The Named: The Complete Series

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 pull 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.

Ratha stopped her nervous pacing. She stood still and listened, but she could only hear the dapplebacks shuffling behind her. The fog muffled all sounds except those close by. She could neither see nor hear anything from the other end of the meadow. Only smells reached her and they made her fur stand on end. The tang of sweat was acrid in her nose; the odor of blood rich and metallic. The strongest smell was fear, and it seemed to spread over the meadow mixed in with the mist, paralyzing everything it touched.

Another shadow, dim, then definite. A familiar smell, then a familiar figure.

“Ratha?” Thakur’s voice was cautious.

“Here, Thakur,” she answered.

Ratha touched noses with Thakur. He was panting; she felt his warm breath and wet whiskers on her face. “Yearling, this is much worse than I thought it would be. Meoran has badly underestimated the raiders this time.”

Ratha felt fear shoot through her like the pain in her chest. “Have we lost the herd?”

“No, by our teeth and claws we’ve held the raiders back, and if we can hold them until dawn, the fight will be over, for the Un-Named Ones do not attack by day.” Thakur paused and sniffed at her ruff. “You bleed, yearling.”

“I fought, Thakur. I know you told me to climb a tree, but when he killed one of Fessran’s dapplebacks, I ran at him.”

Thakur sighed. “I have trained you too well. Your lair-mother is going to chew my ears for bringing you back wounded.”

“I chewed his ears, Thakur,” Ratha said fiercely. “He got the dappleback, but he left some skin between my teeth.”

“Huh,” Thakur grunted, circling her and nosing her. He licked the bites on her throat, rasping away the fragile clots. He squeezed the wounds with his jaws, forcing the blood to run freely. Ratha squirmed and whimpered.

“Quiet, yearling. Do you want to get an abscess? You will if these heal too quickly. There. I’m finished.”

“Thakur,” Ratha said quickly. “I know who that raider is.”

He blinked and stared at her, an odd stare that made her feel uncomfortable.

“The one on the trail.”

“Yearling, that was—” Thakur began.

“No, he wasn’t a clan whelp! Would a clan-cub have killed one of Fessran’s dapplebacks? Thakur, I saw him and I fought with him.” Ratha paused, watching him carefully. “You asked me, on the trail, if he had spoken to me when I ran over him that time in the thicket, when I was a cub. It frightened me. I saw him again tonight and I think you are going to ask me the same thing again.”

“No! I wish you would forget what I said on the trail. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“But I’m not frightened any more. I want to know why! Why did you ask me if the Un-Named One spoke?”

“Ratha, I can’t …” Thakur began. A muffled swish of grass interrupted him and Fessran limped out of the fog. She sniffed once and glared at Ratha.

“Ptah! I fight raiders and she can’t even keep a mangy herd of dapplebacks together without losing half of them. Has it been so long since I trained you, cub?”

Ratha opened her mouth to retort, but a glance from Thakur stopped her.

“I’ll help you find the rest of them, Fessran, when I’ve taken Ratha back to Narir,” he said soothingly.

“If the Un-Named will let you through,” Fessran snarled. “They are thicker in the forest tonight than the fleas on Meoran’s belly.”

“Can you take care of the horses by yourself until I get back?”

“Yes. Take the cub and go, Thakur. She’ll be safer in Narir’s den.” Fessran limped away, leaving Thakur and Ratha alone.

“I fought raiders too!” Ratha hissed angrily. “Why didn’t you let me tell her?”

“There wasn’t time. Yearling, we’ve got to hurry. I don’t want you here if the raiders break through.”

“Do I have to go back to the den?” Ratha asked, padding shakily alongside him.

“Yearling, haven’t you had enough for tonight? You’re barely able to stand up and you think you’re ready for another scrap with the Un-Named? No, I think I’d better take you back.”

She yawned. “All right, Thakur. I am tired.”

They had not gone far when several forms emerged out of the mist and jogged toward them. Ratha’s heart jumped, then she recognized them as clan herdfolk.

“Thakur Torn-Claw,” said the first one.

“Srass of Salarfang Den,” Thakur answered. “How is the trail tonight?”

Srass lowered his head and Ratha saw his whiskers twitch. “The Un-Named grow bolder. They attacked another party of herders who were trying to join us. Our people made it through, but two were badly bitten.” The herder turned his eyes on Ratha. “I would not run this trail tonight, young one.”

“She would be safer in a den,” Thakur argued.

“Then dig one here in the meadow.” Srass shrugged as Thakur glared at him. “Do as you wish, Torn-Claw, but if you take the trail before dawn, neither of you will reach clan ground.”

“I thought the Un-Named only killed herdbeasts.” Ratha’s voice was thin.

“They kill anyone who is of the clan. They hate us.”

“Yarr, Srass,” snarled one of the herder’s companions, an older male with scars and broken teeth. “You speak as if the Un-Named had wit enough to hate us. Has Meoran not said that those who are Un-Named and clanless are beasts no less so than the ones we herd?”

“Beasts can also hate,” Srass muttered, but his tail was low and Ratha smelt the sudden change in his scent. He was afraid. “All right, Tevran,” he said hastily, not looking at the other. “I am not questioning our leader’s words, so you need not listen so closely.”

“You had better stay in the meadow, Torn-Claw,” said Gare. “I hear the cub is a promising herder and the clan should not lose her.”

Thakur turned away, his whiskers quivering. Ratha cocked her head at him. “May you eat of the haunch and sleep in the driest den, clan herders,” she said politely to Srass and Tevran.

As Thakur passed her, she heard him growl under his breath, “May your tail be chewed off and all your fur fall our, Tevran.”

With one last glance at the two herders, Ratha lowered her head and padded after him.

“Are we going back?” she asked, catching up.

“No, Srass is right. The trail is too dangerous.”

“Now I want to go home. My underfur is wet.” Her voice was petulant.

“We can‘t, yearling. Not until dawn.”

“What if the raiders break through?”

“Then both of us go up the nearest tree.”

Ratha shivered and shook herself, sending dewdrops flying. She sneezed.

“Come back with me to the sunning rock,” Thakur suggested. “You can curl up beside me and Fessran. We’ll warm you up.”

“Fessran is angry with me,” Ratha grumbled.

“I’ll tell her to sharpen her claws on someone else. Come on, yearling,” he said as Ratha yawned, a gape that stretched her mouth and made her jaw muscles ache again. Thakur waved his tail imperiously, but Ratha was in no mood to follow. She flattened her ears and turned away from him.

“Ratha!”

She ignored Thakur’s call as she trotted away into the fog.

There was a drumming of feet behind her and the sound of wet grass swishing. She stopped and glared back at Thakur.

“You idiot cub, you can’t go back by yourself!” Ratha turned her head aside and trotted off in a different direction. Again Thakur blocked her.

“Go away. I don’t want you as teacher any more,” she snarled. “Fessran may be hard, but she listens to me and answers my questions. And I am not a cub. You wouldn’t have brought me here with you if you thought I was.”

“The way you are acting tells me I may have made a mistake. Yarr! Yearling, come back here!” he called as Ratha galloped away. She ran as hard as she could, twisting and turning so that Thakur would lose her trail. Soon the fog muffled his footsteps and they died away behind her. She ran on, aching and shivering, not sure where she was going and not really caring. There was a feeling in her throat as if a piece of meat were stuck there, and swallow as she might, she couldn’t get it down.

At last Ratha jogged into a patch of frosty grass and stopped to rest. The cold was pulling the fog out of the air, laying it on the ground in crystals of ice. She fluffed her fur. Running had warmed her, but as she stood, the chill began to creep back again. She lifted her nose. Some stars were showing through the mist overhead. Everything was quiet now.

Ratha peered between two white-covered stalks and ducked back. She didn’t want to be found by anyone, whether it was her teacher or the Un-Named raider. Her whiskers trembled. She whimpered softly and closed her eyes.

She was afraid of the night, of the raiders, of Thakur, but what frightened her most was the change in herself. A cub wasn’t supposed to get angry with her teacher. A cub wasn’t supposed to question, to doubt, or to sense that things were wrong. When had the awareness come?

She hung her head miserably. Had she imagined that the Un-Named One had spoken during the fight? It was easy to believe that she hadn’t heard his words and less frightening to believe so. Less frightening for her and Thakur. But why? Why should Thakur even care whether the scavenger had talked?

Because he knows they can, something in her mind answered, and, for a moment, she was startled by the realization.

Everyone thinks the clanless ones are stupid, Ratha thought. Meoran tells us to think that way. But if Thakur thinks they can talk, as we do, perhaps he thinks they aren’t stupid, either.

“The Un-Named One spoke to me,” Ratha said aloud to herself. “I know he did.”

She sat down and stared at nothing for a long time. None of it made any sense.

“Thakur is wrong,” she muttered. “I am not a cub anymore.”

She stared at the faint form on the grass beside her for a long time before she realized that it was the first trace of her shadow. As the milky light began to spread over the horizon behind the trees, Ratha blinked and shook her head, not sure whether she had been awake.

The sun rose, chasing the fog away into the trees. The hoarfrost melted back into dew and the drops hung from grassblades and the leaves glittered. Sounds reached Ratha’s ears and she turned her head.

She had run so far across the meadow that she couldn’t see the sunning rock and she wasn’t quite sure where she was. As the fog slid away, it uncovered the carnage of the night’s battle. Bodies of slain herdbeasts, both three-horns and dapplebacks, lay still and stiff. Nearby were smaller forms, the torn remains of both the herd’s defenders and attackers. From where she hid, Ratha couldn’t tell whether the slain were clan folk or raiders. The clan believed the Un-Named Ones were different, yet they all looked alike in death, Ratha thought, as she crept from her hiding place.

She shook her head, trying to get rid of such thoughts. It was day. There were tasks to be done: herdbeasts to graze and water, cubs to teach and feed. The clan would gather itself together, bury its dead and go on. There was no other way. Things didn’t change. After all, day still came. Ratha grinned sourly to herself. Thakur would probably even expect her for a lesson, once she had taken a nap and had her wounds attended to. Thakur would treat her as if this night hadn’t happened and expect her to be the same cub he had led out on the trail one evening very long ago.

But I am not the same, Ratha thought as she wandered back across the meadow. I have changed in a way I don’t understand.