The Named: The Complete Series

Chapter Fifteen

The herders continued to visit the Red Tongue’s cave. Some did so openly; others were ashamed and furtive, sneaking up the trail through the shadows. Ratha knew she could do nothing to stop them, but she kept a careful watch to see that no meat was taken. Once or twice, she had read that intention in someone’s eyes as they sank their teeth into a haunch of three-horn, but her look and the slight lift of her lip as she growled quickly dissuaded them.

Her suspicion and the growing ascendancy of the Firekeepers over the herders poisoned the rough-and-tumble yet good-natured competition for places about a culled herdbeast. Ratha made sure that everyone received an adequate share, and there was in fact less inequality than there had been before. But everyone ate in a tense silence, punctuated only by the sound of tearing flesh. Ratha found herself eating less, for the atmosphere around a kill made the meat seem to taste rancid and stick in her throat. Even the cubs were subdued; they rarely dived in to snatch a piece of meat as they had done before. Perhaps they had learned that such antics could result in a fierce bite or scratch rather than an easygoing cuff.

No more food was stolen, and Ratha became less obvious about her watchfulness, hoping that the event would be forgotten and the clan would go back to its old ways. This helped a little. There was more conversation at meal-times and even some humor, but the unspoken distrust between the Firekeepers and the herders was an undercurrent of ill-feeling that kept everyone on edge.

A few days after the last cull, Ratha noticed that one of the three-horn fawns that had been born that spring was missing. She questioned the herders closely and had them search, but no sign of the animal was found. To lose a herdbeast without explanation was a dangerous precedent and she made it clear to the herders that it was not to happen again.

Sometimes she felt as if she was no longer walking among her own people, but among strangers whose puzzled, resentful glances made her feel strangely lost. She looked for the animal herself and did no better than the herders.

At last Cherfan told her that the fawn had been diseased. It died when the herd was driven to the river and the carcass had been buried there as it was unfit for food. She suspected this was told to placate her; she knew Cherfan and the others were growing tired of her suspicions. She gave up the search, finally deciding that trying to discover the animal’s fate would cost too much resentment and further divide the clan.

She found herself turning more and more to Thakur and his family of treelings as a relief from the burden of her leadership. Each morning, when the herding teacher went off to instruct his pupils, she stayed at his den and watched over Aree and her young ones until he returned.

At first, when the youngsters were too small to leave the nest, Ratha found her task easy and pleasant. They would nurse and sleep, although sometimes Aree would take them out into the morning sun to creep about and stare at the world with wide eyes. Like cubs, they were intensely curious and aware of everything around them. Ratha knew, however, that their awareness was not like that of the Named.

As the treelings grew older, the differences between them began to show. The larger of the two males was placid and even-tempered, while his brother made up for his small size with a bullying aggressive nature. Both the little females of the litter were lively and inquisitive, although one sister was reckless, tending to shred the objects of her curiosity, while the other would gaze at flowers or insects without touching them. She seemed to know how to be gentle without needing to be taught.

At first, Ratha was attracted to the larger and bolder of the two sisters. The young treeling shared qualities she had herself and which she thought she might want in a companion. She was stronger and had a beautifully marked pelt and distinctive masking around her muzzle. She was also adventurous, having been the first to come out of the nest. Aree was forever having to seize her tail and yank her out of trouble.

Although Ratha enjoyed the bigger female’s rough-and-tumble play, she often felt her gaze wandering to the smaller sister. The little female’s fur was less rich in color and her markings more subdued, but her gentle nature seemed to feed Ratha’s hunger for affection in a way that even Thakur’s companionship could not. The little treeling could sense when Ratha was troubled and would come to cuddle against her before settling down to groom her fur.

She wasn’t sure when she decided that the little treeling was to be her companion. Perhaps it was when Thakur noticed the growing friendship and in a teasing way began to call the youngster “Ratha’s Aree.” Since Ratha could think of nothing better, she finally accepted the name. It was easier for her to blend the two words into one, so after a while, she began to call the little treeling “Ratharee.”

The ripening season soon started, and Aree climbed trees eagerly to gather fruit. At first, the young treelings disdained this new food, but they were growing too big to nurse and the sweet smell began to tempt them. It was not long before they were eating fruit with as much gusto as their mother.

From birth, the young treelings knew fire. Its glow flickered on the wall of the den above their nest, and they became as used to the smell and sound as they were to their own mother. When the litter was old enough for Aree to leave them for long periods, Thakur again began to teach her how to care for the Red Tongue. Soon they had an audience of youngsters, who attended each teaching session and watched their mother’s training with eager curiosity.

Both Thakur and Ratha welcomed this interest and began to test the little creatures for evidence of Aree’s ability. They did this carefully and gradually, using the same methods that Thakur had used with Aree. Like their mother, the youngsters quickly discovered that the Red Tongue’s warmth could be strong enough to hurt, but if they were careful, they would not be injured.

Ratha feared that her little treeling, Ratharee, might be too timid to train as a fire-bearer. She was indeed more cautious than the others, but underneath her shyness was a certain streak of determination. Like her siblings, she wanted to imitate her mother’s prowess, and Ratha nuzzled her and praised her each time she made an effort to overcome her reticence.

Once it was evident that Aree’s youngsters could be taught the same skills as their mother, Thakur and Ratha began to devote more teaching time to them. She found that he was a much better teacher than she, for he had the experience and the patience to repeat commands and actions endlessly until the pupil finally accepted and understood. Her own impatience often made her blunder, and she struggled hard to control it. Gradually she found herself more able to master her temper, especially with her own treeling Ratharee. The affection she felt for her little companion helped to keep her sense of urgency in check.

Urgency? Yes. Neither Ratha nor Thakur said it aloud, but both shared a feeling that training the treelings was important. How quickly it was done might affect what happened in the days to come. Fessran’s old objection to depending on Aree alone was valid, but now that they had five treelings, the risk was much less. Thakur’s continued training had made Aree herself much more dependable and less likely to do something unexpected, such as the antics she had performed around the Firekeepers. But Ratha did have to grin when she remembered the expressions on the faces of the torchbearers.

Surely when Fessran saw that Aree and her youngsters could do, she would accept their services. Perhaps she would choose a treeling for herself, although Thakur might be reluctant to give one to Shongshar.

Aree was ready. Now all that remained was to get Fessran to bring the Firekeepers down for another demonstration, Ratha thought, but she found that doing so was harder than she had anticipated. The Firekeeper leader spent most of her time in the cave by the falls, watching those who came to pay homage to the Red Tongue. Shongshar was always with her, and in his presence she seemed to change, becoming haughty and imperious. Yet Ratha often caught a sudden look of misery on her face, as if she sensed the effect he had on her.

He never seemed to let her out of his sight, accompanying her down to the meadow to eat or going with her to give orders to those who built the guard-fires. Recently, he had begun to interrupt her or answer for her when she spoke to anyone else, although he still treated her with a deference that seemed exaggerated and sometimes strangely sinister. It was difficult to get Fessran alone and, even then, she seemed ill-at-ease and unwilling to talk.

Ratha finally bullied her away from Shongshar long enough to get her to agree to see Aree’s new skills. But Fessran was deliberately vague about when the meeting would take place. At last, Ratha could wait no longer. She sent word by the Firekeeper Bira that Thakur would set up a demonstration for the evening of the following day. She built a fire near his den at sunset and selected the best pine sticks for the treelings to use as torches. Thakur drilled Aree one more time and then they settled down to wait.

The night had grown cold and the fire fallen low before Ratha admitted to herself that Fessran wasn’t going to come. She stopped her angry pacing and let Ratharee climb down from her back.

“I’m going up to the cave,” she said, staring out of the circle of firelight to where the path led away from Thakur’s lair.

“I don’t think that would be wise, Ratha,” he said softly.

“Fessran will not disobey me when she looks into my eyes. I am tired of sidelong looks and all this sneaking around.”

“Then let me come with you. The trail can be treacherous at night.”

“The only treachery is within that den of belly-crawlers,” Ratha growled. “No, you stay here with Aree and her little ones. Keep the fire going until I return with Fessran. I won’t be gone long.”

She heard him sigh and turn away, but she was too angry for his words to hold her back, or even to think that her hasty actions might place him in danger.

She leaped away into the night, her rage giving her speed. There was no moon that night and the trees that overhung the creek trail made the path so black that she followed it by smell and by feel, rather than by sight. The dark made the way seem steeper, with far more turns and twists than in daylight. She brushed against dew-dampened ferns whose touch, once gentle, now seemed ominous and threatening.

Exhaustion took away some of her anger, and she began to think whether Thakur had been right after all. She also began to wonder if she should have left him without anyone else to help guard the treelings.

She climbed the last part of the trail, with her paws slipping on gravel made slick by spray and the booming of the fall in her ears. There was another sound, which grew louder as she approached the cave: the harsh roar of the Red Tongue.

Shadowy orange light spilling from the cave backlit the forms of the two Firekeepers who stood guard before the entrance. They rose, growling, but their challenge died to a mutter as they caught her smell. “You have come to crouch before the Red Tongue, clan leader?”

“No. I have come to see Fessran.”

The speaker glanced at his companion, who looked doubtfully back. “Before you enter, clan leader, there are some things you must not do …” He faltered under Ratha’s glare and his ears twitched back.

“You dare tell me what I may do before the creature that I brought to the clan? Ptaah!” She lunged at them, striking out with teeth and claws.

Before either of the guards could recover, she was past them and into the gallery leading to the cave. She could tell at once that the fire was much larger than it had been. She could see her shadow on the rock floor of the gallery. A steady wind from outside blew past her, drawn to feed the hunger of the fire-creature.

Despite her anger, she hesitated. The light ahead dazzled her, and the heat swept over her in parching waves. For a moment, the fire seemed to hold her back; then her anger flared, forcing the fear aside.

She was in the cave itself. The Red Tongue’s harsh and constant song filled the cavern and echoed back from the other chambers. The great fire reared up as if it was the central pillar that supported the cave, a writhing column of yellow and gold seeming to reach from floor to vaulted ceiling.

It lit the stone fangs that hung from the ceiling, turning them to a gleaming yellow that made them look even more like teeth in the mouth of a great and terrible creature.

Ratha was so awed by the Red Tongue itself that she almost didn’t see the shapes that gathered around it. Their shadows stretched out toward her, wavering and dancing over the rubble-strewn floor until they passed over her. At first she thought the figures were Firekeepers stoking the great flame, but as she crept closer and her eyes grew accustomed to the fierce light, she saw that they were moving together in a circle around the fire. Their movements were slow and rhythmic, as if they were beginning a dance.

The longer Ratha watched, the more she was convinced that this was a dance, but one such as she had never seen. She remembered the dance-hunts she had used to celebrate the victory of the clan over the Un-Named. Those had been fierce and wild, but even the intensity of the dance-hunt didn’t have the frenzy and fierceness of this.

The dancers leaped, lashed their flanks with their tails and struck out with their claws as if against some unseen but hated enemy. They reared up on their hind paws and reached toward the ceiling, twisting and writhing in the heat as if they themselves were the branches that were being consumed by the fire-creature in its endless hunger.

They shrieked aloud, and whether it was joy or terror in those cries, Ratha did not know. Their faces bore a look that none of the Named had ever held before, a look that was nearly madness. It was the wish to join themselves with the power of something far greater than themselves, even if it meant the sacrifice of their own wills.

The pounding rush and roar formed a rhythm for the dance, and even Ratha felt the strange tug of wild ecstasy that filled the eyes and bodies of the dancers. Amid the leaping figures, Ratha saw Fessran herself, her mouth stretched open in a cry of celebration to the power of the Red Tongue. She bounded higher than Ratha had ever seen her leap before, twisted herself in impossible ways and came so near the fire that Ratha trembled for fear she would fall in.

Ratha was so absorbed by the fire-dance that she didn’t hear someone creep up behind her until his voice was in her ear.

“Yesss,” he hissed. “Watch. Watch how it draws them, how it makes them dance. Look how it inspires them, clan leader, in a way that you cannot.”

Ratha flinched away from Shongshar, but she was too dazed by the scene to do more than take a swipe at him. When her attention swung back to the dancers, he sidled up to her and began to speak again, his words blending in some strange way into the cries of the dancers and the harsh song of the fire. Hypnotized, she listened, unable to break the trance that had fallen across her.

“What is the skill of treelings compared to this?” Shongshar whispered. “Ah, clan leader, you never understood the real power of the creature you tamed. You left that understanding to me.”

Ratha shuddered, but she could not take her eyes from the frenzied circle around the Red Tongue, nor could she block his voice from her ears.

“See what it does to your people. See how it pushes them beyond themselves. See how it takes them and fills them with strength and joy so that they have to leap and cry out. Join them, clan leader. Join them in their dance to the Red Tongue.”

Angrily, Ratha spat at him and her slash drew blood, but he didn’t strike back. She could see in his eyes that he knew she trembled. Her smell betrayed everything: rage, helplessness, fear, disgust and horrified fascination. She could see in his half-closed eyes that he knew she was close to the edge and that he would only have to wait for her to fall.

“Your mistake, clan leader,” he said softly, “is in thinking that the fire-creature is just something to be used to protect us against the Un-Named Ones and to warm us by night. It is that, but it is something much more.”

“It is the egg of a fly that turns a carcass rotten. It is the wound that starts an abscess under the skin,” she hissed, desperately seeking the strength of her anger and trying not to see how high the Firekeepers leaped in the terrifying beauty of the dance.

“If that is how you choose to think of it, clan leader,” Shongshar said placidly.

“Why aren’t you part of the dance?” Ratha demanded, but even as she spoke, she knew the answer. One who understood the Red Tongue’s power as well as he did would not be easily controlled by it.

“I am part of it in my own way,” he said and as he spoke the firelight flashed on his sabers, reminding her that he did not need any power other than his own to be dangerous. He eyed her and grinned at her discomfort. “Perhaps you shouldn’t wait for the dance to finish, clan leader. You’ve left Thakur alone with the treeling creatures. Since you seem to value them for reasons I don’t quite understand, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, would you?”

Ratha stiffened, her rage paralyzing her tongue. “You wouldn’t dare!” she finally spat.

“Me? Certainly not. But there are others who dislike the idea of the clan leader dirtying herself with those animals.”

“And you wouldn’t raise a paw to stop anyone from doing such a thing. Let me tell you this, Shongshar. If any one of the Firekeepers even makes a threat against Thakur or his tree-lings, this cave will be closed down and the Red Tongue will die. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I do,” he said in a silky voice that was almost a purr. “But to be sure, I would also ask them.” He flicked his whiskers at the dancers. His voice hardened. “And then I would ask them who they obey. It might surprise you, clan leader.”

His eyes still held their same orange glint, but now a cold ruthlessness came into them. Their hate struck into Ratha as if he had slashed her with his fangs, and she backed away from him, trembling with fear and the cold certainty that she had left Thakur and the treelings open to attack.

She whirled and sprinted away from him, across the shadows that still danced and flickered on the cave floor, through the gallery and out into the darkness. The fire-creature’s fading roar became a mocking howl as she slipped and skidded on the graveled trail and fought to find her way with eyes that had been made night-blind by the angry light.

Thakur, you told me not to go and again you were right. I was too angry to listen, but anger does me no good now. There was a bright spot before her eyes where she had looked at the heart of the cave-fire, and she could only see in front of her by turning her head from side to side as she ran. By the time she reached the path to Thakur’s den, her sight had recovered, but she could not find the welcoming flicker of the little fire she had left with him.

She thought at first that her panic might have led her down the wrong trail, but the scents about her and the feel of the ground were right. She peered ahead, her growing apprehension choking her throat and tightening her chest. The smell of smoldering ashes drew her to the remains of the fire she had left. It had been broken and scattered.

The ashy acrid smell was strong, and mixed in with it were traces of other scents that she could detect but not recognize. There were pugmarks faintly visible in the starlight, but they were smeared, as if whoever made them had slipped while running.

“Thakur …,” she moaned softly, her whiskers trembling. “Aree … Ratharee …” She approached a shape on the ground and touched it tentatively with her paw, fearing it might be the torn body of a treeling. It was only a broken branch from the scattered fire, and she sighed with relief as it rolled under her paw.

She made her way to the den itself and crawled inside, thinking a treeling might have taken shelter there, but the den was cold and empty except for the same ashy smell that filled the air outside.

When Ratha left the den she froze at the sight of two amber eyes staring at her from the night-shadow of a tree. The eyes blinked and moved forward. Ratha arched her back and flared her tail, unable to catch the newcomer’s scent in the wind that blew away from her.

“Clan leader?” The voice was female and quavery with uncertainty.

“Who is that?” Ratha snarled. “Are you a Firekeeper?”

“I’m Bira. Clan leader, come with me. I know where Thakur is.”

Her first impulse was to follow Bira eagerly, but caution held her back. Young and friendly as Bira was, she belonged with those who tended the Red Tongue.

“How do I know that Shongshar hasn’t sent you?”

“He sent me down with those who were to kill the tree-lings. but I turned on them and fought beside Thakur,” Bira answered. “If you want proof, here is the ash that I rubbed into my pelt to disguise myself like them, and here is the bite on my foreleg from Nyang’s teeth.”

Bira came forward, letting Ratha smell her fur. As she approached, Ratha saw a small shape crouched on Bira’s neck. “Thakur told me to bring your treeling, and she came with me, even though she was still frightened,” said the young Firekeeper. “Here.” She came alongside and Ratha felt treeling paws grasp her fur as Ratharee climbed from Bira’s back to hers. The treeling wound its tail around her neck and hugged her fiercely, its trembling telling her how lost and frightened it had been.

Ratha suddenly felt steadier. Bira wouldn’t have brought Ratharee in order to lead her into a trap. If Shongshar wanted to have her killed, there were other, easier ways. The young female’s story sounded true and there was no taint of deceit in either her words or her smell.

“Hurry, clan leader! Once Shongshar knows I have betrayed him, he will send others after me.”

“All right, Bira. Take me to Thakur.”

She followed Bira down the path until it met the main trail. As soon as Bira took the turn that led to the creek trail, Ratha’s suspicion flared again, and she followed warily, testing the air for scents of hidden attackers. Soon, however, Bira cut off the creek trail and began to climb the steep bank above it. Before long they were in the deeper darkness amid the great trees, and Ratha’s paws fell on crumbled bark and pine needles.

Ratha sensed they were making a wide circle to avoid the base of the falls and the cave that sheltered the Red Tongue. She wondered if Fessran and the others were still at their wild dance. The thought made her shiver.

“We’re going to some little caves above the falls. I found them one day when I was exploring, and no one else knows about them,” Bira explained as Ratha padded beside her. “I brought Thakur up this far, told him where to find the place and then went back down to look for you.”

“Did you save all the treelings?”

“Yes. One of the little ones got a scratch and Aree’s a bit bruised, but they’re all right.”

Some of the tension seeped out of Ratha and she concentrated on climbing. At last they found an old trail that had many rises and drops as well as endless switchbacks. Ratha was sure they must be far beyond clan ground when Bira turned off the path and disappeared down a brush-covered slope. The way led into a little vale with the sound of a brook chuckling over rocks and the glint of starlight on foaming water. Bira ran along the near bank and ducked under a great gray slab of broken rock.

Now Ratha could throw her fear aside, for Thakur’s scent was strong in the air about the streambank. Beneath the overhang were small recesses that barely qualified as caves. She found Thakur and the treelings nestled together in the largest one.

“Shh, Aree. It’s only Ratha,” he soothed as the largest of the treeling shapes lifted its muzzle in alarm. He shifted over to make room for Ratha on the soft sandy floor. Her relief at seeing him safe overwhelmed her, and for a while she could only crouch beside him, licking his ears, and saying, “Thakur, I should have listened. I should have listened,” over and over.

“Well, I was lucky,” he said when she finally calmed down. “The Firekeepers weren’t really after me, just the tree-lings. And when Bira turned and started helping me fight, that really confused them. That gave us time to gather up the tree-lings and run.”

“We nearly lost Aree,” added the young Firekeeper. “When Nyang scratched one of her cubs, she flew at him and bit him hard. You should have heard him yell.”

“Nyang again,” Ratha said with distaste. “He will do anything for Shongshar, won’t he? I imagine he was the one who pushed Bundi into the fire.”

“He led us,” said Bira. “He showed us how to rub ashes into our pelts so that no one could smell who we were. I hate the taste and feel of it; I’m going to wash myself in the stream tomorrow.”

“Bira,” Ratha said slowly, “I’m grateful to you for what you did. You had no reason to want to help me. You wouldn’t have had a witless litter if I hadn’t let Shongshar into the clan.”

“You took your chance, clan leader, and I took mine,” Bira answered. “I grieved for that litter, but now they are gone I don’t think of them any more. As for Thakur, I was the one who built the fire for him when he was teaching Aree. I liked him and I liked the treelings too much to let Shongshar kill them, so I tried to make Nyang think I was fierce and nasty enough for his group of killers. It wasn’t easy,” she added with a grimace that narrowed the glow of her eyes.

“I think,” said Thakur firmly, “that we should get some sleep. Whatever is happening has just begun, and we are going to need all our strength and cleverness tomorrow.”

Although his words sounded somber, Ratha was too tired to worry. Bira offered to stand guard through the first part of the night and Thakur said he would take the following watch. He hadn’t finished speaking when his voice became a drone that faded in Ratha’s ears as she slid into sleep.

She woke suddenly, shaking away the dream-image of a huge fire with grotesque black figures leaping through the flames. She opened her eyes and gratefully breathed the air of a quiet morning. Somewhere a bird trilled a high sweet note over the merry noise of the stream. Bira slept alongside, her head on her paws, her flanks rising and falling slowly. Ratharee was curled between them, the treeling’s brown-black fur contrasting with Bira’s ash-streaked red and Ratha’s own fawn color.

She lifted her muzzle and focused on Thakur, who was sitting just outside the little cave. Ratha yawned and then crept out, trying not to disturb either Bira or the treelings. She stretched, gathering herself together for the new day.

“No one knows what happened last night except Shongshar, Nyang’s group of Firekeepers and ourselves,” she said thoughtfully. “None of them are going to tell anyone, especially since their attempt was a failure, thanks to Bira.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Thakur. “Talk to Fessran?”

Ratha fell silent. After seeing the Firekeeper leader in her frenzied dance before the Red Tongue, she doubted that Fessran would listen to anything about treelings or even about Shongshar’s misdeeds.

“No,” she said. “I’m going to talk to the herders and tell them what Shongshar is up to. Then I’m going to lead them up the creek trail and take all the wood out of the cave. Without wood, the cave-fire will die and so will Shongshar’s power. We’ll see who obeys him then!”

“It may not be so easy.” The herding teacher looked at her, his eyes full of doubt.

“It won’t be, but if I can hold the loyalty of the herders, I can do it. Come with me, Thakur. Cherfan and the other herders will be more likely to listen to me if you are there.”

“And I am less likely to get pounced upon by Nyang and his pack of Firekeepers,” said Thakur dryly and added, “I didn’t think I would do much teaching today.”

“Can we trust Bira to stay with the treelings?”

“Yes. She’s no longer a Firekeeper. They wouldn’t take her back after she turned on them to help me. Nyang’s probably looking for her, and she knows she’s safe here.”

Ratha stared into the cave, taking one last look at Ratharee. “I hope Bira can keep the treelings safe.” She turned to face Thakur and felt a shiver at the solemn look on his face.

“You aren’t sure about this either, are you.”

“No,” he admitted.

There was nothing else to be said. She led the way out from under the overhang, and they waded in the stream for a distance so that their scents and prints wouldn’t lead anyone to Bira. Then they cut back to the trail and set off downhill for the meadow.