Ratha’s Creature (The First Book of The Named) Page 6

  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, desp
ite 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 sc
ornful 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.