon to tell how Orange-Eyes would take to life among the Named. Thakur did say that his strength was coming back and he displayed a sharp interest in the teaching sessions, but as the days went by, she itched to see for herself.
Meetings with the Firekeepers and minor disputes over whose den was dug too close to whose kept Ratha busy. This morning she decided to creep away before anyone else could find her.
The day was bright and hot. Sun and shade dappled the trail through the broken forest to the meadow. Birds flew from oak to scrub thorn, dipping so low over the trail they nearly brushed her back. When she reached the meadow, she made her way through the dry grass, craning her neck to peer above the waving stems and spot the herd. There it was; a small flock of three-horns and dapplebacks that the herding teacher had taken from the larger herd in order to exercise his students.
Thakur and the yearling cubs stood together on one side of the flock. The youngsters gathered around him, their ears cocked, their spotted rumps squashed together, their short tails lifted. He was explaining something; she could hear the rise and fall of his voice, but couldn’t understand what he was saying. The cubs seemed attentive. No. Wait. Wasn’t one missing? Where was Drani’s son Bundi?
Ratha scanned the meadow for a glimpse of spotted fur. There he was, the foolish litterling! Making feints at a three-horn fawn while he should have been listening to his teacher.
And who was that lying in the shade of a scrub oak? The Un-Named One, watching Bundi through slitted eyes. Ratha saw him tense and scramble to his feet.
His motion thrust her gaze back to the misbehaving cub, but she could only see a cloud of dust where he had been. She leaped up, straining to catch sight of the cub. A three-horn doe marched out of the rolling haze, her nose-horn lowered and ready.
Ratha’s tail and whiskers went stiff as she sought for a trace of the youngster, fearing she would see him down in the grass with a smashed foreleg or jaw. His shrill squeal drew her gaze to the cub, now flattened in the dirt. He backed away from the deer, his nape bristling, his ears flat.
She drew back her lips and caught the sour taste of fear-scent in the wind. Her hindquarters bunched and she launched herself through fibrous grass, feeling it rake her on legs and chest.
No, Bundi! she thought, remembering her own training. Never show the animals you are afraid ...
The deer stalked after Bundi, her head low, fawns bleating at her sides. Even as Ratha begged her body for more speed, she felt she was too far away to help.
Had he been one of the other students, he might have escaped without her aid. She knew Bundi couldn’t. He had neither the speed nor agility to evade the three-horn. Never again will I give Thakur a weakling cub to train!
She saw the herding teacher stop talking to his students and stare intently at the far edge of the herd, his ears straining forward. Cubs scattered in all directions as he plunged through their midst and dashed toward his threatened student.
The three-horn gathered herself for the savage rush that would leave Bundi writhing in the dirt ... before Thakur could reach him.
I won’t reach him either, Ratha thought with sudden despair. She filled her lungs and roared, “Use your eyes, Bundi! Stare her down! Use your eyes!”
The cub only cowered, too frightened to obey. The grass rippled between the young herder and the deer. A silver-gray head popped up, ears and whiskers back, orange eyes intense. The deer halted and tossed her head, trying to avoid the interloper’s gaze. Then, with a whistling snort, the three-horn charged.
Ratha saw only a gray blur as the Un-Named One streaked toward the deer. He threw himself high in the air before the three-horn, his paws spread and his tail flared. The deer skidded and fell back on her haunches. She reared, striking out with cloven forefeet and bellowing her anger. One foot grazed the Un-Named One as he landed. He yowled and scurried a short distance away.
Ratha sprinted toward Bundi. In an instant his terrified squall met her ears and his spotted pelt appeared before her in the rolling dust. Without breaking stride, she snatched him up by the scruff and galloped away with him bouncing in her jaws. He was too heavy to carry any distance, so she dropped him when they were out of range of the three-horn’s charge. She looked back for the Un-Named One.
No new wounds showed on his coat although his ribs were still painfully evident and his flanks drawn. The three-horn swung around, now intent on him. He planted his feet wide apart and stared at the deer, forcing her to meet his gaze. She pawed the ground, trying to start a new charge. Now the orange eyes had trapped her. No matter how the herdbeast might throw her head about, she couldn’t escape that fiery gaze.
The Un-Named One took one deliberate step toward the deer. Ratha watched carefully. An animal who learned it could defy the herders was too dangerous to keep. If the three-horn doe charged again, she would be clan meat that day. If the Un-Named One could stare her down and break her will, she would live to nurse her fawns.
She saw Thakur come to a halt. He, too, was watching. The deer lifted a hind leg and placed it nervously behind the other. The Un-Named One took another step. The three-horn’s defiance broke and she backed away.
“Enough,” Thakur said, nudging the silvercoat aside. He took over and soon had the deer in full retreat. With a disgusted bray, the three-horn wheeled and galloped back into the herd. The fawns followed on spindly legs.
Ratha let out her breath. She heard a smaller sound beside her. Bundi flinched when she looked down on him, and she imagined how he must be feeling. Not only had his foolishness gotten him in danger; he had to be rescued by the clan leader. No, not really, Ratha thought. I wasn’t the one who stopped the deer in mid-charge.
“Thakur will chew your ears for your foolishness,” she said roughly to the cub, “but at least you’re alive.”
The herding teacher had taken the Un-Named into a patch of shade. Ratha trotted across to Thakur with Bundi trailing behind. “Is the Un-Named One hurt?” she asked.
“No, just tired.” He turned to Bundi. “Cub, you know what you did. Go over to the side of the meadow and think about it. I’ll speak to you later.”
Chapter Three
A fitful wind blew against Thakur’s whiskers. He caught a scent he hadn’t smelled all summer: the scent of rain. It was only midday, but the sky above the meadow had started to darken. Thakur lifted his muzzle to the clouds and saw other herders raising their heads.
The herders circled the restless deer and dapplebacks. Thakur joined them in driving the animals together. Dust rose from beneath many trotting hooves and caught in his throat. There was dust in his eyes, between his toes and on his whiskers. His pelt felt dirty and gritty right down to the roots of his hairs. He had given up trying to lick all of it out, for the taste of it on his tongue made him gag and the next day’s work would only add more. Everyone in the clan was beginning to look the same dusty color. Even the Un-Named One’s silver fur had turned mousy, giving his fire-colored eyes a startling brightness.
The dapplebacks whinnied and bucked as the herders drove them under the old oak, but Thakur knew that, if the storm brought thunder, they would be less likely to bolt if they were sheltered. The three-horns spread out under other scattered trees, whose few dried leaves offered them little of either food or shelter.
Pale sunlight faded as clouds massed overhead. The herders and their animals lost their shadows and the sky’s gray deepened. More torchbearers appeared at the trailhead, carrying the Red Tongue and wood to feed it. Thakur saw the Un-Named One trailing behind them, carrying a small bundle of twigs in his jaws. Although Ratha hadn’t yet assigned him a task, he had chosen to help the Firekeepers.
The Un-Named One, who was still called Orange-Eyes for lack of a clan name, delivered his mouthful of wood to the nearest Firekeeper who needed it and joined Thakur near the oak.
“They bring the Red Tongue today early,” Orange-Eyes said in answer to Thakur’s glance. “Fessran said the herders see bristlemanes and there may be attack before dark.�
� He still spoke awkwardly, but his mastery of clan speech had improved in a surprisingly short time.
They watched the Firekeepers build small piles of kindling at equal intervals around the edge of the herd and set them alight. The torchbearers tried to locate the guard-fires beneath overhanging pine boughs or thorn-bushes that were high enough not to catch and would give some shelter, but several had to be built out in the open.
Soon a wide ring of small flames, each guarded by a Firekeeper, surrounded the deer and dapplebacks. The sharp scent of woodsmoke mixed with the blowing dust and the smell of the coming storm.
Something struck the ground at Thakur’s feet, kicking up a puff of dust. A drop hit his nose. Thunder grumbled and the three-horns bleated. A gust of wind came, tearing at the grass and whipping the guard-fires. Firekeepers pawed at the ground around each flame, scraping away the dried weeds and litter so the fire-creature couldn’t escape. They know how hungry the Red Tongue can be, he thought.
Again he lifted his nose to the sky. It was a smoky gray, with streaks and ripples that moved like the water in a wide, slow river. Rain would be a welcome gift after the parching heat that had lasted past the summer season, but a downpour might kill some of the fire-creatures, opening up a vulnerable place in the ring of defense around the herd. Thakur felt more heavy drops on his head and his ears. This would be no light shower.
The rain fell faster, beating on his pelt. He didn’t usually enjoy getting wet but the rain was warm enough to be pleasant and he was dirty enough to welcome a bath. He stretched himself and fluffed his fur letting the rain trickle through to his skin.
Thakur found himself watching the streaks made by the rain on his companion’s dusty flank. Orange-Eyes had recovered rapidly from his bout with starvation. His wounds had healed and his mange was receding, leaving a few sparse areas that already bore the fuzz of new fur.