Clan Ground (The Second Book of the Named) (30 page)

Again he lunged for Ratha, nearly throwing off his captors. They seized him, throwing him back. Thakur opened his jaws for the killing bite.

“No,” Ratha said. “I brought him among us. I will take him to the dark trail.”

She felt the herding teacher tremble as he moved aside for her. He looked at her, his eyes dark with grief. “Be quick,” he said and stared away.

When it was done and Shongshar lay still, Ratha lifted her head with a deep weariness that seemed to fill her. She stared down at the blood oozing onto the silver fur, as the others backed away from the body.

“We will carry him into the meadow and place him beneath the tree where Bonechewer died,” she said softly. “He deserves at least that much.”

“Ratha!” The harshness in Thakur’s voice jerked her gaze from Shongshar. Fessran was looking up at the rim of the gorge, her tail starting to wag. Angry eyes glared down. The Named were all about them, descending the steep slope of the gorge on both sides. It was too late to run or to hide Shongshar’s body. Ratha knew she would either have to win the clan over or fight.

She felt Thakur edge against her, protecting Bira between himself and Fessran. The bitter smell of vengeance-hunger filled the stream as the Named crept down into the gorge.

“It’s a bad place for a fight,” Thakur growled softly.

“Stay together,” Fessran hissed. “To reach any of us, they’ll have to kill us all.”

Ratha narrowed her eyes at the pack. She sensed that the herders among them did not seem as vengeful as the Firekeepers; in fact the latter had to bully the herders into sullen complacency.

“There is the one who murdered our leader and teacher! Tear out her throat!” cried a Firekeeper and he clawed a herder, who flinched and growled, “Yes, tear out her throat!”

“Let her taste the same meat she gives to others!” cried someone else among the herders.

“Ptahh!
” Ratha spat back. “You herders know the meat he gave you. He dragged away your beasts to glut himself and those who served him while leaving you nothing. Why do you howl for him?”

“He gave us power and strength,” roared one. “He gave us the dance in the cave,” howled another.

“The dance,” said Ratha. “And was that dance ever for herders? Were the ones who worked to feed the Firekeepers ever allowed to come before the cave-fire to feast and share in the celebration?”

The herders exchanged looks with each other, despite the Firekeepers’ prodding. “No,” muttered one. “They said our coats were too dirty and that we must watch from a distance and be grateful that the Red Tongue would even permit us in the cave.”

Other mutterings broke out, and Ratha could hear more complaints being spoken against Shongshar’s attitude toward those who tended the clan’s animals.

“I’m glad Shongshar’s dead,” roared someone else, and with a start Ratha recognized Cherfan’s voice. “I’m tired of crouching to those singe-whiskered fools and hearing that we herders aren’t worthy to approach the Red Tongue.”

Heads turned among the herders and more voices joined Cherfan’s until they broke from the rest of the clan and crowded around Ratha. Cherfan faced the Firekeepers and bellowed, “All right, now we’ll see how brave you are in a fair fight!”

But Ratha could see that the Firekeepers still held the advantage. Although there were more herders in the meadow, Cherfan had no way of summoning their help without forcing a confrontation. And whether the sides were matched or not did not matter to Ratha. This battle would cost the clan heavily in lives no matter who won.

“If she wins, she will forbid us to crouch before the fire creature or offer ourselves in the dance,” she heard one Firekeeper growl to another. Muttering spread among them and one yowled, “Attack now! She has killed the fire-creature in the cave. She will keep the Red Tongue from rising again.”

“No!” cried Ratha, turning to face him. “You are wrong!”

Even Thakur and Fessran stared at her in astonishment as she waved her tail for silence. “Hear me, Firekeepers,” she said. “I understand your wish to crouch and dance before the Red Tongue. I once thought that was wrong and should be stopped, but I know better now. I killed the cave-fire because it was being misused.” She paused, looking into their eyes. “Tell me yourselves. Was it right to look down upon the herders and take their beasts when your bellies were already bloated? Or to keep them from the cave unless they brought you meat?”

Several Firekeepers lowered their heads and stared down at their paws. “No,” Ratha continued. “Shongshar did wrong by making you believe that serving the fire-creature made you more deserving than the rest. He used your belief to make you do fierce and cruel things you would not have done. That is why he died.”

A Firekeeper raised his head. “Then you will allow us to honor the Red Tongue as well as use it to guard the herds?”

“Yes. I have said nothing against honoring the fire-creature itself. Listen. This is what I will do. We will enlarge one of the old fire-lairs to make an earth-cave in the meadow where the source-fire may be kept. There dry wood can be stored and the fire will be safe from rain. It will be guarded, but anyone, Firekeeper or herder, may enter for warmth, and they may crouch and lower their whiskers before the fire, if they wish.”

“I don’t think that’s enough,” growled another Firekeeper, glaring at Ratha. “Shongshar allowed only us to approach Red Tongue and crouch before it. The herders should tend their dapplebacks.”

Yowls and hisses rose from the herders and the fur on their napes began to lift. Ratha feared that she might not be able to avert a fight.

“Listen to me, both of you. I brought the Red Tongue to the clan for all to share. The Firekeepers were created so that their skills could benefit the rest of us. Herders, the Firekeepers need you as much as you need them. Neither of you can survive without the skill of the others. If you follow me, I will see that both herders and Firekeepers share the fire-creature in a way that is good for both.”

Again mutters broke out from the Firekeepers. The one who had challenged Ratha tried to speak again, but was silenced by his companions. She waited until the Firekeepers had stopped scuffling and speaking among themselves. “Clan leader,” the first one said, “most of us think that what you have suggested is wise. But we need our own leader. We would like Fessran to return to us.”

“I think that can be done,” said Ratha as she turned to her friend and said in a lower voice, “Now that you know the pitfalls along this path, I can trust you to tread it with care.”

A few Firekeepers separated themselves from their companions and glared at Ratha. “I still don’t like it,” complained the same one who had objected before. “You think that Shongshar was wrong to take meat from the herders and give it to us? We need more than they do. We have to be strong. What’s wrong with that?”

With a roar Fessran sprang forward. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that, you greedy wretch!” He skittered away as she glared at the others in his group. “What Ratha offers is fair to all, and I intend to support her. Either you obey my orders, or you leave the Firekeepers. Is that clear?”

With sullen growls they reluctantly agreed.

To pull Shongshar’s body up out of the gorge took the efforts of Ratha and her companions. When that was done, she sent Thakur and Fessran to search for other survivors of the disaster who might have fled and were now in hiding. Gradually they began to come back, their coats soaked and their eyes haunted. Some coughed and wheezed from the water in their lungs, while others walked stiffly, pained by sprains and bruises. When they were all assembled, Ratha led them down to the meadow.

Fessran and Bira took care of the half-drowned Firekeepers, treating them like a large litter of disobedient but still-loved cubs. Fessran made them dry themselves by the fire, a new blaze that had been lit from the fire-lairs. Bira soothed those who still trembled from their memories.

Ratha found the bodies of those who had died in the flood and helped to bring them to be laid under grave-trees at the edge of clan ground. Among the dead was the herder Shoman. Another, as she had feared, was Fessran’s son, Nyang.

Some of the more wrathful herders wanted to tear Shongshar’s body and scatter his bones, but Ratha sternly forbade them from approaching him. Carefully and respectfully, she and Thakur carried the body through the meadow and laid it beneath Bonchewer’s grave-tree.

In the following days, she and Fessran reorganized the Firekeepers, reducing their number and sending some to be retrained as herders. Now that she had control of the Red Tongue again, she could encourage Thakur and the others who had treelings to resume training them in the art of caring for fire. She was pleased to learn that Aree had not forgotten her careful lessons and the young treelings still retained much of what they had learned. She and Ratharee joined in with the others and soon were spending many of their evenings learning what treeling paws could do.

They had many spectators, for those in the clan who did not have treelings were drawn by curiosity. There was still some uneasiness about having such creatures tend the Red Tongue, but Ratha sensed that it was diffuse and no longer the threat it had been during Shongshar’s rise to power. She shared Ratharee with those who wished to try working with a treeling and encouraged Thakur, Bira and Fessran to do the same.

As Ratha lifted the first pawful of earth from the threshold of the old fire-lair, she hesitated before throwing it aside. Despite her words to the Firekeepers, she felt she had set her feet in Shongshar’s pawprints and hoped she would have the strength not to take the trail he had followed.

She felt Ratharee on her shoulder, turned her head to nuzzle the treeling and felt calmer. The creature’s gentle touch eased the loneliness that sometimes came over her even when she was close to her own kind. Ratharee couldn’t speak, but she seemed to say as much with her nimble hands and bright, wise eyes as the Named did with words.

The treeling shared much more than the skill of her hands. She was a companion who never questioned or judged. Her presence seemed to lessen Ratha’s fierce need to prove herself to others, and she felt herself gaining a stability of mind that she had not known before.

When she was directing Ratharee in a task such as laying out kindling, she often felt that the treeling knew what she wanted before she nudged her arms or gave the clicking sounds that she followed. The understanding between them grew less that of one creature serving another and became a partnership. In concentrating on a task, the bond between them grew so strong that she and Ratharee were one being with shared abilities beyond those of either partner.

She also realized that the relationship was more equal than she had first thought. While she experienced the tree-ling’s dexterity as if it were her own, she sensed that her companion was gaining knowledge treelings had never had. She gave Ratharee her strength and her speed as well as her ability to see at night. Her intelligence too she shared, although she often wondered, when she looked into the startling depths of Ratharee’s eyes, whether treelings might have a cleverness of their own that was equal to that of the Named, even though it was different.

When she ventured to ask her companions how they felt about their treelings, she found she was not alone in her discovery. Even those of the Named who had only watched or worked with them for brief periods seemed to benefit from the contact.

Now she scraped away another pawful of dirt as others of the clan began to dig with her. She glanced at Thakur, alongside her, and noticed that Aree was looking a bit bulgier than she had been.

“She’s pregnant again,” said Thakur with a grin. “Don’t ask me how she did it.”

Ratha continued her task, feeling happy. Soon there would be more treelings for those of the clan who wanted them. And nearly everybody did.

She sensed this was a coming change for her people, a change more subtle but no less powerful than the bringing of the Red Tongue to the clan. But unlike the use and worship of fire, which raised savage instincts, the growing partnership of the Named with treelings seemed to waken the gentler part of their nature, giving it strength.

It gave her a strange feeling of hope, though she almost doubted it herself as she continued to dig, but it refused to leave her mind. She found herself watching her friends to see whether the change she imagined was real, and she found that it was. Even Fessran, the one who had resisted the treelings and only taken a companion after her illness, admitted she felt the effect. She was no less irascible and her comments were as pointed as ever, but her sudden flares of temper, which made others wary of her, were gone.

Perhaps it was this that gave Ratha a true hope that she could lead her people along a new path. The treelings would serve the Named not only by caring for fire with the skill of their fingers, but by lessening the feelings of loneliness and hunger for those things of the spirit that had driven the Named to frenzied obedience to the Red Tongue.

The flicker of firelight lit the earthen walls and cast a glow over the wet grass of the meadow. A light rain fell in the dusk, but the source-fire was safe in its shelter. The den had been dug deep and well, with holes to vent the smoke and allow the flame to draw. A raised floor of packed earth had been made to hold the fire above any water that might seep in, and an adjacent chamber had been dug in which to stack and dry wood. It was now half-filled with remains of the cave woodpile, pieces of which had been recovered and dried before the watch-fires.