Ratha’s Creature (The First Book of The Named) Read online

  An old pine had poked its top through the forest canopy near the meadow. Ratha caught a glimpse of the tree before she was blinded by a burst of light; deafened and knocked over by the shock. Ratha rolled to her feet. Nearby, several three-horns had fallen and were staggering up, their eyes wild. Ratha’s gaze swept the meadow. Beasts were running in front of her. Above the thunder came another sound, the sharp crackle of flames. The old pine was burning.

  The herders stood with raised hackles as their animals ran past them.

  The old tree shot sparks and dropped burning branches, setting the forest alight. The flames rushed and roared, leaping from tree to tree until the fire reached the meadow and the grass began to burn.

  “To the creek!” a voice cried, jarring Ratha out of her stupor. Thakur galloped past her, snarling and snapping at the panicked three-horns. “Keep them together, Ratha! Drive them to the creek!”

  Other herders bounded to join them. With their help, Ratha and Thakur turned the flock and drove the deer toward the stream at the trail head.

  “It isn’t deep enough, Thakur!” Ratha panted, alongside him as they raced after the deer.

  “I know, but we can follow it to the river. String them out!” he called to the other herders as the lead animals splashed into the creek. “Keep them in the water!” Herders on both sides of the stream forced the three-horns to wade at the center. Soon there was a line of deer bounding and splashing down the creek. Thakur braked to a stop, balancing himself with his tail. “Next, the dapplebacks,” he said to Ratha. “Come on.”

  Together they galloped back to Fessran. The herder was hissing at the horses. Ratha could see that she was terrified by the fire and enraged by her charges’ stupidity.

  “They don’t have the sense to run away,” Fessran gasped, coughing. “They run toward it!”

  The fire reached into the meadow. It swept after the fleeing creatures, driven and fed by a fitful wind. It blinded them with smoke, choked them with ash and threw cinders on their coats. Ratha joined Fessran and Thakur, helping to drive the dapplebacks into the stream after the deer. The little stallion, maddened by the flames, fought the herders for control of his mares.

  Ratha leaped over a low swath of orange fire, nearly singeing her belly. The dappleback stallion broke away from the herd and raced around her. She darted after him, then skidded to a stop, afraid that the rest of the herd would scatter.

  “Get him!” Fessran appeared, her eyes watering, her cheek fur smoke-blackened. “I’ll keep the rest of them moving.”

  Ratha bounded after the dappleback, now visible only as a shadow in the acrid haze hanging over the grass. A gust of wind cleared the air for a moment and she sighted her quarry. The little stallion reared, squealing and striking out with its four-toed feet. Ratha saw Thakur duck and spring, catching the dappleback’s foreleg in his jaws. He hung on as the horse jerked and wiggled, raking its leg to ribbons against his teeth. Ratha saw him plant his paws in the smoldering ash and drag the crying stallion forward. Thakur’s fur was bristling and his eyes large and wild, but his jaws were locked around the dappleback’s foreleg and he wouldn’t let go. The horse jumped and bucked, pawing at him with its free foot. Behind them, the fire surged, boiling black smoke.

  The wind shifted, turning Thakur and the dappleback into shadows in the smoke. Ratha grabbed a breath of clear air and plunged through the haze. The stallion backed, pulling its leg through Thakur’s teeth until its foot was in his mouth. Tongues of flame leaped out. Ratha’s sight blurred, her eyes watering. She heard a high ringing scream from the dappleback’s throat. The horse broke free and toppled backwards into the flames. Ratha saw it rear up again, its back covered with fire. It shrieked once more and fell writhing on its side. Again Thakur darted at it, seized a foreleg and dragged the burning animal through the grass.

  “Thakur, leave him!” Ratha called, the hot air searing her throat so that she could barely croak out the words. She galloped after him. He had abandoned the carcass; it lay, its skin curling beneath the flames. She looked for Thakur again, but she couldn’t see anything through the haze. The fire sounded close. Dancing orange surrounded her in all directions and the roar deafened her.

  “Cub! This way.”

  Ratha wheeled and leaped at the voice, almost landing on top of Fessran. The other herder butted Ratha ahead. The ground dropped away beneath her paws. Water rushed against her chest and dragged at her legs as she floundered in the stream. A splash and Fessran landed beside her.

  “Where’s Thakur?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ratha’s feet touched the bottom as the downstream current pulled at her sides. The water reflected flame colors from the fire dancing on the shoreline. Cinders shot into the water and died with a hiss.

  Ratha slid over a little fall into a pool, bruising her flank on a stone. Fessran slithered down after her and they began to swim, holding their heads above the water. Ahead was the flock of dapplebacks, their wet coats gleaming as they waded in the graveled shallows. A burning twig fell into the stream near Fessran and she veered to one side as it sputtered and sank.

  Ratha swam ahead of Fessran, paddling fiercely to keep her head above the water. Her toes scraped gravel and she grounded in the shallows. She pulled herself out, caught up with the wading dapplebacks and wove her way through them. Fessran stayed with the horses and Ratha saw the other herder lift a dripping tail in farewell as she left her behind.

  Past the shallows, the stream narrowed and coursed over rocks and boulders. Ratha clambered across the water-worn stones, her pads slipping on algae and moss. As she worked her way downstream, she passed other clan members who hadn’t been in the meadow when the lightning struck. Gray patriarchs, frightened yearlings and mothers with squalling cubs in their jaws swam and waded beside the grim herdfolk as the fire devoured the forest behind them. Rags of flame fluttered on the pines that lined the stream bank and crawled along branches overhead.

  Soot filled the air and the fire’s wind seared throats already raw from running. Ratha drew her paws up to her body and submerged herself except for the top half of her head. She tasted muddy water running past her lips and dragging at her whiskers. She let the current carry her, only using her aching legs to pull herself over stones or to claw at the muddy bottom as the stream spilled through rapids.

  The creek deepened and quickened, carrying the weary swimmers and their beasts beyond the fire. The air grew cooler above the water and Ratha sucked it into her burning lungs. She could no longer see the herd of three-horns ahead. Some of the forms that drifted past her were moving limply wherever the current pushed them. Frightened, Ratha struck out for shore, but the current was strong and the banks had become muddy cliffs.

  The sun glowed red through the gray pall that hung among the trees, staining the stream with blood-color. Ratha felt herself sinking. Water filled her mouth. She strained her head upright, coughing and spitting. The current swept her over a rocky weir and plunged her into a cauldron that spun her around. A new and stronger flow snatched her away from the stream current. Dimly she felt teeth seize her tail and then her ruff, dragging her back against the river’s pull. She floated weakly on her side, her tongue trailing and river water filling her mouth. Her flank bumped something and she felt her wet coat grate on sand as she was hauled onto the beach. Paws and noses nudged her onto her stomach. Her whole body convulsed as she vomited muddy water. She sank back onto her side again, feeling her senses slip away into the darkness.

  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 s
cuttle 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.”