Clan Ground (The Second Book of the Named)

Chapter Twelve

The face of the sunning rock was lit with orange as Ratha emerged into the night meadow. Against it, she could see the forms of the assembled Firekeepers, and in front of it, someone paced back and forth. Ratha could hear the drone of a voice mixed in with the hiss and roar of the bonfire.

Irritation stung her and quickly turned to anger. The Firekeepers were meeting again without her permission and without her knowledge. Again they had built the nest for their overfed fire right at the base of her sunning rock.

Too angry to feel unwelcome, Ratha galloped across the meadow and pushed her way through the gathered torchbearers until she faced the firelit form in front. She felt the warning touch of fear when she realized that it was Shongshar, not Fessran.

She looked for the Firekeeper leader and found her sitting off to the side. Her eyes were narrowed and cold, but suddenly they opened and a false welcoming expression forced itself onto Fessran’s face. That look on the face of one who had been a friend made Ratha’s belly twist and she looked away.

She turned instead toward the others and saw Bira sitting behind Khushi, crouching as if she wanted to hide. Nyang was in front of the crowd, gazing at Shongshar with a rapt expression and adoration glowing in his eyes. Someone else also sat in front, someone she had not expected to see.

The herder Shoman turned and stared at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. Slowly he lowered his head and began to lick his foreleg. The motion drew Ratha’s gaze to his leg. She saw an ugly red streak that oozed and glistened in the orange light.

“Clan leader.” Fessran rose to break the tension that Ratha’s arrival had brought. “I am glad you have come. I was going to send Nyang to fetch you.”

Ratha ignored her. “Why is Shoman here? What happened to his leg?”

“Ask him,” said Shongshar and looked toward Shoman.

The herder answered, “I ... was warming myself by the herders’ fire. There were no Firekeepers there. I tried to give the Red Tongue more wood, but it grew angry and hurt me.”

“You have done wrong, Shoman,” said Fessran severely. “Only the Firekeepers may tend the Red Tongue. You should have gone and fetched one of us.”

“Why is he here?” Ratha demanded. “If he has done wrong, let Cherfan punish him since he is a herder, not a Firekeeper.”

“He has come to make amends,” answered Fessran. “He agreed to come and show the cubs what can happen if the fire-creature is angered by carelessness.”

Ratha looked again at Shoman. He crouched, huddled, nursing his leg and grimacing in pain. His glance was furtive and resentful. Fear flitted across his face as he caught Shongshar’s gaze; she knew he hadn’t come here by choice.

“All right!” she cried, suddenly sickened. “The cubs have seen enough. Shoman, go to Thakur and have your wound tended.”

Shoman slunk off into the darkness, limping. The look he gave Ratha was still heavy with resentment, but there was a strange tinge of relief in his eyes.

“We are glad you have come, clan leader,” said Fessran. “You have seen with your own eyes the danger the Red Tongue presents to herders, who are not trained to care for it properly.”

Ratha waited, trying not to twitch her tail. Fessran eyed her and continued, “As leader of the Firekeepers, I am asking you to forbid anyone to approach the Red Tongue unless one of us gives permission. This would prevent any of the herders from injuring themselves as Shoman did.”

“I am glad you are concerned about those who provide meat for the clan,” she answered, letting a little sarcasm creep into her voice. “However, I don’t think the herders would like it if they had to ask a Firekeeper for permission to warm themselves or see by the Red Tongue’s light.”

“Cubs do not like being forbidden to do dangerous things, but we must restrict them to keep them safe. Those who do not understand the fire-creature’s ways should not meddle with it,” said Fessran.

Ratha gathered her temper as she faced the Firekeeper leader. “Fessran, I understand your worry and I agree that there is some danger, but I wish to hear from the herders themselves before I make any decisions.”

“That is reasonable, clan leader,” Fessran answered.

Those who do not understand the fire-creature’s ways should not meddle with it. Ratha turned to the group, repeating Fessran’s words silently in her mind. Did that include Thakur and his treeling as well as ignorant herders?

She surveyed the gathering, looking briefly into each face, as if she could find an answer there. Some of the Firekeepers answered her gaze directly, some held hidden defiance and others were uncertain or afraid.

“All of you know the herding teacher Thakur and the treeling he carries on his back,” said Ratha. “Some of you were at the gathering where he showed us how Aree could tend the fire-creature.” She looked meaningfully at each one of them. “I have just spoken with Thakur. The treeling is gone. We can find no trace of him. I came here to ask if anyone has seen him or knows where he might be.”

“When did this happen?” Fessran said, and Ratha heard honest concern in her voice.

“This evening. He had to leave Aree in his den while he went to get thornwood. He says he wasn’t gone long and when he came back, Aree had vanished. Does anyone know where the treeling is?”

The Firekeepers looked at each other and muttered negatives. Ratha waited.

“Perhaps the tree-creature ran away and returned to his own kind,” said Shongshar, after a long silence.

“That is possible, but Thakur and I don’t think so.”

Fessran crossed in front of the fire and sat down beside Shongshar. “Poor Thakur. He really liked that queer little animal. I didn’t think that he should have taught the creature how to play with the Red Tongue, but I didn’t want Thakur to lose him.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose you are wondering why he disappeared this evening, since we were to see him perform again tomorrow.”

Fessran’s gaze softened and Ratha felt less irritated with her, although she could not allow her suspicion to relax. Either Fessran knew nothing about Aree’s disappearance or she was good at deceit.

“Yes, I was wondering about that,” Ratha admitted.

“I tell you honestly that I knew nothing about it until you came to this gathering. I don’t think Shongshar knew either.” She turned to her companion. “You were with me all day, so there was no way you could have known until Ratha told us.”

“I did not know, clan leader,” Shongshar said, but Ratha found it difficult to tell whether truth was hiding behind his orange gaze. Fessran had begun to pace back and forth, her tail shaking with indignant anger.

Ratha wondered if she was outraged because Thakur’s treeling had been taken or because her Firekeepers were under suspicion.

“Hear me, torchbearers!” Fessran cried. “What has been done to Thakur is a shameful thing. I have disagreed with him, but he is my friend. If any of you have had a part in this or have knowledge that you are concealing, come forward now.”

She strode up and down in front of them, glowering at them. No one moved, except Bira, who shivered.

“Then you are all innocent,” said Fessran in a low voice. “If I am wrong and someone is hiding his guilt, then may the Red Tongue burn in his throat until his tongue falls from his mouth in cinders!”

Ratha felt her breath catch in her own throat. For a moment the Firekeeper leader looked like the old Fessran, the friend who had fought beside her against the old clan leader and whose fierce love and loyalty had sustained her during the chaotic days after Meoran’s death.

I have no right to judge you, Fessran, she thought suddenly. We have both changed more than we wished.

Fessran came to Ratha and looked her directly in the face. “Neither I nor any of the Firekeepers have done such a shameful thing,” she said. “You must accept that as truth, clan leader.”

“If I can,” Ratha answered softly as she turned to go.

Sadly she returned to Thakur and told him that she had learned nothing. Even her suspicions were difficult to justify; for now she felt she had best keep them to herself. It was possible that the treeling had run off to find a mate among his own kind, she suggested.

The next day, she helped him search for the treeling again, but they only saw wild ones who scrambled up to the tops of their trees and clung there in the swaying branches. There was a cull in the meadow that day and Ratha ate as if her belly would never be filled, but she saw that Thakur had no appetite and quickly gave up his place to the one behind him.

He went back to teaching the cubs, but his step was heavy and his scolding harsher than it had been. He closed himself off to all, even Ratha, and he rarely spoke or looked anyone in the face. He seemed to have lost his spirit along with the treeling and he faded day by day until he became like a shadow among the shadows of trees and bushes that fell across clan ground.

Ratha spent much of her time with the Firekeepers. Her major reason for doing so was to prevent gatherings of the sort that frightened cubs, but she also felt she had failed to give the Firekeepers proper guidance in their attitude toward the fire-creature. She did admit to herself that she was a little uncertain about what that attitude should be.

Fessran seemed to welcome this new attention, although Shongshar clearly did not like it. The Firekeeper leader often invited Ratha to come with her at night when she patrolled the ring of guard-fires around the meadow. They frequently had time to talk, and Ratha realized that her position as clan leader had distanced her from the one who had been her most loyal friend.

Summer had come and the warmth of the day stayed into late evening. Only in the hours before dawn did the night grow cold and dew settle on the grass. This was the time when the Firekeepers were weary, when the fires could sink low and the threat of attack was the greatest. Fessran chose this time to patrol, walking from one outpost to the next, seeing that each fire was properly tended and that there was enough wood. She offered encouragement and good spirits to those who stood the early morning guard. Ratha was heartened to see the weary Firekeepers grin at Fessran’s teasing. She noticed that her own presence also seemed to cheer some of them.

She was following Fessran across the moonlit grass and had stopped to shake the dew from her feet when a scream tore through the night’s silence. She knew in an instant that the cry had not come from any of the herd animals nor from raiders lurking nearby. It was a scream of pain and terror and it had come from the center of the meadow.

Ahead of her, she saw Fessran start and freeze as the cry began again. Then both of them were racing across the grass.

“The herders’ fire,” panted Fessran as Ratha caught up with her. “Over there by the old oak.”

The herders had begun to cluster about the fire that they used to warm themselves. In their midst lay an orange-lit form that jerked and writhed. The head stretched back, the mouth snarled open, and Ratha heard another terrible cry.

She sped past Fessran and skidded to a stop in the middle of the herders. Her belly gave a painful twist when she saw that the distorted face was Bundi’s. Cherfan pawed the shuddering young herder, looking frightened and lost.

“Turn him over,” Ratha ordered. “Quickly.”

As carefully as she could, she helped Cherfan roll Bundi over. As the side of his face and neck came into view, Ratha felt her lips draw back from her teeth. From his cheek to his neck and shoulder, his flesh was hlistered and glistening, with ash clinging to charred fur. Even as she watched, the skin of his face began to pucker, drawing the corner of his mouth back.

His eye was swollen shut and both his nose and eyebrow whiskers on that side were gone.

“Take him to the stream,” said Fessran, pushing her way through the crowd of herders. “Water can ease the Red Tongue’s hurt. Hurry!”

Half-dragging and half-carrying Bundi, Ratha and Cherfan lugged him to the little creek near the trailhead.

“Lay him here, where there is no mud on the bottom,” Fessran directed, wading in. “Easy. Hold his nose out of the water.”

Ratha bent her head down, trying to see Bundi’s face. She felt his breath on her whiskers as he panted rapidly and arched his back in a convulsive shudder. He opened his mouth for another scream, but could only gurgle and cough as water filled his throat.

Ratha caught his nape on the uninjured side and lifted him enough for the water to drain out. Cherfan helped her move him so that he was lying in the shallows with his muzzle on the bank. After a while his breathing became steadier and he managed to whisper that the pain was less.

“Can you take care of him?” she asked Cherfan and Fessran. “I want to go back and look at the fire.”

“Poor clumsy cub,” she heard Cherfan moan as she climbed out of the stream and shook herself hard. “You shouldn’t have gone near the Red Tongue when there was no one there to protect you.”

Ratha laid back her ears as she trotted toward the fire. Bundi was awkward, but he wasn’t that clumsy, was he? She circled the firebed, examining the ground carefully. It was no use; the herder’s tracks and her own obliterated Bundi’s and those of anyone else who might have been there. Likewise, the scents of everyone who had been there were too thick for her to detect any suspicious smells.

She could see that the fire had definitely been disturbed. It was lopsided and there was a large imprint in the ash and crushed coals where a body had fallen. Now the question remained: had Bundi tripped over his own paws, or had someone pushed him?

Again, she circled, looking for tracks where the dirt met the grass. She found half of one pugmark and decided that it had been there before the herders had all crowded around Bundi. The print was too large to be Bundi’s. It would only belong to one of two males in the clan: Cherfan or Shongshar.

Cherfan had been there when she arrived, she reminded herself. But Bundi is his own son! I know Cherfan and he could never do such a thing to a cub he sired. That left only Shongshar.

But even if the print was his mark, when had he left it? He could have been one of those who helped build the herders’ fire earlier that evening. Or he could have pushed Bundi. But he seemed even fonder of Bundi than Cherfan was. Neither possibility made much sense.

Was the Red Tongue itself the malignant force? Could Fessran have been right when she suggested the fire-creature could lash out against those who displeased it? Could it have sensed the presence of an ignorant herder, lured him close and then pulled him in?

For a moment Ratha stared at the fire, which was burning steadily as if nothing had happened. This is a creature we do not understand, she said to herself, and the thought sent her tail creeping between her legs. Fear crawled through her fur and she suddenly wanted to flee from this alien thing before it reached out and took her in its fierce embrace.

She made her legs stop shaking and swallowed the lump in her throat. There were questions she had to ask and the answers to those would tell her whether to believe that the fire had needed any help to burn poor Bundi.

When she returned to the stream, Fessran was coaxing Bundi out of the water; she even got him to shake himself off a little. He crouched on the bank with Cherfan close against him on one side and Fessran on the other, trying to warm him. Fessran spoke softly, trying to cheer and reassure him. She was so honest in her concern and her eagerness to help that Ratha knew, whatever had happened, Fessran had taken no part in it. Now and then, Bundi burst into shivers, but he seemed to be in less pain. The three of them looked like an odd moonlit lump on the streambank.

Ratha shivered herself as the night wind touched the dampness in her fur. “Can you walk, Bundi?” she asked him. “You should be sheltered in a den. Fessran, will you take him to your lair?”

“Yes, I will, but there is something I want to do first.”

“What?”

“Post some Firekeepers at the herders’ fire.”

Ratha felt surprise and then a touch of annoyance, but she was too drained and a little too frightened to argue. If the Red Tongue was malevolent, she had a duty to guard her people from it.

“All right,” she agreed at last.

She knew Fessran sensed her reluctance, for the Firekeeper said, “I’ll give Bira that duty. She gets along well with most of the herders. She can choose whom she wants to work with her.”

This cheered Ratha. Bira wasn’t likely to think herself above the herders or make arbitrary decisions about who could come near the fire and who couldn’t.

The young Firekeeper was summoned and soon took up her new post. Several herders eyed her suspiciously, for they were not accustomed to having a Firekeeper in constant attendance. But when the news of Bundi’s injury spread, they changed their minds and welcomed her protection.

Fessran took Bundi to her den and made him comfortable there. Ratha looked in on them just before weariness sent her to her own lair. She crawled into it just as dawn was beginning to color the sky, and she quickly fell into a deep and exhausted sleep.

She was not often troubled by dreams, but the events of the night seemed to replay themselves in her mind in a way strangely altered from what she had seen. In her dream, she stood again before the Red Tongue and, as she watched, the fire-creature changed. The flames that licked up toward the sky seemed to bend down and separate, as if they were becoming legs, and their tips became rounded and solid as if they were turning into paws. The heart of the fire elongated into a body. Part of it drew into a ball and made a head with flame-licked ears and red coals for eyes.

She watched in terror as the rear legs formed and a plume of fire swept itself out into a long tail. The creature opened its mouth, showing teeth that had the impossible sharpness of a reaching flame. In its fur were streaks of blue, violet and yellow against a background of searing orange.

Slowly it began to move, and its flame-substance rippled as if it had muscles. It fixed its glowing eyes on her and she shook until her teeth chattered as she felt its endless devouring hunger. Her mind begged her legs to run, but she stayed, paralyzed by fright and a kind of horrified fascination.

The fire-creature lowered its head and placed one foot before the other. It was leaving the den of coals where it had grown and was coming toward her. Now it spoke and its voice had the soft hiss of the burning flame. “Bare your throat to me, clan leader,” it said. “Bare your throat to me, for I am the one who rules.”

She crouched, drawn and repelled by its terrible beauty. As if in worship, she lifted her chin, showing her throat. The creature that had sprung from the fire’s heart approached her and opened its mouth for the killing bite. She felt its breath on her and its whiskers, made of slender tongues of fire, touched her and left searing streaks on her skin beneath the fur. She felt the points of its fangs draw across her throat.

“No!” she screamed and lashed out with all her strength against it.

She awoke with her claws fastened in the wall of her den and her teeth bared. With a grateful sigh of deliverance, she sank down and lay limp until she was sure the horror of the dream had really passed. Her coat was rough and filled with dirt and she could see where she had writhed on the floor of her lair.

Unsteadily she got up and left the den, shaking the earth out of her fur and smoothing her pelt with her tongue. The early afternoon sun shone down through the scattered trees, comforting her with its warmth and golden light.

But she couldn’t forget those coal-red eyes that glowed with a hunger that would never be sated. She knew the creature was a dream, but she also knew that dreams often spoke truth. Although she had set herself to master the Red Tongue, she understood that a part of her mind would always look upon the fire-creature with a terror that could not be answered with reason.

When Fessran came to her that evening and asked that Bira be assigned to guard the herders’ fire again, it was easy for Ratha to agree. Soon the Firekeeper had that duty regularly. At Fessran’s urging, she forbade any of the herders to go near an unguarded flame.

Bundi recovered slowly. His wounds were less serious than Ratha had thought and she credited Fessran’s idea of bathing him in the stream. The swelling on his face diminished; the eye that had been forced shut opened again. He could walk, but he limped because the burn extended from his face down his neck to his shoulder and it hurt him to stretch the blistered skin.

He was soon back with the herders, doing what he could and trying to do more. Soon he had recovered full use of his shoulder, but he and everyone around him knew that he would always be disfigured.

Ratha continued to seek an answer to the mystery of Bundi’s accident. She questioned him carefully, but shock had driven the memory from his mind and he couldn’t recall exactly what had happened. He knew only that he had flung himself out of the firebed and rolled on the ground until someone came.

Shongshar remained politely evasive and Ratha did not want to alienate Fessran by pressing him harder. She was sure Fessran herself had nothing to do with it and if she suspected Shongshar at all, she would have spoken.