The Named: The Complete Series

CHAPTER FIVE

Sand grains tickled Ratha’s nose. She woke up sneezing, blowing up a small sandstorm in the den, which made her sneeze some more. She bumped her head on the low ceiling and peered up to the entrance. Framed in the opening, with a background of clear sky and hanging fronds, was a four-toed foot. A dappleback foot. The hoofed toes shifted, dislodging more sand into the hole. It landed on Ratha’s face. She blinked and grimaced. A narrow muzzle dipped into the picture and one black eye regarded Ratha. The eye blinked and its owner snorted.

Outside, Ratha heard running and yowling. Thakur’s voice rose above the others. “Fessran, get your dapplebacks off the beach! They’re walking all over the dens!” The dappleback’s muzzle disappeared, and the foot vanished with a last spray of dirt.

She crawled out of her burrow and shook her head, her ears flapping. The sand felt warm and gritty on her pads as she blinked in the morning sunlight. Birds made a cheerful racket overhead and the river sang with them as it ran past the beach. She nosed her back and licked her coat. Her tongue scraped coarse matted fur. She dug with her fangs at filth caked in her undercoat, moving her tongue quickly to avoid the sour tang of old dirt. She drew back her lips fastidiously and tried to use only the points of her fangs, but she couldn’t help tasting herself and wished that someone had dragged her out of the den and given her a bath.

She attacked the hair mats until they yielded and her tongue probed deeper into her fur, feeling the arch of each rib beneath her skin. She paused in her grooming, took a breath and coughed. Her chest still ached a little, deep inside. She decided to leave the rest of the grooming task until later. She ambled down the narrow beach, feeling the loose sand grow firm beneath her paws as she approached the water’s edge. She stood there, listening to the wavelets lapping, and watching fish dart through the shadows on the bottom.

Ratha squinted across the river to the opposite shore. Most of the trees were still standing, although shorn of their leaves and needles. The ground beneath them lay bare and ashy, stripped of brush and forest litter. At first, the scene across the river looked bare and desolate, but as Ratha stared harder, she saw that it was not. New patches of pale green showed amid the fire-scarred trunks.

Ratha’s whiskers twitched. How long, she wondered, had she lain in the burrow dug for her in the sand? Long enough for her to stink like an unwashed litterling. Long enough for the burning thing to pass and new foliage to show. The thought frightened her and she shivered despite the sun’s warmth on her back. Her stomach felt hollow and there was grit between her teeth. She peered at her rippled reflection and saw that she looked as thin and bedraggled as she felt. Her tongue ached at the thought of more grooming. She yawned and stretched: stiffly, cautiously. She crouched, curling her tail around her feet, letting the sound of the river lull her.

Her eyes were almost closed when she heard pads grinding on sand behind her.

“So this is the cub,” said a heavy voice, not Thakur’s.

Ratha turned, squinting against the glare.

“Come here, Ratha, and give proper greeting to our clan leader,” Thakur called.

She spun around, sliding in the loose sand. She gulped, blinked and stared at Thakur’s companion. What had she done, she wondered frantically, that she was being singled out for Meoran’s attention? He never spoke to any of those low in the clan unless they had displeased him or broken clan law. Her heart beat fast. Is it because I heard the clanless one speak? Did Thakur tell Meoran what happened that night?

Thakur stamped silently on the sand, warning Ratha not to delay. She loped clumsily up the beach, halted and walked up to Meoran. She lifted her chin and bared her throat to him as she stood in his shadow. Meoran lowered his heavy head and nosed her at the vulnerable point beneath her ruff, where the pulse lay just under the skin. She stood still, knowing that if he wished, he could take her life, without need or explanation. Even those high in the clan bared their throats to him, and there were whispers among the clan folk that his teeth had been bloodied in what was supposed to be only a gesture. Ratha remembered others saying that old Baire had never abused this ritual right.

Ratha felt her ears starting to flatten and pricked them forward until the ear muscles ached.

“May you eat of the haunch and sleep in the driest den, clan leader,” she said.

Meoran’s ruff slid past Ratha’s nose as he withdrew his muzzle from beneath her chin. His odor was like his voice, dull and heavy, with a threatening undertone. His ruff was coarse and thick—almost a mane. He stepped back from her, leaving large pawprints in the sand. Ratha stared at his tracks, knowing that her whole foot wouldn’t fill the imprint made by his center pad.

“Will she be able to swim the river and drive the herd tomorrow?” Meoran turned to Thakur.

“She almost drowned. When Yaran and I pulled her out of the river, he thought she was dead.”

“I lead the clan back across the river, Torn-Claw. Either she swims or she stays here.” Meoran looked at Ratha, his eyes glinting yellow in his wide face. His jaws looked massive enough to crush a three-horn’s skull with one bite. “Old Baire thought you were strong enough to be a herder, cub. I might not have made that choice, but Thakur tells me your training hasn’t been wasted.”

Ratha glanced at Thakur and saw that the muscles at the base of both ears were quivering as he tried to keep his ears erect.

“Will one day make such a difference, clan leader?”

“The longer we leave our dens and our land, the less we shall have when we return.”

“To what? Look across the river. The Red Tongue has eaten the grass and the leaves. Where will our beasts graze?”

“There is new growth.” Meoran yawned, snapping his jaws shut.

“Not enough to feed an entire herd.”

Meoran’s eyes darkened to cold amber and he showed his fangs as he spoke. “Torn-Claw, if you are wise, you will not mention this to me again. I let you speak once before the clan gathering. I even restrained myself from excusing you for your cowardice. Is that not enough?”

Thakur flinched and glared down at the ground so that Meoran couldn’t see his eyes.

“If you have no stomach to walk amid the Red Tongue’s leavings,” Meoran added, “stay here with the she-cub until the forest grows again.”

“I will swim, clan leader,” Ratha blurted, stung at being thought a weakling. “I will help drive the herd.”

“See, Torn-Claw?” Meoran grinned, showing most of his teeth. “The small one is not afraid. She shames you, herder.” Thakur kicked at a log of driftwood, half-buried in the sand. His eyes met Meoran’s. “We will both be ready.”

“Good. I want no delays.” Meoran turned and left.

Ratha sat down and began digging at her coat again as Thakur stared after Meoran and drove his front claws into the sand. Ratha stole a glance at him as he shook both feet free of sand and cleaned them, biting fiercely between the pads.

“Fessran’s dapplebacks woke you,” he said. “I may go and chew her ears.”

“You’re angry at Meoran, not Fessran,” Ratha said cautiously, her nose in her fur. Thakur gave a low growl. “Why? What did he mean, saying you weren’t brave? I saw you catch the dappleback. You would have saved him.”

His tail twitched, making snake-patterns in the sand. He lowered his head and started to pad away.

“Thakur.”

“Yearling, more words will do me no good and may do me harm. Wait here. I’ll be back soon.” He wheeled and galloped away down the beach.

When Thakur returned, he was carrying several odd objects in his jaws. He dipped his head and dropped them in front of Ratha. Their legs waved. She sniffed, wrinkled her nose. “I don’t eat bugs.”

“They aren’t bugs. Try one. I’ll show you how to bite the shell off.”

Thakur selected one of the crayfish, held it down with one paw and bit the head off. He worked it to the side of his mouth, got his jaws around the arched carapace and cracked it. He pried it open with his claws, peeled the shell away and stripped out the meat with his front teeth. He dangled the morsel in front of Ratha. The aroma teased her nose. Delicately she licked and then nibbled at it. The meat was chewy but light and sweet. She snapped, gulped and waited eagerly for another. When Thakur had fed her twice, he nosed the rest of the crayfish toward Ratha.

“I thought I’d better feed you up if you’re going to swim tomorrow,” he said, choosing another multi-legged morsel from the pile. It tried to scuttle away from him but he seized it by the tail and dragged it back. The flailing legs and antennae threw sand grains. This one was smaller and Thakur didn’t even bother to peel the shell off. He took the crayfish into his mouth, crunched it and sorted out bits of meat and shell with his tongue.

Ratha spat out a shell and eyed Thakur. “Why is Meoran so impatient to return to clan ground?”

“I don’t know, yearling. Perhaps he dislikes the thought of any other animal in his den.”

“Or the Un-Named Ones on clan territory.”

Thakur drew back his whiskers. “I doubt it. He thinks so little of them that ground squirrels in his den would bother him more. Even the recent raids haven’t taught him that they are more dangerous than he thinks.”

“You know a lot about the clanless ones, don’t you, Thakur?” Ratha said cautiously. She watched his eyes. Thakur lowered his muzzle, ostensibly searching for another crayfish.

“Yes, yearling, I do.”

“Why don’t you tell Meoran what you know?”

“He would listen to me as well as he did today. Yearling, don’t ask me any more.”

Ratha bit down on a stubborn carapace and felt it bend in her mouth.

“Forget about the Un-Named, Ratha. The Red Tongue has driven them far away. They won’t come back for a while.”

There was silence, broken only by the sound of the river flowing and Thakur’s crunching shells.

“I know why you don’t want to go back,” Ratha teased.

Thakur stared at her, eyes narrowed, whiskers back. “You do?”

“You’re so fond of these river-crawlers you can’t give them up.”

Thakur relaxed. His sigh of relief puzzled Ratha, his odor told her she wouldn’t get an answer if she asked him why.

“You are clever, yearling. I see I can’t fool you. Yes, I have grown fond of the river-crawlers and I’ll take some with me on the way back.”

Ratha watched him as he ate. His odor, his eyes and everything else about him told her that the reason he didn’t want to return to clan ground had nothing to do with river-crawlers.

* * *

Ratha trotted over the beach, her pads obliterating for a moment the maze of tracks in the sand. She stepped in a pile of dung and hopped on three legs, shaking her foot in disgust, while the dapplebacks covered her tracks with sharp-edged toe prints. The beach wasn’t big enough for this many animals at once, she thought, wiping her pad clean in a patch of scrubby dune grass.

The three-horned deer stood together in a tight bunch eyeing the clan herders. The stags pawed and thrust their spikes into the sand, their musky scent sharp with ill temper. Herdfolk rushed at them, singly and together, trying to shy the males away and split the herd in half. Ratha, knowing she was still too weak for this task, watched as Thakur and Fessran sparred with two big males guarding the center of the herd. Skillfully the two herders drew the stags aside and Meoran led a drive into the center of the herd. The mass of animals shuddered and then broke apart. Herders on both sides of the split kept the milling animals separated.

Ratha jumped up. Her task was to join with the other herdfolk in driving the dapplebacks, cud-chewers and other animals between the three-horns.

“Keep the deer on the outside!”

Ratha glanced back and saw Meoran yowling orders down the beach. Herdfolk snarled and nipped at the deer, driving them into the river. Over the backs and heads of the little horses, Ratha saw the deer plunging and tossing their heads, throwing spray from hooves and antlers. The sound of the river was lost in the clamor of splashing and bawling. The water boiled and darkened with mud, churned up from the bottom. Ratha saw flashes of white in the water, as silt-blinded fish thrashed and jumped to escape the animals’ hooves. The dapplebacks followed the deer into the river and the herders followed them.

Ratha ran down the beach, leaped and bellyflopped into the water. She opened her eyes, gasped at the cold and started paddling. Ahead of her, the short-legged dapplebacks swam beside the wading deer, bouncing in the brown current that swirled past the three-horns’ legs. Ratha’s feet left the bottom and she began to swim after the little horses, feeling the water pull through her pads at each stroke. She angled up against the current, which buffeted her chest.

Now the deer were swimming, only their necks above water, their crowns forming a moving thorny forest around the dapplebacks. Ratha felt the water churn beside her and saw Thakur’s slick head and dripping whiskers. She grinned at him over her shoulder and got a mouthful of muddy water as a wave slapped her in the face.

“Can you swim it, yearling?” he called as she sneezed and spluttered.

“I’ll swim it, Thakur,” she answered, water running out of the corners of her mouth. “Don’t stay beside me,” she protested as he bobbed alongside, his tail dragging downstream in the current.

Ratha settled down to the business of swimming, keeping her paws going in a steady rhythm and her nose above water. She fixed her eyes on the herd, moving in the water ahead of her. The three-horn deer formed an open ring around the dapplebacks and other animals, breaking the force of the current so that the smaller animals didn’t have to fight it. Even so, the flow was sweeping the little horses to one side of the ring, piling them up, flank to flank, against the deer. The three-horns kicked and poked the dapplebacks away, but the current pushed them back again. Trapped against their irritated neighbors, the dapplebacks squealed and bit.

Ratha swam in their wake, tasting blood in the water. Her stroke was slowing, her paws so heavy she could hardly move them. The ache in her lungs had begun before she had swum a few tail-lengths, but now it was a grinding pain, radiating from her breastbone into her chest. Her wet fur dragged her down. The water lapped along her cheek and the base of her ears. The shore seemed no closer and the herd farther away.

Thakur was swimming alongside her on the upstream side, staying close enough to grab her if she went under, but otherwise offering no help except an encouraging “Halfway, yearling.”

“Halfway, Thakur,” she bubbled and kept on stroking.

Ratha’s breastbone felt as though it would split and she was sobbing from exhaustion by the time her claws scraped bottom on the other side.

There was a tug at her ruff and the wet warmth of a body at her side. Thakur steadied her, while she found footing on the loose gravel. Slowly she waded to shore beside him and hauled herself out.

Weary as she was, she lifted her head and squinted up and down the beach. The tracks were there, but the herd had gone. The beach was quiet except for wavelets lapping along shore and her soaked pelt still draining onto the sand. Ratha ground her teeth together, crunching gritty sand between them. Meoran hadn’t bothered to wait. Yaran might have, but he was too afraid to cross Meoran. For all they knew, she had drowned in the crossing. She felt a nudge; a voice in her ear.

“It doesn’t matter, yearling. Lie down and rest.”

She turned and flattened her ears. “Meoran thinks he is rid of me, the weakling, the she-cub. When he sees me it will be like rubbing his face in dung.” She grinned, still panting. She turned and staggered up the beach, knowing Thakur could do nothing except follow.

He did. She heard his paws crunch on the sand as she made her way over the rippling dunes on the high part of the beach. She saw that he looked at the ground as he walked and not ahead to the forest, whose fire-scarred trees spoke of the Red Tongue’s passing. The burn smell hung in the air, and though it was mixed with the fresh scent of new growth, the odor brought with it the memory of the fire. Thakur began to lag and the ends of his whiskers trembled.

Ratha had gone several paces beyond him before she knew he’d stopped.

“Thakur?” She looked back. His shaking was worse than hers. “Thakur, are you sick?”

He stood, frozen, staring at the sand a few tail-lengths ahead of him. His fear-smell wafted to Ratha. Hesitantly, she came to him and nosed him.

“Now you see why Meoran called me coward,” he said, hanging his head.

“Why? What are you afraid of? The Red Tongue is gone.”

“For me it hasn’t gone.” Thakur said in a low voice. “Ratha, I can’t walk across there now. Stay here with me for a few days. We can eat river-crawlers.”

Ratha glared at him. “I want to make Meoran eat dung. The longer we wait the further away he gets.” She turned away.

“Idiot cub!” she heard Thakur yell at her back. “Ratha, you can’t go back by yourself. You couldn’t fight off a weanling cub let alone a pack of Un-Named raiders.”

“Then come with me.” Ratha stopped and looked back at him, flicking her tail.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I saw that dappleback die, yearling. You weren’t close enough to see it, but I did.”

“Thakur, the smell isn’t that bad. The ash will be soft beneath our feet. We’ll travel fast.”

He hung his head. “I can’t.”

Ratha yawned in frustration. She felt a sudden fury rising like acid in her throat.

“I don’t care about your burned dappleback! I want to go back to the clan. Maybe Meoran was right when he said your father was an Un-Named bone-eater!”

She was down in the sand before the last word was out of her mouth. Thakur stood over her, almost on top of her while her head rang from his blow. She shrank into a miserable ball and wished she could melt between the sand grains. She could feel his shadow on her, feel his pain, feel him waiting….

“I thought Meoran was just spreading lies about you,” she faltered.

Thakur gave her a smoldering look. “No. He was spreading the truth about me, which, it seems, is far worse. Where did you hear it?”

“At the clan kill. I overheard Meoran talking to Yaran. I was busy eating, but I heard enough.”

Thakur took a breath. “All right, yearling. Yes, what you heard is true. The one who sired me had no name, even though he was more worthy of it than many in the clan. My mother Reshara chose unwisely.”

“I thought our law said that both the lair-mother and lair-father must be named in order for the cubs to be named,” Ratha said.

“So why do I bear a name?” Thakur grinned ruefully. “Old Baire took pity on Reshara even though she sought outside the clan for a mate. He let her stay until her two cubs were born and then she was driven out. He let me live and gave me my name. He had that much mercy.”

Ratha lifted her nose from the sand. “Cubs? You have no littermates in the clan.”

Thakur looked uncomfortable and she knew he had not meant to say as much as he had. At last he sighed. “My brother runs with the Un-Named. Reshara took him with her when she left the clan.”

“Why didn’t she take you?”

“Old Baire asked that she leave both of us with the clan. Although our father was Un-Named, Baire knew we were far from being witless.”

“Then why did she take your brother?”

“She disobeyed Baire. She took my brother and fled. My father came to get me, but Baire’s son, Meoran, was lying in wait for him.”

“Meoran caught you,” Ratha breathed.

“Meoran killed my father and caught me. I fought, but I was only a litterling. He put a paw on me and tore out some of my front claws with his teeth.”

Ratha looked down at Thakur’s right front foot and shivered. She had once asked him how he lost his claws, but he had distracted her with something else. The foot did not look very different from the other but Ratha guessed that scars lay beneath the fur.

“Did you ever see Reshara or your brother again?” she asked.

“Reshara is dead now, Ratha,” he said, in a tone that discouraged her from asking anything more.

She tested her legs and clambered to her feet. Thakur looked beyond her to the burn.

“Go, yearling. I’ll follow,” he said.

Ratha went ahead until she reached the border of the beach where the sand was streaked with charcoal.

Beyond the upper beach the forest floor was ash and charred stubble, with a few green blades poking through. Ratha sniffed, grimaced at the smell and passed onto the burn. She walked carefully, for the ground was still dew-damp and the ash slippery beneath her pads. Once or twice she looked back. Thakur was following. His tail bristled and his whiskers trembled and she could see the fear in his eyes, yet he said nothing as he walked behind her across the burn.

The farther they traveled, the harsher the landscape grew and the more acrid the burn smell. Here the fire had burned recently and more intensely. Saplings stood, charred forlorn sticks that would never put forth another leaf. Trunks of gutted pines lay in their path, blocking the way. Ratha leaped over them easily, but coaxing Thakur across them was another matter and more than once she had to force him up and over a still-smoking log.

Thakur followed Ratha across the burn until they were blocked by a tangle of downed trees and brush. In among the charred twigs was one still burning. The flame flickered against the pale sky and danced between blackened twists of bark.

To Ratha, the Red Tongue was an animal and its life should end with its death. To find the Red Tongue alive here, even this faint and flickering part of it, was contrary to all she knew of life or death. Behind her, Thakur whimpered, the sounds escaping from his throat despite his wish to hold them back. She butted him, trying to make him go forward, but he balked, unwilling to pass the Red Tongue in the downed tree.

Ratha stared at the flame. To go around the fallen trees meant a weary trek out of the way. But she knew she couldn’t get Thakur through the tangle, even though there was room to crawl beneath the interwoven branches. He stood frozen behind her, eyes closed, panting, unable now to overcome the terror that held him prisoner.

Ratha grew angry and spat at the fire-animal. Lashing her tail, she walked toward the burning twig. A sharp gust made the flame flutter back as she approached, and she grew bolder. Around the Red Tongue, the air shimmered as if it were flowing water. The smoke was thick and resinous.

Anger and a growing fascination drew Ratha to the Red Tongue, and she stared into the blue-gold heart of the flame. It was, she thought, a thing that danced, ate and grew like a creature, but unlike a creature, once killed it wouldn’t stay dead.

With flattened ears and streaming eyes, Ratha lunged at the Red Tongue’s black throat. Her teeth sank into charred wood and she twisted her head sharply. The branch broke off. She held it in her mouth for several seconds, watching the flame curl and hiss near the end of her nose. The charcoal tasted bitter and Ratha flung the branch away. It rolled over and over in the dirt. The fire flickered, hissed and went out.

Ratha pawed the branch. She scratched the burned bark, trying to find the elusive fire-creature, but the wood was cold. When she lifted her head from the branch, Thakur’s eyes were on her. Carefully he padded forward and sniffed at the branch where the Red Tongue had been. Ratha stood to one side, panting a little from excitement.

“Can you crawl through the thicket now, Thakur?” she asked.

“Yes, yearling, I can,” he said quietly. “Lead the way.”

There were other places where the Red Tongue still guttered weakly on twigs or bark and Ratha broke the branches off and smothered the flame. Each time Thakur would sniff the charred wood to convince himself that the Red Tongue had vanished. Ratha offered to teach him her newly acquired skill, but Thakur hastily declined.

The sun stood at midpoint in the hazy sky and Thakur and Ratha were approaching another stand of gutted pines when they heard the sound of approaching feet.

Thakur lifted his muzzle and pricked his ears.

“Fessran?” he called.

“Ho, herder.” Fessran jogged around the far end of the smoking brush, keeping her distance from it.

“How far is the dan?” asked Ratha, coming alongside Thakur.

“Less than half a day’s run, if one could go straight through. Having to go around all the brush tangles and fallen trees makes the journey longer.” Fessran sat down and licked soot from her coat. “I’m surprised that you have come this far.”

“We went through,” Thakur said. “Ask Ratha.”

“You can crawl through, yes,” Fessran said doubtfully, “if you don’t mind the Red Tongue’s cubs licking at your coat.”

“I don’t worry about the Red Tongue’s cubs.” Ratha grinned. “Watch.”

Fessran came alongside Thakur and stood. Ratha trotted past them to the pile of downed trees, hopped up on a log and seized a branch with fire dancing at the tip. She bounced down with the twig in her mouth, threw it on the ground and kicked dirt on it. She grabbed the end and rubbed the glowing coals in the ash, which billowed up around her, making her sneeze. When the cloud settled, Ratha swaggered toward Fessran and Thakur, the burned stick still in her mouth. Fessran hunched her shoulders and retreated. Ratha stopped where she was.

“Come and sniff it, Fessran,” she coaxed. With a glance at Thakur, who hadn’t moved, Fessran approached Ratha, extended her neck and brushed the charcoaled bark with her whiskers. She grimaced at the smell and shied away as if she expected the fire-creature to revive and leap off the branch at her. Eyes fixed on the spot where the Red Tongue had been, Fessran crouched. Thakur nosed the branch.

“Yarr!” Fessran’s tail swept back and forth in the ash. “It is gone. You killed it!”

“I can only kill little ones,” Ratha said, still grinning around the branch end in her mouth.

“No one can do that,” Fessran said, straightening from her crouch, her belly smeared with ash. “Not even Meoran.”

Ratha strutted, her ruff and whiskers bristling. “Clan leader, ptah! Who is he compared to the slayer of the Red Tongue?”

“One who would rip you from throat to belly if he heard your words,” Thakur said, stopping her swagger with a penetrating look. Ratha wrinkled her nose at him, tossed the stick away and began scrambling across the fallen trees.

The three of them didn’t see the Red Tongue again until the sun had fallen halfway down the sky. Two saplings had fallen together, their sparse crowns interwoven. The Red Tongue crouched inside a nest of branches that sheltered it from the wind. Ratha stopped, shook the soot from between her pads and stared.

“That one isn’t in our way,” she heard Thakur say. “You don’t need to kill it.”

Ratha took a step forward. Thakur was right. She should go on and let the creature be. She lifted her muzzle and smelled. The odor was acrid, stinging her nose, burning her throat. The hated smell.

“Leave it, Ratha.”

She glanced at Thakur. He and Fessran were turning away. Another step toward the trees. Another. The fire’s rush and crackle filled her ears. The flames’ mocking dance drew her to the base of the trees and she stared up, awe and hatred mingling in a strange hunger.

She climbed onto one leaning tree, which shook and threatened to break under her weight. She balanced herself and crawled up the slender trunk, digging her claws into fire-brittled wood. She crept up until she reached the Red Tongue’s nest and began to snap away the dry twigs that guarded the flame. The creature seemed to shrink back as Ratha destroyed its nest. It withdrew to a single limb and clung there, as if daring her to reach in and pull it out. She shifted her weight and glanced down.

Fessran and Thakur stood near the tree, alternately staring up at her then at each other, brows wrinkled in dismay.

She cleared an opening large enough for her head, gulped a breath of air, tensed and lunged at the Red Tongue’s branch. Her teeth ground on wood. A branch broke beneath one of her paws, and she flailed wildly, bouncing in the treetop. The branch in her mouth splintered, with a crack that jarred her teeth. Her claws hooked, held, tore loose, and she slid. Her ears were bombarded by a volley of snapping limbs, and everything blurred, as the tree’s crown disintegrated. Black twigs, blue sky and the fire’s mocking orange tumbled together, whirled madly and crashed to a stop.

Ratha lay in the ash, her body one large ache. She opened one eye. Things were still moving. She sighed and shut it again.

Voices. Thakur’s. Fessran’s. A scuffing sound, someone kicking dirt. Ratha jumped up, shaking her ringing head. She staggered, squinting. Something moved. She planted all four paws and forced her eyes to focus on Thakur’s image, still blurred. Something was flickering between his legs as he jumped back and forth. Smoke boiled up behind him. Ratha heard the scuffing sound again and a thin, frightened yowl.

She pitched toward him, barely supporting herself on wobbly legs.

“Grab the end!” she heard Fessran call as Thakur made short useless rushes at the burning branch. “Take the end and rub it in the dirt as she did!”

But Thakur was too timid. Ratha saw him shy away again, his eyes wild with fright. Fessran blocked Ratha’s view as she charged the fire and frantically pawed dirt and ash into it. The Red Tongue paled under the gray cloud. It sputtered, choking. Ratha saw the muscles bunch in Fessran’s shoulders. The fire grew smaller; started to fade under her frenzied strokes.

Yet the fire-creature still lived and Ratha didn’t know what it might be able to do. Fessran was too close to the hail of sparks leaping from the flame.

“Fessran!” Ratha called and the other female paused in her stroking and glanced over her shoulder as Ratha stumbled toward her.

“So you live, young one. I thought you’d killed yourself with your foolishness.”

“Fessran, get away! You’re too close to it!”

Another shower of sparks went up and Fessran coughed in the thick smoke swirling around her. She sneezed and backed away. “Slay the creature, Ratha!” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Ratha jumped at the guttering fire and seized the end of the branch in her jaws. She threw it down, but the Red Tongue was stubborn and clung to the wood. She pawed the branch, rolling it over, yet still the creature peeked from between patches of curling bark. She crouched, watching, growing too fascinated with the creature to kill it. The fire crept out of its hiding place, as if it sensed that the initial assault was over. It burned cautiously along the top of the log. Ratha circled it.

“Look how it changes shape, Fessran,” she said.

“Don’t play with it,” Fessran snarled, her ears back. “Kill it.”

“Why? If we stay far enough away, it won’t hurt us. It is only a cub, Fessran.”

“It grows fast. Kill it.”

Ratha raised one paw, dipped it into the ash, stared at the fire curling around the branch. “No.” She put the paw down.

“Ratha, kill it!” Thakur cried. Fessran showed her teeth and crept toward the fire. Ratha blocked her. She tried to push past, but Ratha shoved her back. Fessran skidded in the ash and fell on her side. Ratha stood between her and the Red Tongue, her hackles up, her tail fluffed. Two pairs of slitted eyes met.

“This is my creature.”

“The Red Tongue is no one’s creature. Kill it.” Fessran scrambled in the ash, pulling her paws underneath her. Ratha tensed, feeling her eyes burn. “I will kill it or I will let it live, but it is my creature.” She leaned toward Fessran. The other’s eyes widened in dismay. She got up, shook the flaky ash from her coat.

“You don’t want to fight me,” Ratha said as Fessran sidestepped around her. The other female glared at her one more time and lowered her head. “The Named do not bare fangs against the Named,” she said harshly, “and I do not bare fangs against one I trained. Very well. The creature is yours. Keep it or kill it as you wish.”

There was the sound of feet padding away. Fessran turned her head. “Thakur has gone,” she said and took a step after him.

“Are you going with him?” Ratha asked. Her anger was gone. A hollow, empty feeling crept into her belly as she watched Fessran turn, her eyes following Thakur’s pawprints in the ash.

“I should. He is my herd-brother. You don’t need either one of us. You have your creature.”

Ratha felt herself start to tremble. “Fessran …”

The other female stood, her tail twitching, something shifting around in the depths of her eyes. Ratha’s tongue felt numb and heavy in her mouth.

“Find Thakur, then,” she said. “Tell him I didn’t mean to frighten him. After you have found him, come back to me.”

“I doubt he will come back here, Ratha.”

“Then send him on ahead and come back by yourself.” Ratha tried to keep her voice steady, but she knew her eyes were pleading. Fessran stared beyond her to the fire. Ratha followed her gaze and said, “The creature is dying. It does not matter whether I kill it or not; when you return it will be dead.”

Fessran snorted. “You were ready to fight me to protect a creature already dying? You make no sense, Ratha.”

Ratha opened her mouth to speak, found no words and hung her head. She didn’t know why she had tried to protect the Red Tongue; why her sudden anger had made her threaten Fessran and scorn Thakur.

Ratha saw Fessran’s eyes soften. “Wait here while I track Thakur. I will return for you then.” She padded away, leaving her footprints on top of Thakur’s. Ratha watched her for a while before turning back to the fire. The flame had shrunk to a pale orange fringe that huddled on the branch.

Ratha crouched beside it, curled her tail around her feet and watched it.

What are you? she asked it silently.

The flame crackled back.

Do you speak like me, or do you only growl like the Un-Named Ones? Ratha crept closer, laying her chin on the ground. You are so tiny now that you couldn’t hurt me. Whose cub are you, little Red Tongue? Her breath teased up small clouds of ashes and made the fire flutter. Don’t die, little Red Tongue, she thought.

The flame jumped, doubled its size for a moment, then shrank again.

Ratha lifted her chin, stared at the creature, extended her neck and breathed gently on it. Again the fire gained strength as it fed on her breath. Ratha jerked her whiskers back, opened her mouth and exhaled.

After a while, however, the flame began to flicker and die down into glowing coals. Ratha had to blow hard to coax the creature up again and it wouldn’t stay. Her breath wasn’t enough. It was dying. It needed something else. Ratha watched it, feeling helpless.

The charred branch broke; crumbled. Embers glowed orange and the warmth beat on Ratha’s face as she leaned over the fire. Again, she blew, raising a fountain of sparks. One landed on some dry needles and flashed into flame. For several moments, the second fire outdid the first one; then as it consumed the needles, it fell and died.

Ratha trotted to the scorched spot, sniffed it; turned back to her creature. She felt she was on the edge of an answer.

It needs … it needs … I know what it needs!

Ratha almost stumbled over her own paws as she ran to seize a twig covered with brown needles. She dropped it on the embers and jumped back as the fire spurted up again.

My creature needs to eat, she thought, whisking her tail about in her excitement. It won’t die if I feed it.

She scurried about, collecting food. She found that the fire wouldn’t eat rocks or dirt and balked when fed green stems, but would leap and crackle happily over dry needles and twigs. It also displayed a disconcerting relish for fur and whiskers. Ratha was careful to keep hers well out of its reach.

The fire burned fast and grew large. The waves of heat made Ratha’s eyes water. She stopped feeding it and soon it grew small again.

The song of a bird far across the burn made Ratha lift her head. She saw that it was evening. The sun’s edge was slipping below the horizon and the red-streaked sky was fading to violet. A single cricket began chirping; then the chorus joined in. Ratha listened to the noises, muted by the night and the soft hiss of the dying Red Tongue.

The burn lay open beneath the star-filled sky. With no trees to hold the day’s heat and break the wind, the air grew cold. Ratha, prowling in the shadows beyond the firelight, fluffed her fur and shivered, despite the summer stars overhead.

When she came back and lay down by the flame, it spread its warmth over her; her shivering stopped. She yawned and stretched her pads toward the flame. She hadn’t felt so warm and comfortable since she was a nursling curled up in the den with her mother. She rolled onto her front, tucked her forepaws under her breast and fell into a light doze, waking now and then to feed her fire.

The night grew colder. A harsh wind hissed in the trees. Ratha crept closer to the fire. She gathered a bundle of twigs and moved it nearby so that she need not leave her creature’s warmth to search for the food it needed. The fire’s sound became friendlier to her ears and she thought, sleepily, that her creature was purring. The sound lulled her and she dozed.

* * *

Ratha woke, not knowing what had disturbed her. She lay still, peering through half-closed eyes, her chin on the ground, trying not to sneeze despite the flaky ash that stung and teased her nose. A slight tremor in the ground beneath her chin told her someone was coming.

Thakur? Fessran? The intruder moved downwind of her and she could catch no scent.

She heard two sets of footsteps; one in counterpoint to the other. Two pairs of eyes glinted, green stars in the dark. She saw two forms; one hung back; the other approached. Firelight painted the newcomer’s coat with dancing shadows as it crept out of the night into the Red Tongue’s circle. The intruder raised a wary head, squinting into the flame, and Ratha saw that it was Fessran.

She crouched, limbs tensed, muscles bunched, her belly fur brushing the ground. She took a few quick steps and stopped, her flanks quivering. Ratha watched her pupils dwindle to points as she looked past the flame.

“You are still strong, wretched creature,” Ratha heard her hiss. “Did you kill the one who tamed you and eat her to gain your strength?”

Ratha sat up. Fessran’s head turned sharply, her neck fur bristling in spikes. “Ratha?”

“Here, Fessran. Behind the Red Tongue.”

“So the thing hasn’t eaten you even though it is stronger than before. You told me it was dying.”

“It was.” Ratha skirted the fire, came to Fessran, extended her neck to touch noses, but there was no answering nudge. Ratha drew her head back, wary of the other’s raised hackles and narrowed eyes. “It needed to eat,” she said, feeling awkward, yet slightly proud. “I found what it wanted. I fed it and kept it alive.”

“Ptah! Thakur and I have journeyed here for nothing. Keep your creature. Feed it and play with it all night if you want. My summer coat isn’t thick enough for this wind. I go.”

“Fessran.” Ratha pawed her flank.

Fessran said, her ears back, “I have run far in the cold this night. You begged me to return. You told me the Red Tongue would be dead by then. Ptah!”

Ratha retreated as Fessran spat. The two eyed each other. Fessran lowered her head and turned away. “Are you cold now?” Ratha asked.

“Yarr?” Fessran halted and looked back.

“You are cross because you were cold,” Ratha said patiently. “Are you cold now?”

“What a question! How can I not be with the wind blowing through….”

Ratha waited. Fessran stopped, blinked and fluffed her fur. “Your creature warms us,” she said in surprise. “I remember now; when we ran from the Red Tongue, I felt its hot breath on me and I ran faster.”

“There is no need to run from it now. My creature is only bad when it grows too large. I know how to keep it small,” Ratha said, a touch of pride in her voice. Fessran’s hackles smoothed, but she gave no indication of staying. She padded out past the rim of the firelit circle and melded with the darkness until only her eyes and teeth showed. Ratha followed to the brown-shadowed edge and shook herself as a sharp gust tore through her thin summer coat. She heard Fessran shiver.

“Come back to me and my creature,” Ratha called. She waited, then turned around in disgust and walked back to her Red Tongue. Something made her look into the dark. The eyes hadn’t gone. They still stared out at her.

Ratha ignored them. She flopped down, her belly to the fire, spreading her pads and feeling the heat flow around them. She heard hesitant footsteps behind her and began to grin.

“Be a good cub, my little Red Tongue,” she said softly to the dancing flame. “She may soon be your friend if she sees no reason to fear you.”

The footsteps grew quicker then and stopped. There was the soft brush of a tail being curled across feet. Ratha rolled her head back. Fessran sat behind her as if she were a wall protecting Fessran from the Red Tongue’s capricious play.

“You like it, don’t you?” Ratha said.

Fessran’s whiskers twitched. Her expression was still guarded, but her eyes, as she stared at the flame, were full of wonder rather than fear.

Ratha lifted her chin for a nuzzle and this time received an answering touch.

“Was I such a foolish cub to keep the creature alive?”

Fessran’s face softened. “Perhaps not, Ratha.”

Ratha yawned, arched her back and stretched until her toes and tail quivered. “Thakur told me once that the clanfolk thought old Baire was foolish when he tried to tame three-horns and add them to our herds,” she said.

“Those who spoke so had reason to be afraid,” Fessran answered. “I saw many herders die on those horns. We learned much and now we can keep the creatures, but we lost many clan folk.”

“Three-horns are good for the clan,” Ratha argued. “Baire wasn’t foolish to herd them. Maybe I’m not foolish to herd the Red Tongue. I already know much about it, and I can teach. Clan folk won’t have to die to learn.”

“May it be so, Ratha,” Fessran said cautiously. “You speak of Thakur. I have left him waiting in the cold.” She got up, shaking ash from her hindquarters.

“Call him here to warm himself beside my creature,” Ratha said.

“I’ll try, but don’t forget that he fears the Red Tongue.”

Fessran turned her back to the fire and called into the darkness where Thakur was still waiting.

Ratha saw him slink to the edge of the light where orange turned to brown and shadows grew long and wavering. There he crouched and would come no further despite Fessran’s coaxing. He wrinkled his brows and squinted away from the fire with frightened, watery eyes.

“Herd-brother, Ratha’s creature won’t harm us. Come and lie down with me. The Red Tongue makes the night as warm as your den.”

“My fur is warm enough,” Thakur growled. “The Red Tongue’s light bites my eyes. I would rather see by starlight.” He fluffed his fur against the wind. “The herdbeasts fear this thing and their fear is wise. Not to fear it is foolish.” He looked at Ratha.

“I know about it. I don’t have to fear it.” She flattened her ears.

“I know about it too.” Thakur’s lips drew back and his fangs gleamed as he spoke. “Have you forgotten how it ate the forest? Have you forgotten the dappleback I dragged away? Fessran, that was your little stallion I tried to save. I dragged the beast away from the Red Tongue, but like the snake’s tongue it struck.” He huddled, trembling, terror shimmering with the firelight in his eyes. “The Red Tongue licked at the stallion until the skin was black and falling off. It licked until the entrails burst and the bones showed white beneath. Aayowrr!”

Ratha glared at Thakur, hating him for making her remember the time when the thing she now called her creature had run wild, destroying the forests. The ashy stubble she stood on was reminder enough. She grew angrier as her own fear, the fear she had subdued to tame the Red Tongue, now rose again.

“Meoran must think you drowned in the river crossing since you haven’t yet returned to clan ground. If you don’t return soon, he’ll find a young male to take your place as herder.”

“Don’t taunt her, Thakur,” Fessran warned as Ratha felt her nape start to bristle.

“I don’t care what Meoran thinks!” Ratha snarled. Her belly churned as she remembered the clan leader’s cold eyes and scornful voice. Meoran thought her a weakling, unfit for the task of clan herder. Despite her words to Thakur, the thought stabbed into her, driving as deep as fangs into her flesh.

She quivered, wishing she could blaze out like the Red Tongue, to engulf Thakur, Meoran and all those who doubted her, to burn until nothing was left.

Thakur lifted his muzzle. “You cared what Meoran thought when you swam the river. And if you didn’t why, why, by the Law that named you, did you have to drag me across this place?” He scuffed a foot in the charred stubble. “The smell sickens me. The ash stings my feet. And you, Fessran,” he said, turning to her, “why do you encourage this foolish cub? Would you lead one of your dapplebacks onto a cliff and hope it didn’t fall off? I thought you had some sense.”

“I do,” Fessran said quietly, “and fear doesn’t keep me from using it.”

Thakur’s eyes went back to Ratha. The green in them was pale. She hated him for his weakness and she saw him flinch as he felt the depth of her hatred.

His next words were measured and careful. He stared right at Ratha as he said, “I made a mistake when I chose you to train. I should have obeyed Meoran. Teaching you to herd was a waste. I will think hard before I accept another female to train.”

“Go then!” Ratha spat, every hair on her body on end. “I’m tired of hearing you whine and tired of smelling your fear-scent. Go lie in the dark and cold, frightened one!”

Fessran’s jaw opened, but before she could say anything, Ratha sprang at Thakur.

“If what Meoran said about me was true, then what he said about you was even more so; your lair-father was an Un-Named chewer of bones, and you are unworthy of the name Baire gave you!”

She landed in front of him. He didn’t flinch or strike out. He looked at her steadily. Ratha lifted one paw to claw him, found she couldn’t and stamped in frustration, more furious at herself than at him. Thakur kept his eyes on her and the pain in them made her throat burn with shame. She wished she could dig a hole and bury her words deeper than she ever buried her dung.

“I will see you on clan ground,” he said very softly and was gone.

For a moment, Ratha stood staring at his pawprints in the flickering light and smelling the sour traces of his smell. Behind her she could hear Fessran licking her coat. She listened to the tongue strokes and the muted guttural sounds as Fessran routed fleas and combed out snarls and mats. At last her voice came from behind Ratha’s back. “He is a good herder. You did wrong to shame him.”

Ratha spun around, all patience gone. “Go with him then. I can herd the Red Tongue by myself.”

“You would do better, Ratha, if you herded your own tongue behind your teeth and kept it there for a while.” Fessran finished grooming herself, shook her pelt and got up. “Now show me how you feed this creature of yours so I may keep it alive while you sleep.”

Ratha swallowed the rest of her anger. Fessran was going to stay. That was enough. She showed Fessran her bundle of twigs and how to poke them one at a time into the Red Tongue’s lair. When Fessran had mastered the task to her satisfaction, Ratha curled up in the ash, buried her nose in her tail and slept. The last sound she heard before she fell asleep was the soft crackle-purr of the fire burning.