by Clare Bell
Chapter Sixteen
The Named all surged about Ratha as she launched herself at the guard around New Singer, determined to tear her way through his defense and sink her fangs repeatedly in his throat, one bite for every Named cub that died. The Firekeepers reared and plunged, swinging their brands down on raider backs and thrusting them into faces. However badly singed or blistered, the enemy held their ground, commanded by the intense power of the song coming from their leader.
Ratha knew that the effort was costing the Named too much and that even the powerful males would soon become exhausted.
“We can’t defend the nursery,” she yowled to Bira and Fessran. “Take the cubs to the fire-den!”
Thakur, who was leading Ashon, Bundi, and other young males at the edge of the fight, arrowed in with his group to Fessran and Bira. The two females loaded the young males with all the litterlings they could carry, cubs dangling from their mouths, clinging to their backs, their flanks, and even hanging from their necks. Ratha saw Thistle pick up a cub, start to pass it to Quiet Hunter, then hesitate, and finally give it to him. Ashon was so covered with his younger siblings that he could barely stagger, but he started out bravely. Bira stopped him, relieved him of some of his burden, and sent him off. She followed him, her torch flagging in the wind. More cub-carriers followed her.
Once the cub-rescue had started, Ratha led more attempts to tear away the guard around New Singer, leading a heavy charge made up of the older herders and the Firekeepers.
She thought she had won through when the rear of the line surrounding the enemy leader started to fragment. It closed again, making Ratha realize that New Singer had just released some of his core guard. To do what, was the question in Ratha’s mind, but it was quickly answered when the gang of hunter males homed in on the cub rescue. Evading Fessran, they surrounded Drani, who had just sent off another cub-carrier. Instead of trying to kill the few cubs remaining in the nursery, they jumped on Drani, subdued her, and then dragged her in an unexpected direction—toward the center of clan ground.
Three raiders separated from their gang, then, despite Fessran’s yowled warning, ambushed Bira when she returned to escort another cub-carrier, knocking her down and wresting the torch away from her. They pulled her away in the same direction they had taken Drani.
The renegades had changed tactics yet again, and almost instantly. Again Ratha felt caught off balance, not knowing what New Singer was up to. His guard seemed to fragment, but then reclosed, sending off another gang to take down and drag off another female Firekeeper.
Grinding her teeth with frustration, Ratha grabbed the fallen torch, jumped up on Mondir’s and Khushi’s backs, and, with a twist of her head, lobbed the firebrand over New Singer’s defenders right at the enemy leader himself. It hit, but bounced off, guttering to black smoke as it rolled away. In the instant it struck, though, Ratha saw and sensed a collective shudder go through the enemy fighters.
The blurred sight of a sandy coat told Ratha that Fessran had seen the same thing and understood it. Bounding atop Cherfan, the Firekeeper leader reared and flung her brand at New Singer, hitting square on. Another, deeper shudder ran through the hunter renegades, freezing some of them, but New Singer recovered.
With his warriors beating the flame out of his fur, even throwing themselves atop him to quench it, New Singer whipped his forces to greater ferocity, rage leaping in his eyes.
Fessran’s effort had been briefly effective, but it hadn’t stopped the hunter attack, and it had left the Firekeeper without her torch. Ratha was already leaping to her friend’s side as Fessran sprang away and landed, but brindled raider pelts blocked her way as the rogues surrounded and overwhelmed Fessran. The air was filled with growling, spitting, and hissed cursing as the Firekeeper went into a wild flurry. Ratha could see the blood spray flying over the heads of Fessran’s attackers. She fought to reach Fessran’s side.
With a frantic glance behind, Ratha saw that the enemy’s staunch huddle of defense had transformed itself into two wings curving outward around the raging fight. New Singer was still protected in the midst of one wing. Ratha heard Cherfan’s bellow of annoyance when the big herder found himself clawing the air where the enemy leader had been an instant ago.
More enemy gangs leaped on Firekeepers and herders alike, but they were dodging the males to fall upon the females, who were encircled and either forced or dragged away by the scruff.
Other raiders seemed to be running away, but in the wrong direction, farther into clan ground.
Fearing that they were going after the cub-carriers, Ratha twisted her head frantically, eyes and ears straining to take in everything that was happening beyond the immediate fight.
She saw the rogues chasing the cub-rescuers, but instead of trying to pull them down and kill them, or snatch the cub away, the enemy was cutting them off, driving them away toward the borders of clan ground.
“Ratha, watch yourself!” came a screech. Thakur bounded toward her, but the snarling faces of an encircling raider gang cut off her view of him. They were capturing all the females, the clan leader being no exception.
Ratha let her rage turn her into a spinning fury, slashing and raking with claws, tearing and ripping with teeth. When she had to pause, chest and throat burning, raiders lay about her, but more surrounded her. Behind them she caught a glimpse of New Singer, silently commanding his forces. The sight of him enraged her, but despite another wild flurry, they closed on her and seized her. She felt her feet being pulled through the grass as they hauled her away after Fessran and Bira.
Despair flooded over her rage, mixing to form desperation. Attacked again. Defeated again, just like she had been when Shongshar took over the clan and drove her out. No. No. She wouldn’t accept that.
Throwing her head around wildly, she caught sight of more rogues closing in on Thistle-chaser.
Not my daughter. Not Thistle!
She screamed, a sound that made even her captors start. Maddened, she heaved and bucked, renewing her struggle, feeling enemy teeth breaking as she tore away or slammed into them.
They pushed her down, crushing her, pulling her head back, stretching her neck. She saw New Singer approaching, bending his head down over her. The points of sharp teeth at her throat slid through her fur to her skin. New Singer’s breath was hot beneath her chin. She felt the points start to dig in, stretching, and then breaking through skin into less-resisting flesh.
New Singer was closing his mouth slowly, letting her experience the gradual buildup of pressure in his jaws, savoring his triumph.
Very well then. So this would be her end. The proud bearer of the Red Tongue slain by outcasts from a dream-walking hunter tribe. No, not slain just by the enemy, but by her mistakes and misjudgment. She had blundered badly. She was not worthy to lead the Named. It was better that she die in the teeth of the enemy. It would be quick and less painful than watching her people fall under New Singer. More merciful than being exiled and having to watch from a distance as her people suffered under a tyrant as they had under Shongshar.
So she would die and another would lead the Named. She was ready. She wouldn’t flinch or cry out no matter how deep those teeth went.
Suddenly the teeth went sideways, making her gasp with an unexpected pain. Then with a jerk, they yanked free. The sound of Named males roaring, and then a sudden jostling, made her realize she was no longer in the claws of the enemy. Paws were rolling her over, getting her feet underneath her. Tongues were licking away the blood from her throat. Suddenly she felt a flash of resentment. No. She had been ready to die. She could not bear what life had done. She wanted New Singer to finish his task and eliminate a failure of a Named leader. Having to know and face what was happing to Thistle-chaser, Fessran, Bira and others because of her was torture beyond bearing.
Cherfan loomed over her, his face bloodied but triumphant. “I wasn’t going to let him kill you, clan leader.”
Then another voice: Thakur. “Ratha, you’re f
ree. Can you get up? We didn’t get New Singer, but we got you back, which is more important.”
She almost welcomed the sudden faintness from blood loss. She trembled on the edge, wanting to dive into that enveloping dark. Thakur, you are wrong. You shouldn’t have wasted your effort to rescue me.
She felt herself propped up on one side by Thakur, on the other by Cherfan. Despite the bleakness in her heart, she made her body do as the two males and the rest of her people demanded.
Where were the rest of her people? She blinked, forced herself to look around. She saw the faces of clan males, but there were no females. Had the enemy killed them all? What had happened to the cubs?
“We have the cubs here,” said Thakur, swinging aside to show her litterlings in the gentle grasp of their sires, brothers, or uncles.
Ratha gasped, “What happened . . . ?”
“New Singer changed his mind,” Thakur answered, his voice grim. “Again. We made it too hard for him to kill our young, so he’s taken a new trail. He just wants to get rid of us clan males; whether he kills or drives us out makes no difference to him.”
“Why? What’s he doing? My head is spinning, Thakur. I can’t get a claw or a tooth into this. I could fight the Un-Named when they preyed on our herds. I could even fight Shongshar when he took over the clan. This New Singer . . . he keeps twisting and turning. . . . I feel that every time we strike at him, we get a clawful of air.” She paused and said ruefully, “Every time I try to understand him, I feel as though I’ve got air between my ears.”
“Yearling,” he said, using his old name for her, “I am beginning to understand. I can’t explain to you now. We have to take the cubs to a refuge and then get the herdbeasts.”
“But Thistle . . . Fessran . . . Bira . . .” Ratha stumbled.
“They were alive the last time I saw them. If New Singer is doing what I think he is, he won’t kill them.”
“Am I the only female they didn’t take?” Ratha looked around again for her daughter, her friends, still not able to accept that they were gone.
“Yes, clan leader.”
Ratha glanced at Thakur. His choice of words was deliberate. Whether or not she wanted the task or felt worthy of it, she was still the leader of the Named. Something cried in her to plunge into a rescue of the captured Named females, but she knew that the immediate survival of her people depended on saving the cubs.
She struggled to push the black fog out of her mind and think. “We have to find a safe place before any of New Singer’s rogues return.” She made herself speak, addressing all the clan males. Her eyes met theirs, but only briefly, for a part of her couldn’t bear to see any looks of judgment that might cross their faces. “I know one and it isn’t far.” She forced her voice to be strong. “Thakur, you know it, too. Do you remember the leaning stones above the waterfall where we hid when Shongshar threw me out?”
“Yes. We’ll go . . .”
Ratha knew why he stopped himself. Again she had to force words from her tongue.
“Take the cubs and follow me. Hurry, before New Singer gets wind of this. As soon as the cubs are safe, we’ll go back for the herdbeasts.”
“I’ll go find Quiet Hunter, Ashon, and Bundi and meet up with you,” volunteered Mondir. Then he looked at Ratha, his gaze steady. Even though his expression was mild, it seemed to stab her in the tender part of her feelings. “We’ve lost, haven’t we?”
“For now, yes,” she managed. “In the long term, no, not if we can save our litterlings.” She bent down and picked up a cub that had fallen from its father’s back, willing her legs not to turn to water.
With the youngster in her jaws, she sprang into a canter, Thakur beside but slightly behind her, the others following.
She led the clan males along a route she remembered. The experience seemed so long ago, although she knew it was only a few turns of the seasons. She skirted the borders of clan ground, up a pine-wooded slope, shadowing a three-horn trail that climbed along a rocky creek bank. Her party passed the huge cave where Shongshar had held his fire-dance, and reigned, a bloated tyrant, over the Named. Now the waterfall that had once fallen in the free air plunged through the roof of the cave and made another cascade out the former entrance, its flow washing out the previous access path.
The waterfall washed away the evil that the Red Tongue had been twisted into and those who had done the twisting. As Ratha climbed past it, she wished that there could be such a simple, clean resolution to the threat that she and the Named now faced. This situation was more complex, less easy to divide into absolute good and evil.
She pulled her thoughts away from the past. What mattered at this point was the fuzzy mewling bundle she held by the scruff and the others being carried along behind her.
Red-brown soil and dried pine needles became mixed with crunchy white pebbles that soon grew into rocks and then boulders between the trees. The creek grew steep, from a brook to a torrent, and pine boughs hung so low that they stroked Named backs passing beneath.
When the creek veered away from clan ground, Ratha’s party found themselves rock-hopping up an increasingly narrow gorge as the stream rushed beneath them. She was afraid for a moment that the stream flow might have destroyed her former refuge, tumbling its gray and white granite down the creek bed. No, there it was, perched on a ledge ahead, sparkling in the dappled sunshine, looking light and welcoming to weary feet.
Carrying the cub, she slipped into a crevice made by gray-and-white-speckled slabs leaning against one another. She heard Thakur follow, and then she emerged from the rock shadow into a naturally guarded courtyard formed by fallen granite. Sun warmed its rock benches, pine boughs swayed overhead, and cooling breezes found their way through the stone maze. Yes, the refuge was as she had remembered it, although perhaps during her struggle, she hadn’t appreciated it enough.
The darker gray rocks absorbed more heat from the sun. Here she and the clan males made a nest for their spotted burdens. Mondir had done as he promised—Ashon and Bundi were now with her group along with the cubs they carried. Mondir hadn’t found Quiet Hunter, but he had managed to locate and bring Mishanti.
Of course, along with Bundi and Mishanti, usually came . . .
No. Ratha shook her head. The rumblers couldn’t have followed us here.
As if on cue, a resounding bellow echoed from below, followed by a second. Grunt and, what was her name? Belch.
Ratha grimaced. This was absurd. Of all the things the Named did not need . . . She glared at Bundi and Mishanti.
“You’d better get rid of those creatures right now or—”
“We didn’t think the rumblers would see us,” Bundi protested. “We were thinking about the cubs, not them.”
“Saw us, followed us,” put in Mishanti. “Nothing we could do to stop them.”
“Their noise is going to lead the renegades right to us,” Ratha yowled, her voice rising. She turned to Thakur. “Herding teacher, make those two understand.”
Bundi kept arguing. “Why should New Singer think we’re with them? He doesn’t know we have them. To him, they’re just another beast.”
“Bundi . . .” Ratha began, her voice dropping to a growl, her ears flattening.
She felt someone’s whiskers against her side and smelled Thakur. “Easy, yearling,” he said gently. “Don’t pounce on Bundi. He’s right—the rumblers won’t give us away.”
“But they’re such a noisy nuisance,” Ratha began, and then broke off. “All right, Thakur. We’ve got more important things to worry about than a pair of stupid—”
“We’ll go quiet them anyway. Come on, Mishanti,” Bundi said, scrambling away and dragging his friend with him.
“At least they can’t get up here and knock this place flat,” Ratha grumbled to herself.
As for Quiet Hunter, she couldn’t spare the effort to look for him. The Named were stretched pretty thin. If he came under New Singer’s control again, he would be more dangerous than helpful. He’s probabl
y searching for Thistle-chaser. When things stabilized, she would look for both.
By now, all of the Named were inside. They deposited the litterlings they carried in the makeshift nursery. Cherfan and Mondir curled themselves around the cubs while other males settled themselves nearby. Ratha was grateful that her party had saved enough youngsters to require two big herders to encircle them.
Several litterlings head-bumped Cherfan’s belly.
“They’re hungry.” Mondir patted one cub with a paw. “I never thought I’d say this, but I wish I had . . . Well, I wish I had milk so that I could feed them.”
Several heads turned to Ratha. “Don’t look at me,” she said crossly. “Even if I can make milk, it will take a few days and that’s too long. We’ll have to feed them on chewed meat.”
“I think they’ll be all right for a little while,” Thakur put in softly. “We need to rest and think about what to do next.”
“I’ll get them some creek water in my mouth,” Ashon offered. He got up and went out. Several other young males followed. They ferried stream water to the youngsters, warming it in their mouths. The cubs lapped the liquid from the sides of their fathers’ jaws.
“So who gets to eat and then burp it up again to feed this bunch?” Khushi asked. He had cleaned himself up and now looked less damp and pink.
“I will,” said Cherfan, cracking the dried blood on his face with a yawn. “I’ve got a big stomach and I don’t mind.”
“You eat so much garbage that you’re used to burping things up,” Mondir said, poking him in the belly with a foot.
“You’ve got a big stomach, too,” Cherfan retaliated. “But it’s your big mouth that gets you in trouble. You’re helping me warm them, you can help me feed them.”
