Ratha's Courage

by Clare Bell

  “I’ll shred your hides, you poor excuses for face-tails! I just finished digging this lair. Bundi! Mishanti! Get your scrawny tails back here!”

  Ratha, knowing better than to interrupt, let Fessran yell until she was panting. A very large dust cloud hung in the air in the direction of the escapees.

  Fessran turned and glared at Ratha. “And you, clan leader. You let those two cubs keep those . . . those things! You should have culled them. I’d rather have their meat in my stomach than their clumsy feet through the roof of my den . . . .”

  “Fess, calm down. I’ll help you redig the entrance.”

  Fessran flicked her whickers toward the massive hole Grunt had left. “That lair was Thakur’s. He’s not going to be happy.”

  “He isn’t using it,” Ratha pointed out patiently. “As for culling the creatures, you try.”

  “This isn’t the first time,” Fessran said, her fur starting to flatten again, fading her anger-scent. “Two days ago that Belch-thing stuck her nose in Bira’s den while she was sleeping and nearly scared her out of her fur.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll have a talk with Bundi and Mishanti.”

  “Make them dig their own lairs for those creatures to trample on.” Fessran was still ruffled, but starting to settle down. With quick tongue-strokes, she licked the front of her ash-streaked forepaws and got up.

  “Have you thought about including my Firekeepers in the herders’ show?” Fessran asked. “Bira’s new treeling can do some impressive things with the Red Tongue.”

  “Everyone will have a part.”

  “But as herders, not Firekeepers.”

  Ratha smelled disappointment.

  “Fess, I’m sorry. This show is to introduce the other tribe to our ways.”

  Fessran snorted. “The Red Tongue is our way. You, of all of us, know that.”

  “Of course I do. But I want to be cautious with it. You know how my creature changed us. We need to be very careful in choosing how and when we introduce it to True-of-voice and his people. As much as I want to be friends with them, we have to recognize that they could be a powerful threat.”

  “Rrrrr, I suppose you’re right, clan leader. Still, it would have been fun to have Bira’s treeling jump up on one of the tamer dapplebacks with a torch.”

  “Next season,” Ratha promised and added, “I didn’t want to overload True-of-voice with too many new impressions. Trying to understand our ways will be confusing enough for his people. I want to go one paw print at a time.”

  “And you want to lift the paw and clean it before setting it down again.” Fessran’s whiskers relaxed.

  “You understand,” Ratha said, relieved. “Good.”

  A slight teasing glint crept into the Firekeeper’s eyes.

  “I’m going to check the fire-den, clan leader. Assuming those rumbler-things haven’t trampled it as well. I thought face-tails were trouble, but these things . . .” She padded off, still grumbling to herself, but Ratha knew she wasn’t really that upset.

  Ratha and her treeling both fluffed their own fur, exchanging glances. Fessran had left one thing unsaid, which was how Ratha was going to keep the rumblers from disrupting tomorrow’s herding show. Well, she was clan leader, so she’d have to figure it out. She lowered her head and went to find the two mischief makers and their charges.

  She discovered the culprits deeper in the forest, near the edge of clan ground. Both were sitting on their rumblers’ heads, Mishanti now on Grunt, Bundi on Belch. Everyone looked and smelled disgruntled. Belch was starting to destroy another tree crown. Mishanti looked startled when Ratha approached; Bundi just gave her a resigned look and flopped along Belch’s head, his paws dangling just behind the rumbler’s eyes.

  “I’m not coming up,” Ratha said meaningfully.

  “Glad you not Fessran,” Mishanti said, swatting his beast’s ear down with a forepaw. Grunt lowered his long neck. To Ratha, the rumbler’s motion looked like a tree falling. Her body wanted to skitter away, but her determination kept her still.

  “I can get Fessran if you want,” she said through clenched teeth, eyeing Grunt.

  “Oh, no, we fine without.”

  At the edge of her vision, Ratha saw Bundi slide off Belch’s huge back and land without incident. Grunt conveyed Mishanti down to Ratha’s level, and the half-grown cub climbed off while the rumbler inspected Ratha. She could handle its mild gaze, and its breath wasn’t offensive, but when an unexpectedly long purple tongue extended and tried to lick her, she backed off, walking stiffly.

  With a commanding wave of her tail, she beckoned Bundi and Mishanti over.

  “I’m sorry, clan leader.” Bundi said, his eyes down. He dragged a claw along the ground. “It’s just that they really like us.”

  “Lots,” added Mishanti. He peered up at Ratha, his head cocked to one side. “We in trouble? Two big troubles?”

  “Are you going to have them culled or driven away?” Bundi asked, his scent tinged with sadness.

  “Not if you help me keep them away from True-of-voice and his people.” Ratha replied, not saying that all of the Named together couldn’t drive off the beasts, much less cull them. “They follow you all the time, don’t they?”

  Bundi waggled his whiskers in a yes.

  “Well, if you stayed here with them during the herder’s display, that might work,” Ratha suggested.

  “We’re supposed to be part of the show,” Bundi said.

  “You don’t have to be.”

  Bundi’s eyes widened. “But we want to be. You’re not going to swat us out, are you?”

  “If that’s the only way to keep your creatures from destroying everything, I will. Unless you have another idea.”

  “Trap them,” Mishanti said. “Tall canyon, pile big rocks.”

  “Do you think that any rock pile we could make would be much more than a bunch of pebbles to them?” Bundi asked scornfully.

  “I’m going to lay this prey right before you,” Ratha said. “I will not allow your rumblers to disrupt this display. It is too important both for us and True-of-voice’s people. If this means that you are both out of the show, then you are and that’s it.”

  “Arrr,” Bundi and Mishanti grumbled together. Then Bundi stared at Mishanti. “Grunt and Belch will stay here even if there’s only one of us with them.”

  “You, me, both in show,” Mishanti objected.

  “Not together. You can be here while I do my herding part, then I’ll come replace you and you can go do yours.” Bundi turned to Ratha. “Clan leader, if you set things up so that I’m at the end and Mishanti is at the beginning, then we can do it. Please.”

  “I can still make changes,” she said, noting the sudden urgency in his eyes. It is important to Bundi to join us in the show. He cares about it as much as he cares about the rumblers, a part of her whispered. “All right, I’ll do that, even if I have to argue with Fessran. Are you sure you can keep Grunt and Belch away? It will mean a lot of running back and forth.”

  Mishanti grimaced. “Maybe you put us and rumblers in show. Then no running.”

  “Good pounce, Mishanti, but no catch. Grunt and Belch have to stay here.”

  “Then running. Bundi getting too fat anyway. Needs running.”

  “I am not too fat,” Bundi exploded, diving at his partner. The brief flurry ended with Bundi sitting on top of Mishanti. Only the tip of the half-grown cub’s tail and the ends of his whiskers showed under Bundi’s paws and belly, but Mishanti’s defiance was still alive, although muffled. “Are too fat, too. Squishing me!”

  “Enough cub-play!” Ratha snapped. “Don’t make me drive Grunt and Belch off with the Red Tongue!”

  Bundi climbed off Mishanti, and both sat, suitably chastened. Ratha smoothed her fur.

  “You two make sure that Grunt and Belch stay here. If you can’t, I’ll send Fessran out with the Firekeepers to enforce my orders. Am I understood?”

  Two sets of whiskers waggled assent.

&n
bsp; “I’ll see you tomorrow at the display,” Ratha said. “Assuming this idea works.”

  “It will,” the two answered together.

  As Ratha began to pad off in the direction from which she had come, she heard Bundi say, “Just because you’re a scrawny little river-crawler doesn’t mean— Ow, Mishanti! Yarrr, Belch, quit that . . . .”

  Ratha quickened her steps. She had to get ready—she would be very busy tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  The Named rose early and ate lightly. Ratha saw Bundi and Mishanti, who had stayed with their rumblers overnight, take turns at the meat, fish, and grouse meal: one eating while the other made sure the rumblers stayed at the edge of clan ground.

  Ratha, washing her face after lapping water from the creek, noted the efforts of the two. Maybe things would go well after all.

  She hoped so, since she was certainly prepared to enjoy herself. She nose-touched with a freshly washed Bundi and sent him off to look after the rumblers. He would send Mishanti back, since the youngster had an early part in the herding show.

  Both Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter would serve as interpreters, but they had also asked for a part in the show. Ratha knew what Quiet Hunter would do, since the lead herder, Cherfan, and Thakur had been giving him some instruction. Thistle, however, said she planned something a bit different than just a presentation of the beginner’s skills she had been learning.

  Thistle and Quiet Hunter arrived well in advance of the main body of True-of-voice’s people. Thistle had her treeling, Biaree, as well as a short coil of vine rope.

  Though Ratha, when she was young, had often imagined what her cubs would be like, she could never have predicted Thistle-chaser. Even Bone-chewer, Thistle’s Un-Named but gifted father, had often wondered aloud where the cub got her sea-green eyes, rust and black pelt, and wiry little body. Even the stunting Thistle endured after Ratha had injured her in a fit of disappointed fury could not completely account for her small size. The light in the eyes that the Named so valued had been late in coming. Ratha was too impatient and afraid that her mating with an Un-Named male had tainted her litter.

  Now Thistle’s eyes, once clouded, shone with the Named gift. They glowed as if they were sunlight seen through green seawater.

  Quiet Hunter, Thistle’s chosen mate from the face-tail hunting tribe, was a light dun with no special markings except muzzle-patches and brown tear-lines on his face. His honey-brown eyes and patient temper were a gift to the Named from his own people.

  Anyone who saw Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter together would know that they had a special partnership, deeper than the usual attraction that drew mates to one another.

  Thistle’s fur was clean and shining. Quiet Hunter had also obviously taken pains with his grooming; every hair was in place, and he smelled strong and sure.

  Ratha delighted in the sight of the young couple and even more in her daughter’s happiness. She turned the formal nose-touch greeting into an affectionate head-rub and slide-along, feeling her daughter’s tail flop over her back.

  Thakur arrived, looking a little disheveled, since he had the last-minute task of organizing and arranging who would work with which animals and seeing that the presentations followed one another smoothly and without incident.

  Everyone agreed that Cherfan’s cheery manner and loud voice should make him the show’s announcer.

  Ratha spied Fessran, Drani, Bira, and Mishanti over by the piled-brush fence they had built the previous evening for their herdbeast-penning demonstration. Fessran and Drani didn’t have treelings, nor yet did Mishanti, but Bira’s Cherfaree and a borrowed Ratharee helped get the fence completed quickly.

  When the time came for their guests to arrive, Ratha sent an escort to meet and guide them. It included both interpreters and Cherfan.

  Ratha could feel the excitement building among the rest of the clan, and she admitted she felt it, too. This event would be fun and draw the two tribes closer together.

  Perched on the sunning rock, Ratha craned her neck for the first view of True-of-voice and his people. Below, she heard Fessran yowling, “Your tail looks fine, Bira. You don’t need to groom it again . . . .”

  Other Named voices blended with the chatter of treelings and the bellows, hoots, and neighs of the animals that Thakur and his students were holding in readiness for the performance.

  True-of-voice paced at the head of his group, flanked by Thistle and Quiet Hunter. His stride was easy and supple, showing that he had completely recovered from his nearly fatal injuries. His gray coat shone with highlights of silver. Behind him was the old female whom Ratha recognized as Bent Whiskers and another called Tooth-broke-on-a-bone. The rest fanned out about him, reminding Ratha that the face-tail hunters formed a larger group than did her clan. This tribe had been a formidable threat once and could be again.

  Some of them had fangs so long that a good portion showed outside the mouth.

  “Reminds me of old Shongshar,” Ratha heard Fessran hiss. “How do they eat with those things? Can they open their mouths wide enough?”

  The other group halted, and Ratha saw True-of-voice looking up at her. Other gazes followed his.

  Ratha sat up and lifted her chin, suppressing a strong urge to give her fur a few quick licks. She hoped she looked as impressive to True-of-voice as he did to her.

  While the clan took their places to one side of the sunning rock, Thistle and Quiet Hunter showed the face-tail hunters to the other. Ratha had asked everyone to sit so that she could see faces and forepaws as well as tails and backs. From her perch, she had a good view of the assembly.

  Ratha watched Thistle and noticed that her daughter was moving in an odd, slow, gliding manner, as she sometimes did while in the trance she used to communicate with True-of-voice. Was she already speaking to him through the mysterious song? Was she so deep in her trance that she wouldn’t be able to leave it in time for her part in the display?

  Well, if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem. It was more important to have Thistle-chaser as an interpreter than a participant. But Thistle would be disappointed, and Ratha herself was curious about what her daughter planned to present.

  From atop the sunning rock, the clan leader called, her voice calming and stilling the Named as well as welcoming their guests.

  “We of the Named greet you again on your return visit. We have already shown you some of our ways. Many are like yours, but many are different. Today we will show you how we live by keeping and tending beasts rather than hunting them. It is our hope that what you see here today helps you understand us.” Ratha paused, allowing the two interpreters to convey her meaning to True-of-voice and give his reply.

  It was Quiet Hunter, not Thistle, who raised his voice. “The hearers of the song greet those who preserved True-of-voice. The sharing of ways is awaited with interest.”

  “There is food, if any of your people wish it,” Ratha offered.

  “The song will sate one of its hungers,” the other leader replied through Quiet Hunter. “There is acknowledgment and pleasure.”

  Not quite gratitude, Ratha thought, but perhaps close enough. She wondered if curiosity was one of the song’s hungers. What others did it have?

  She hopped down, approached True-of-voice, and gave him a formal nose touch. His scent was powerful, musky.

  “May the song of the Named well up within,” said True-of-voice, this time through Thistle.

  “May you eat of the haunch and sleep in the driest den,” Ratha answered, giving the ritual greeting of the clan. She waited as Thistle interpreted her words to True-of-voice. Her daughter sat eerily still and silent, her muzzle lifted, her nostrils flared, her eyes distant. How she did so was a mystery to Ratha, but Thistle was clearly communicating with the other tribe’s leader.

  The Named and their guests still took up separate areas. The only mixing so far was between Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter, who were now licking one another’s cheeks and talking quietly. They took t
heir places, sitting to each side of True-of-voice. Soon they would be helping him and his people to understand what the clan was showing them.

  Ratha also regained her seat on the sunning rock. She wondered if, even despite the interpreters’ aid, True-of-voice or his people could comprehend the event to come. She always had the frustrating feeling that these folk were far different than the Named. Now, being near, scenting them and able to watch closely and compare them with her clan, she felt the differences intensify.

  It was not a feeling she liked or wanted, at least not the rational part of her. But she could not deny the truth or depth of her feeling.

  Turning back to her own people, she spotted Cherfan, who was already springing up on an outcrop near the sunning rock.

  “Face-tail hunters and song-hearers, you have come here not just to learn but to enjoy as well.” Cherfan’s resonant voice had warmth as well as power. “Are we ready, herding teacher?” he asked Thakur.

  “Yes,” came the reply.

  Cherfan turned back to the crowd of the Named and their guests. “We are showing these herding methods with the simplest and easiest first, the more challenging later. This is the way we teach our cubs.” He stopped for the interpreters to communicate with True-of-voice, then said, “To show that these skills can be mastered by those who are not clan-born, here is your own Quiet Hunter with one of our dappleback horses.”

  Ratha saw True-of-voice lean forward, his eyes widening.

  Quiet Hunter moved to the edge of the performance area. The herders released the horse, which trotted into the center, flicked its tail and looked slightly bored. Ratha knew that this dappleback was another of Thakur’s practice animals.