The Named: The Complete Series

Chapter Twenty

Ratha fell into a daze, stumbling between her two captors. When they halted, she gazed blearily around. In the waning light of evening, she saw New Singer and his gang lying in a loose circle around the entrance to the fire-den. Within the circle burned a small campfire. Against its glow, Ratha could see a lanky shape crouch down to drop sticks into the flame. Fessran!

The shape turned, phosphor-green eyes lighting momentarily, sandy coat looking almost white against the shadows. That huddled shape close by must be Bira, and the hazel eyes peering over Bira’s back have to be Drani’s. Ratha caught the fire-shine from other Named eyes. All the clan females were now here.

At the edge of the circle, the male holding Thistle-chaser by the tail yanked her forward and threw her into the center with a toss of his head. She tried to catch herself on her forepaws, but one leg folded. She went down, grimacing in pain. Fessran sprang and stood over Thistle, fangs bared and gleaming.

“Touch her again and I’ll rip you from throat to balls, carrion-eater,” she hissed. Then she nosed Thistle up. It hurt Ratha to see her daughter limp, the nearly healed forelimb again drawn up.

She worked so hard to be able to use that leg, and you sons of belly-biters just ruined it again. Well, see how you like this.

Ratha snaked her head down and sank her fangs into the one captor’s muscled shoulder. He howled and wheeled, dragging her around and finally flinging her into the enclosure, ripping her teeth out of his skin. She tumbled, spat out the foul-tasting wad of flesh and fur, and came to rest near Fessran.

“Nice entrance,” said the Firekeeper, looking down at her. “You took a chunk out of that belly-biter. Did you break any teeth?”

Ratha sat up, her head hanging, her ears flattened. “No,” she said, though the roots of her fangs throbbed from the wrench they’d been given. She gave up trying to take account of her injuries. Everything hurt.

Her head wobbled when she tried to lift it, and she collapsed over on her side. Her cheek and whiskers fell on fur, and a tongue licked the top of her forehead. Thistle-chaser.

“Your leg,” Ratha managed. “I saw them throw you.”

“Twisted it. Sprain, maybe. Doesn’t matter. You’re hurt, too.”

“Your comfort helps. Can you help me roll onto my front?” Gently, Thistle pushed her onto her chest. Ratha fought to hold her head up.

“Welcome to our little gathering, clan leader,” Fessran’s voice was ironic, but a slight tremor in her tone made Ratha struggle to focus so that she could study her friend.

She read the story of Fessran’s resistance against New Singer and his minions in the battered face, torn ears, and scored sides.

“Not all the red on my teeth is mine,” Fessran hissed, grimacing. “I’ve been collecting it from all of them. Good to smell you again, clan leader.”

“Fess, listen. Thakur and the other clan males survived. They’ve got some of your cubs. Bira’s and Drani’s, too. The cubs are hidden, safe with their fathers. We only lost a few.”

Something lit in Fessran’s eyes, making her look less beaten. “How many of mine?”

“Two. We tried to save—”

“Say no more, clan leader. Two alive is better than I hoped for. I thought I’d lost them all.”

“I had to reach you, Fess. To tell you and the others—”

“Well, tell Bira. She’s been moping ever since we got shoved in here. Bira, get your thorn-tangled tail over here,” Fessran yowled. “Ratha’s here with some news.”

“Oh no, clan leader, they caught you, too,” Bira breathed.

“I just couldn’t stay away from you,” Ratha sat up, bracing herself with her forelegs against a fit of shaking. As the rest of the Named females gathered around her with exclamations of surprise, delight, and dismay, Ratha repeated her message.

Hearing that one of her offspring had survived seemed to hearten Bira and snap her out of her lethargy. “I’d given up ever seeing any of them again,” she said softly. “Or Cherfan, or you. Even though I’m sorry you’ve been captured, I’m glad you’re with us, Ratha.”

She bent to groom herself, something she had been neglecting, judging by the state of her fur.

The others expressed their feelings by rubbing against Ratha, flopping tails over her, and licking her face. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of friendship comfort her. For an instant she could forget that all around her lay New Singer and his cohorts, each waiting to have a turn with the imprisoned Named females.

Ratha crouched beside Fessran and Bira as the two tended the campfire. Her wounds were better, but her heat was growing, just like the fire rising over the wood. The sensations were hard to ignore. From the changes in the other females’ scents, the same was happening to them, even Bira, despite her recent litter. Ratha tried to distract herself by watching the Firekeepers work.

This time, Bira had been the one allowed out to gather wood. She leaned toward Ratha.

“I found some pine branches that are big enough for torches,” she hissed. “They’re at the bottom of the woodpile, and they’ve got enough pine tar to stay lit.”

“Fess?” Ratha turned her head to her friend.

“I’m ready for another scrap.”

A deep growl from the encircling males made Bira jump and Fessran pull back.

“They don’t like us talking together,” Fessran snarled. “They’re too stupid to understand us.”

I’m not sure about that, Ratha thought, glancing at New Singer. Maybe the others are, but he isn’t.

She pivoted away from the fire, ears cocking at the sound of footsteps beyond the Red Tongue’s glow and something dragging on the ground. Then a carcass was flung to the females.

“They’re feeding us. It’s carrion, but it’s meat.” Fessran stooped to nose the food.

Ratha spat out her first bite. It was pretty rancid, but not bad enough to disguise the animal it came from. “This is a three-horn. One of our herdbeasts!”

Her wrath and her gorge rose together at the outrage. She swallowed hard, flattening her ears. She knew that New Singer’s males had been feasting from the Named herds, but to be presented with the stinking evidence …

“This is pretty awful,” said Bira through her mouthful.

“At least it isn’t wormy,” Fessran answered philosophically. Beside her, Bira and Drani shuddered.

“Well, the rogues won’t get any more of this,” Ratha said angrily. “Thakur and the others rescued the herd.”

“Stole them right from under New Singer’s whiskers? Arr! That’s what all the fuss was about. I would have liked to see that.”

Ratha turned aside from the carcass, but Fessran stopped her. “Eat, clan leader. You’re going to need it.”

Ratha managed to eat enough to fill her and make it stay down.

The sky was now darkening into evening, making the Red Tongue seem brighter. Ratha rested on her side with the other clan females. They faced the fire or one another so that they would not have to see the gleam of eyes surrounding them.

“Let the fire burn low so that you need help to feed it,” Ratha told Fessran. “Then those rogues won’t suspect anything… .

“Until we cram the Red Tongue down their gullets. Good idea, clan leader.”

Ratha felt suddenly sick at Fessran’s words. Would the images from the canyon fire always be with her, crippling her ability to take action?

Though shaky, she got up and yawned, trying to convince the watching males she was too weary to try anything. Her body told her that was the truth. She could barely sustain the meandering pace she took over to Thistle. It took only a few words to tell her daughter the plan. In the same way, Bira and Fessran alerted the others.

As she waited for the campfire to burn down, she thought, New Singer can’t be that smart, keeping us near the fire. He deserves what he gets.

The moment came. Fessran went to tend the fire, called Ratha and Bira to help. Bira got the pine branches, laid them with their ends in the flame. She and Fessran stood sideways, blocking the sight of her activities from the males.

“Now!” Ratha hissed, and dove for the end of the lighted pine bough, yanking it from the fire. In less than a tail-flick, other females, even Drani and Thistle, seized the firebrands and Ratha sprang ahead, leading the charge.

Once again she felt filled with power and triumph as her creature roared from the torch in her jaws. Now the males would retreat, mewling like cubs.

Shoulder to shoulder with Fessran, she ran at New Singer, expecting him to duck, cower and run. But the rogue hunter leader held his ground, his eyes cold and intense. He crouched, but it was to spring at Fessran. New Singer aimed his blow not at the Firekeeper herself, but at her firebrand, swatting it out of her jaws and sending it rolling along the ground to lie and burn uselessly.

How New Singer had learned this defense, Ratha didn’t know, but when the enemy leader swept his eyes over the circle of males, each one quickly learned the same tactic. The power of the song. Again.

Ratha reared, trying to keep the torch away from striking paws. At the edge of her vision, she saw Bira trying to do the same, but a rogue pounced on the young Firekeeper from behind, yanked her down, and another male next to him sent the firebrand flying.

Even though the enemy feared the Red Tongue and howled with pain when a torch seared or struck, the power of the song coming from their leader forced them to face it and fight back. Whenever one, through intent or accident, found a maneuver that worked against the firebearers, that knowledge quickly spread to all.

Fessran, scrabbling for her torch, was surrounded and subdued. Bira, Drani, and the others were the next to go down. Then Thistle, and finally Ratha herself.

New Singer’s minions picked up the torches and threw them back in the fire.

The enemy leader stood, looking at the defeated Named females, triumph in his yellow-green eyes. He had them thrown back into their prison where the bars were shadows and the shine of waiting eyes.

Ratha expected a reprisal and she braced herself for a beating, but when New Singer and the males only tightened their circle, she was almost disappointed. Their captors had even put them back near the campfire, so that the females could mount another attack if they had the heart to try.

None did. They huddled together on the ground, Ratha protecting Thistle, Fessran defending Bira and Drani, others shielding their companions.

Again the circle tightened as all the males moved in closer.

The females all shifted to one side of the campfire, forming a many-pointed star with their hindquarters together and their heads and paws facing out. Ratha positioned the vulnerable ones, such as Thistle-chaser, at the center of the star, defended from all sides. They would meet any approach from the males with teeth and claws.

None of the males approached. As the night grew darker, Ratha heard a strange moaning over the crackle-hiss of the Red Tongue. It came from the males, who were now all sitting up, leaning forward with anticipation. The moaning grew louder, hungrier.

Ratha felt the growing warmth in her loins flare and spread all over her. Her skin became highly sensitive, making her move away from Fessran on one side and Bira on the other. She noticed that other Named females were doing the same, loosening and cracking their defensive star.

The males caterwauled, and a powerful musky scent filled the air. Bira broke from the group. She started to prowl back and forth, her ears flattened.

“Get back here!” Ratha hissed.

“I just can’t stay still, clan leader. I’m too hot and itchy.” Bira’s voice was strained. “This shouldn’t be happening. My cubs are too young.”

Ratha knew exactly what Bira was feeling. She, too, was fighting an overwhelming urge to fling herself on the ground, rubbing and rolling madly to quench the prickles in her skin.

Try as she might, Ratha couldn’t keep her friends together. The star dissolved and all the females began to prowl back and forth, the firelight gleaming on their undulating backs.

The males showed their teeth and lolled their tongues, infuriating Ratha.

“Stop that!” she screamed, part of her knowing that her demand was irrational. She charged their line, howling, but she never reached it. Waves of arousing scent met her and melted her anger into desire and distraction. Colors glowed and danced hypnotically in her vision. The male before her suddenly looked like Thakur and smelled so enticing… .

She was barely able to pull herself away and stagger back to her friends. The rush of sensation still washed back and forth over and through her, rocking her on her feet. Everything was taking on a golden halo and a haunting beauty. Bira looked so lovely in the firelight that Ratha wanted to rub herself against the young Firekeeper.

She shook herself hard, trying to clear her head. She had experienced heat before, but never had it been so overwhelming, so intoxicating. She turned to Fessran. It was difficult to think, much less speak.

“What is happening, Fessran?” she managed.

Dreamy-eyed, her friend was slow in responding. “You’ve been … in heat before … clan leader.”

“But not like this. Not so fast, so intense …” Ratha broke off, her tongue too woolly to form words. Not even her first time, when she had taken Bone-chewer, were the sensations this intense. She felt molten, heavy, slowed. Liquid fire was flowing like thick lava through her limbs, her chest, her belly, igniting the places where cubs could come into life, grow and then pulse and surge their way into the outside world.

She suddenly wanted to be full, ripe, gravid, round, swollen with new life growing from the seed that only the males could give her. So powerful was the urge that part of her started up in alarm.

She fought to speak, finding that her voice seemed to echo and resonate in her ears, confusing her more than ever.

“Fess,” she pleaded, trying to see her friend through the rippling in her vision. “This … isn’t … the way … we …”

Fessran looked back at her, gold and green appearing and dissolving in her friend’s eyes. “The courting circle …” she breathed. “My mother told me …”

“Wha … what … ?” Baffled, Ratha fought the glowing fog that seemed to have taken over her mind.

“We … used to … do this a long time … ago.”

“No, Fess, you’re imagining …”

“We did,” insisted the Firekeeper, starting to slur her words and sway on her feet. “Not often, but … we did. Before the light … was strong … in our eyes.”

“No, not … like this.” Ratha’s tongue felt impossibly leaden, but worse, she was starting not to care.

“Yes … thissss …” Fessran’s words trailed off, and her gaze wandered.

Ratha had to lift a paw and pull her friend’s head around before Fessran would focus on her again. Ages seemed to pass as she dragged a few words at a time out of the Firekeeper. The other females prowled around them.

Rocked by the resonating echo of her heartbeat in her ears, Ratha began to understand. She could almost visualize it, the Named males in a circle, and the females at the center, the harsh yowling that to her was starting to sound strangely beautiful… .

That was the way of her kind before they were fully Named, before they cared so deeply for one another. Before they needed to be together apart from the others so that they could lose themselves in the molten velvet dance of lovemaking.

The thought drew Ratha’s gaze out to the males. Now they were inhaling deeply, drawing the corners of their mouths back, lifting their tongues in the scent-grimace.

Ratha realized that the heady scent in the air was not just male musk. She and the others were adding their smells to the enticing brew, drawing their captors closer. Ratha tried to flatten her fur, holding in the betraying odors, but they grew stronger than ever, making her head swim.

Something far away inside her huddled in fear while the rest of her body, strangely detached, glided back and forth, almost floating.

The fearful part managed to break through the gauziness wrapping her mind. It made her seek Fessran again, but the only answer she got was, “This … is … what … the courting circle does, Ratha.”