The Named: The Complete Series

Chapter Sixteen

Ratha and Thakur didn’t meet anyone on the trails they took. Even the path to the meadow was deserted and, when Ratha reached the trailhead and gazed out across the grass, she sensed a tense stillness in the morning air.

She saw the dapplebacks and three-horns gathered in a tight flock instead of being scattered across the pasture as they usually were in the morning. Around the edge of the meadow, several guard-fires still burned. That was strange, she thought. Usually the Firekeepers put them out after sunrise.

The herdbeasts didn’t like being confined to such a small area of meadow. Ratha could hear the three-horns bray and paw the ground, while the dapplebacks snorted and whinnied. A few herders circled the animals, trotting around the flock to keep it together. The others were nowhere in sight.

“Ratha!” A deep voice drew her attention away from the animals. Cherfan bounded toward her over the grass. She could tell from the urgency in the big herder’s stride and the way his whiskers trembled that he was worried.

“Where is everyone, Cherfan?” Thakur asked calmly.

“Behind the big thorn thicket near the far end of the meadow. Someone killed a dappleback early this morning,” he said, turning to Ratha.

“Un-Named raiders? Bristlemanes?”

“I don’t think so. Nothing broke through the line of guard-fires.”

Ratha began pacing beside him with Thakur at her Bank. “Have you found the carcass?”

“No, but we found the place where the animal was brought down.” Cherfan broke into a fast lope and Ratha galloped beside him until they reached the thornbush. Behind it was a hidden stretch of meadow and she could tell by the torn and flattened grass that the herdbeast had died here.

Gathered around the spot were the rest of the herders, sniffing the ground and exchanging puzzled looks. Cherfan stepped into their midst, waving his tail. He stopped and looked them over carefully. “That’s strange,” he growled. “We’re missing someone. Where’s Shoman?”

The herders muttered among themselves and soon confirmed that Shoman was not helping to guard the remaining animals, nor was he anywhere else in the meadow. In fact, no one remembered having seen him since the middle of the night.

“And Bundi’s not here either,” said Thakur abruptly.

“There’s something else I don’t understand.” Cherfan narrowed his eyes. “We keep the dapplebacks out in the center of the meadow during the night. We don’t let them go behind these bushes; it’s too easy for them to wander away. If someone killed a mare here, he would have had to drive it away from the flock and the beast would have fought and made enough noise to bring all of us running.”

“Unless it was lured here by someone it knew,” said Ratha.

“All right. The dappleback may have been lured here and then killed, but none of us heard it scream. A dappleback will cry out when it feels the touch of fangs.”

“Not if there are a pair of attackers,” Thakur said quickly. “One lures the beast while the other hides. When the beast is distracted, the other leaps out and bites behind the head. The creature dies quickly and quietly. I’ve used the same method in culling.”

Cherfan wrinkled the fur on his brow. “Shoman … and Bundi? Perhaps Shoman would do such a thing. I’ve never trusted him. But Bundi?”

“I caught Shoman with a piece of meat he was using to bribe a Firekeeper,” Ratha reminded him. “Bundi was with him. He said they were both being shunned by the rest of you because of their injuries from the Red Tongue.”

“Shoman killed that dappleback to revenge himself on us?” Cherfan’s puzzlement began to give way to anger.

“Not for revenge,” said Ratha. “I think he was forced to lure it here and kill it.”

“Forced? By whom? And where is the meat? He and Bundi couldn’t have eaten it by themselves.”

Ratha glanced at Thakur, then turned her gaze back to Cherfan. “You will find the carcass in the cave where the Red Tongue is kept.”

A wave of mutters and growls spread through the herders. Some looked uncertain while others raised the fur on their napes and showed their fangs. Cherfan flattened his ears. “You’re saying that Shoman killed the beast for Shongshar and Fessran? Why?”

“Because he and Bundi were made outcasts by the Red Tongue’s mark and sought to placate the Firekeepers by any way possible. Shongshar knew his desperation and used him,” Ratha hissed.

A wave of muttering and growling spread among the herders. Cherfan flattened his ears. “No one is allowed to kill herdbeasts without your order.”

“And I did not order anyone to take that animal,” said Ratha, staring meaningfully at the other herders. “Shongshar and Fessran have disobeyed me and clan law. The carcass is stolen meat and they have no right to it. If the Firekeepers are left unpunished, they will steal again and the rest of us will go hungry.” She paused and then growled, “Do you want to hear your bellies rumble because of the Firekeepers’ greed?”

“No!” came the answer in many voices. “Lead us to the cave and we will take back the stolen meat.”

“Listen to me,” cried Ratha. “It is the Red Tongue in the cave that gives the Firekeepers their strength. They have stored wood there to feed it. If we take back the wood as well as the meat, the cave-fire will starve and die.”

“We will take back what they have stolen!”

“You do not fear the Firekeepers?”

A chorus of roars and howls rose from the group. “There are more of us than there are of them. To the cave!”

With Thakur and Cherfan flanking her, Ratha led the outraged herders up the creek trail. At first the group was boisterous and noisy, but as they drew close enough to hear the song of the Red Tongue, they became quiet. Uncertain looks passed back and forth among the herders and Ratha knew that the sense of awe that subdued those who came before the fire-creature was creeping over them again.

Thakur could sense it too, for he put his muzzle to her ear and whispered, “Don’t hesitate, Ratha, or these brave herders will desert us.”

She was grateful for the smell of dappleback meat that lingered in the air along the path. The scent fanned the herders’ anger anew and kept them pacing steadily behind her. When they reached the last stretch of the trail, Ratha whispered her final instructions.

With a roar as loud as the booming of the falls, her pack charged the cave entrance and the two Firekeeper guards. The guards tried to fight, but only managed to avoid being trampled as the herders knocked them aside and surged into the cave.

Again the fire-creature rose up before her, writhing and hissing like a live thing, but this time, Ratha was too angry to be cowed by the sight. She looked beyond the fire to where a group of Firekeepers pulled and tore at a half-stripped carcass. Nyang lifted his head, his muzzle ash-streaked and bloody. Fessran dropped the haunch she was chewing and stood up while the others glared back at Ratha over the bared ribs of the kill.

Only Shongshar continued to eat, holding a chunk of liver between his paws and slicing it with his side teeth. Ratha could hear muffled growls among the herders, but none of them came forward to challenge the Firekeepers at their feast. Many of them glanced uneasily at the Red Tongue in the center of the cave, as if expecting it to leap out and sear the first herder who made a move.

Ratha turned her gaze to Fessran. Fessran stared back haughtily, but a flicker of guilt crossed her face. “This meat is forbidden,” Ratha said in a voice that echoed around the walls of the cavern. “Leave it.”

Some of the Firekeepers exchanged glances and a few backed away from the kill.

“No!” Fessran leaped over the carcass and stood before it, lashing her tail. “We who serve the Red Tongue have taken what is rightfully ours. Eat without shame, Firekeepers, for it is the creature that we tend that guards the herd from raiders.”

“Yes, Fessran. Tell them to eat without shame from a beast killed wrongly and dragged to a cave in secret,” Ratha snarled.

“When those who keep the herdbeasts hold back meat from us who watch the guard-fires, then we have a right to such a kill,” cried Nyang, from behind Fessran.

“Ptahh! All in the clan have an equal chance to fill their bellies when the kill is eaten where it falls. Anything else is greed or arrogance, litterling.” Ratha glared at Nyang, but he ducked behind Fessran.

“What you think is equal, clan leader, is not enough for us,” Fessran said. “Serving the Red Tongue is difficult work, and it is a long way to the meadow.”

Ratha spat again. “You shame yourself by speaking lies you don’t even believe, Firekeeper leader. You know as well as I that to steal and hoard meat from a kill is an act that strikes out against the clan and my leadership.” She met their stares one by one until she fixed her eyes on Fessran. “Who ordered that herdbeast to be taken without my knowledge. Was it you, Fessran?”

“The beast was killed by herders.” The Firekeeper leader spoke sullenly.

“Yes, by a pair of herders who were told that they had to lure the beast and slaughter it in return for being allowed to enter this cave. In return for being allowed to crouch before the creature that I brought to serve the Named, but which now has birthed a litter that feeds from us like cubs from their mother.”

“You dare!” Fessran’s eyes were blazing. “You dare to speak of us that way. We serve the power of the Red Tongue, clan leader, and that power answers to none except itself!”

Ratha waited until the echoes of Fessran’s voice had faded into the hollow roar of the cave-fire. “Are those words your own, Firekeeper?” she asked with bitter sorrow thick in her throat. “Did you force Shoman and Bundi to make that kill?”

Fessran tried to answer, but the word would not leave her tongue. She stood, shaking, staring down at the floor between her feet.

“I did. I did!” screamed Nyang, lunging over the kill to face Ratha. His face, stained with blood and distorted by hate, was no longer that of an older cub but of someone filled with menace and malevolence.

“No, you wretched cub!” Fessran seized his scruff as he crouched to spring at Ratha and wrenched him off his feet. She threw him aside with a powerful toss of her head and flattened her ears at him. He crawled away, his eyes smoldering.

Ratha’s stare was suddenly drawn to Shongshar, who had finished the dappleback’s liver and now sat up. He began to clean his paws, but he interrupted this task to lift his head and fix his gaze on Ratha.

She felt as though she could fall into those eyes and be consumed by the flame that burned behind them, without leaving so much as a charred bone. The orange in them shimmered and writhed as if she saw into them through waves of terrible heat. Now she knew where the true power of the Red Tongue lay. Not in the fire burning within the cave, but in the depths of those eyes.

She knew that she had helped to lay the kindling for this fire of the spirit that had taken grief into its fierce heart and blackened it into hate. The herders saw it too and many turned their faces away from him.

“Shongshar,” she said softly, yet her voice seemed to ring about her in the cavern.

“The order to kill the dappleback was mine, clan leader,” he answered and continued to lick his paw.

“Why?”

“So that the Firekeepers might feast. The herding teacher beside you knows that cubs learn well if they have had enough to eat, and they are more willing to listen to the one who has fed them.”

Ratha waited. Shongshar paced forward and took Fessran’s place without even looking at her. She melted away from him with a frightened glance that left no doubt who was the real leader of the Firekeepers.

Shongshar spoke again. “The beast was not killed just for food, clan leader. There is another kind of hunger in your people, and it is one that a full belly will not satisfy. You do not understand this hunger, and you have done nothing to feed it. But it is a hunger that I know well.”

Ratha shivered, held against her will by the spell of his voice and the depths of his eyes.

“Look around you, and you will see it in the eyes of your herders as well as the Firekeepers,” said Shongshar, with a strange compelling rhythm in his speech. “Look within you and you will see it there.”

Despite herself, Ratha found her gaze traveling over the faces of the herders. They were silent, held as she was by the sibilant sound of Shongshar’s voice. And yes, he was right. In their faces, in their eyes and even in the changing scents of their smells, she felt a longing that perhaps had always been there, or perhaps had just been conjured out of them by the power of his words. She didn’t know which it was, and that knowledge made her afraid.

Within herself she sensed the same hunger, a feeling that she had never been able to put words to. It was a strange hunger that crept up inside her when she was alone looking up at the stars. It had come upon her when she had first sought a mate; in the closeness with him, it had nearly been filled. And it was the same hunger that drew her to the dance she had seen around the Red Tongue even as she had feared it.

And she knew that the search to satisfy this strange need could lead to things that were good, such as seeing the fluffy beauty of a newborn cub or the sheen of a dappleback stallion’s coat as he pranced about the meadow. Yet the same hunger could be twisted into something that could flourish in the depths of a cave, feeding on hatred amidst bones and tainted flesh.

Shongshar knew how to feed it; she had no doubt of that. It was as if he had fathered a litter that suckled not milk, but blood. Her horror and her anger gave her the strength to tear her gaze away from his and turn his words aside.

“Herders! Listen to me!” she cried. “The need he speaks of is really his own. If you give yourselves and your beasts to the will of the creature he serves, you will be the meat that feeds him.”

“No!” the herders cried, but many voices were missing, and those she heard sounded thin and ragged with doubt. It was too late to command them to attack the Firekeepers. She didn’t know how many of the herders who had spoken so bravely down in the meadow would stand by her if it came to an open battle. Even as they stood beside her, she sensed their courage being stolen from them by the raging creature in the center of the cave from which Shongshar drew his power. It was there that she would have to strike.

“The wood,” whispered Thakur softly behind her. “They have forgotten about it”

She glanced at the side of the cave, to where stacks of branches and kindling lay. Then she looked at the herders and hoped they would follow her. With Thakur at her flank, she leaped up and galloped toward the woodpile.

For an instant she thought she and Thakur would have to face the Firekeepers alone. Then Cherfan plunged after her and the herders followed. They reached the woodpile before the other side could rally and cut them off. Ratha saw that the Firekeepers had mistaken the herders’ charge for an attack on the carcass and had massed together to defend their kill.

“Form a line so none of them can get through,” Ratha said and her pack spread themselves out, guarding the woodpile. Nyang and several other Firekeepers approached, but they soon retreated from the menacing growls and bared fangs of the defenders.

She paced across in front of her own line and faced Shongshar. He looked at her and said nothing as she sat and curled her tail across her feet.

“You may eat, Firekeepers,” she said, turning her gaze toward them, “but this will be your last meal in this cave by the Red Tongue’s light.”

Her words were met with snarls and jeers. Soon, however, the Firekeepers grew tired of taunting her pack and turned their attention to the kill, dragging it around on the cave floor as they wrenched chunks of flesh loose and gulped them down. They did not seem to notice that the fire had already begun to fall and that their shadows were growing longer. Only Shongshar did not eat with them. He sat and watched the herders through slitted eyes.

When the carcass was stripped, the Firekeepers again amused themselves by throwing insults at the herders and trying to break through their line, but Ratha could see that the effort was half-hearted. The grim response the herders gave them quickly discouraged any idea that this was fun.

Shongshar continued to watch, and Ratha sensed that he was waiting. For what, she didn’t know, and she grew uneasy. His strength was waning with the falling fire, yet he made no attempt to launch an attack. He only sat and studied the herders’ faces with an acuteness that made them show their fangs and then try to look away from him.

The Firekeepers groomed themselves, or lay and slept as if the herders weren’t there. Shadows crept in from the sides of the cave and the dying fire’s light turned ruddy. The fire began to smoke and flicker. The flame no longer drew the wind from outside, and the cave started to fill with smoky haze.

Ratha was stiff from sitting and was about to get up and move to ease her legs when she heard Shongshar’s voice. It had grown so dim in the cave that she could see only his eyes, which now burned brighter than the fire.

“Let it die, then, clan leader,” he hissed. “Let it die and give this den back to darkness. It is better that we have nothing to crouch down before or nothing to dance to in wild joy. It is better that we of the Named turn our backs on something as great as this, for we are too weak to hold it within our jaws.”

Ratha heard whispered mutters behind her and the looks she received were shadowed by doubt. Even Cherfan seemed lost and gazed at Shongshar as if he might find a refuge in his words.

She had no answer for Shongshar except stern silence, and soon his voice came again.

“Watch this creature die, you of the clan, and see the death of all you could be. The Named could rule far beyond clan ground and be so fierce and terrible that all who once preyed on us would either flee or throw themselves at our feet. That is the power you are throwing away if you obey her.”

Again voices buzzed behind her, and eyes grew bright with visions of such a future.

“Be silent!” she hissed, as much at them as at Shongshar. The flame sank into its bed of ashes and tumbled coals. Slowly the fierce red glow faded.

Ratha felt herself start to tremble with the triumph of her victory. The cave-fire was dead and Shongshar’s power crippled. She waited, feeling the air around her grow cool.

“It is over,” she said, rising. “Firekeepers, leave the cave.”

One by one, they passed in front of her, with lowered heads and dragging tails until only one was left. Shongshar.

“Do you come, or do I have you dragged out?” she growled.

The two orange slits glared at her from the blackness. His form was a deeper darkness than that of the cave and she tensed, fearing that he would use the instant that he passed her to strike out at her.

Suddenly the eyes were gone. She saw them again as she heard coals break under the slap of his paw.

“You of the clan!” he roared. “Look! It lives!”

A tiny flame burst from the broken embers and grew as he breathed on it. Then she heard the sound of running feet, and before she could fling herself toward the fire to scatter it and beat out the remaining life, she saw that someone had broken from the herders’ ranks, bringing Shongshar wood and tinder.

Her roar of rage filled the cave and she charged him, but several more herders had already joined him and they threw her back She struck hard, rolled over, and when she staggered to her feet again, the flame was rekindled, surging up with new strength.

Shongshar’s roar called the Firekeepers back into the cave. They mingled with the deserting herders until Ratha could no longer tell them apart. Even those herders that tried to stay with her were seized and dragged away from their positions by the woodpile. She saw Cherfan’s despairing look as he was surrounded by Firekeepers and forced to the back of the cave.

The fire crackled with malicious energy as it consumed the new offerings of wood that were laid upon it. Ratha saw by the harsh light that only Thakur stood beside her, his nape and tail flared, his lips drawn back from his fangs.

“Take the herding teacher,” Shongshar commanded, standing near the flames. “He is the one who would mock us by giving the keeping of the Red Tongue to treelings. Bring him here and have him bare his throat.”

Nyang led the eager pack that fell on Thakur. Ratha leaped on them, raking their backs and their ears, but again she was flung aside and could only look on as Thakur fought with savage desperation. He bloodied several pelts before they subdued him. Teeth fastened on his scruff, his forelegs, his tail; someone got their jaws around his muzzle to keep him from biting.

Slowly they dragged him, writhing and kicking, toward the fire. His claws, dragging on the rock, made a sound like the death shriek of a herdbeast. There was a gasp that made Ratha glance toward Fessran and she saw the Firekeeper’s eyes grow wide with horror and helplessness.

Once more she flung herself at Thakur’s captors, but another pack pulled her off and held her. They brought her close and forced her to watch.

“Now, herding teacher,” said Shongshar, leering at Thakur. “Bare your throat to the Red Tongue.”

Again Thakur fought, but again he was stilled. His captors pulled him closer to the flames and forced his head back so his throat lay open and exposed.

“I bare it, but it is to you I bare it, Shongshar,” he growled between his teeth. “This talk of serving the Red Tongue’s power is nothing but a lie.”

They shook him to silence him. Ratha thought then that Shongshar would slash Thakur’s throat with his long fangs, but he stepped back from the herding teacher with satisfaction on his face.

“Good. He has begun to show his loyalty. Hold him. We will need him to guide us to the renegade Firekeeper Bira and the treelings.”

He turned, fixing his eyes on Ratha, filling her with an icy fear that she could not overcome with anger. He began to pace toward her, seeming to grow with each step.

The Firekeepers that held Ratha drew back, leaving her alone facing him.

“You are worthy of my fangs, clan leader,” he said softly. “You know I can’t leave you alive. If you lie still, I will be quick.”

Ratha dodged his first strike. They circled each other, ears flat, tails lashing. She forced her trembling legs to tighten for a spring and she leaped onto his back, driving her teeth into the side of his neck. He shuddered, but did not fall, even as she threw her weight out to drag him off balance. His blood welled into her mouth, but she knew her strike was not a killing wound.

He shook her to the side and rolled on her, but she kept her jaws locked, despite his crushing weight. Her teeth sank deeper, and she flung her forelegs around his neck, adding their pull to the strength of her straining jaws. He wrenched his head back and forth, but he could not break free, and she thought for an instant that she might be able to keep her hold until loss of blood weakened him.

He shoved a paw between her chest and his and began to pry her away. She could not sustain her grip against his powerful forelegs. She twisted her head, trying to bite deeper, but her teeth tore from the wound. The great pressure of his massive paw against her chest threatened to crush her ribs, and she drew short painful breaths.

She lost her hold and he forced her to the cave floor, one paw on her neck, the other on her chest. She writhed and wriggled, but only exhausted herself.

Above her, his teeth gleamed and his eyes burned. His jaw dropped far down, exposing the full and terrible length of his fangs. He lowered his head, and she felt the hard curve against the pulsing of her throat. His claws drove into her to hold her still as he reared his head back for the killing downslash.

“Ratha!” The scream filled the cave. From the corner of her eye, she saw the circle of herders give way as someone burst through. She grunted at the sudden impact of a body hurtling on top of her own and felt scrabbling claws as Fessran’s smell washed over her.

Ratha caught a glimpse of Shongshar’s fangs driving down toward her; then Fessran heaved and jerked. She felt the shock as Shongshar struck and heard the shriek of teeth against bone. She wrenched herself out from beneath them as a dismayed hiss welled up from those watching.

In her blurred sight, Shongshar lifted his reddened fangs from the body of the Firekeeper who had once been her friend.

“I bare my throat to you again, Ratha,” Fessran whispered, rolling her head to look up at her. “Forgive my foolishness.”

A sudden commotion broke out near the fire. One of the Firekeepers guarding Thakur recoiled from his slash. Using the moment of confusion to break free, he streaked across the cave floor to Ratha.

“Run!” he cried. She gave Fessran one last, despairing look and plunged after Thakur as he passed her. They dashed out of the cavern, down the gallery, and were out in the sunlight before roars and howls broke from the cave behind them.

Thakur rushed to the stream that spilled from the base of the falls, leaping from rock to rock until he was nearly lost in the spray. She followed, fighting to keep her footing on slick stones. He ran downstream and leaped onto the bole of a tree that leaned out from the steep slope rising before them. She sprang up behind him and together they bounded through the brush until they reached the crest of the hill.

“That should confuse them,” Thakur panted, looking back. “They’ll think we took the trail.”

Ratha was too numb to hear his words. She still seemed to feel the shock and shudder as Fessran took the strike meant for her. Softly she moaned her friend’s name aloud.

“Ratha,” Thakur said. “Ratha, there’s no hope for her. Even if he hasn’t killed her, she will die soon. Those fangs went deep.”

“I should go back and take my revenge on him. I should fight for my place as clan leader,” she hissed, rage and despair choking her throat.

“And there will be another of the Named to lie bleeding on the floor in the Red Tongue’s den. Without you, neither Bira nor I have any hope. The time is past when you can listen to anger,” he said, and Ratha knew he was right.

The sound of angry calls below sent them running up the slope of the next hill.

“Soon the Firekeepers will find our track,” said Thakur. “We should split up and draw them away from where Bira and the treelings are hiding.”

“I’ll draw them. You circle back, find Bira and tell her what has happened. Don’t worry,” she said, at his doubtful look. “I won’t try to turn and fight them. I’ll meet you at the little cave by the stream.”

“All right.” He flicked his tail and trotted uphill. After he was gone, she went back along his path, smearing out his pugmarks and covering his smell with hers. Satisfied that she had concealed his trail, she glanced at the sun and galloped down the slope, away from the cries that told her that Shongshar and the Firekeepers had found her tracks.