by Clare Bell
Thakur noticed other things about him as well. The silvercoat’s chest was deeper and his forelegs longer than those of the clan, giving his back a slight slope downwards to his tail. His forequarters looked more powerful than those of the Named; his shoulders and neck more heavily muscled. Even the shape of his head was subtly different. He had an odd arch in his skull that began at the crown of his head and flowed down through his broad nose to meet and blend with the backward curve of his fangs.
It was clear to Thakur that part of the stranger’s parentage was neither that of the clan nor that of the Un-Named, but a line unknown. Yet, at least one of his parents had given him the gift of self-knowledge that lit his eyes. Would he be able to pass it on to his young?
The rain grew heavier, soaking their coats and turning the dust to mud. Thakur saw several Firekeepers gathered about one of the guard-fires in the open. Some ducked beneath the sheltering pine bough and breathed on the Red Tongue while others piled kindling.
“Have to go bring more wood,” the silvercoat said and loped away. He had barely gone when Thakur heard a strange howl. He turned his whiskers outward from the herd in the direction of the sound. At first the cry was faint and lost in the constant beat of the rain, but it continued rising, gaining strength until it filled the meadow. The eerie, wavering howl broke into barks and yips that seemed to taunt the herders and the Firekeepers as they worked to protect their animals.
The howl faded, leaving only the hiss of the rain. Thakur retreated beneath the boughs of the old oak, water streaming from his tail and ears. The air under the tree was dank and heavy with the noise and smell of wet dapplebacks. In a while Orange-Eyes reappeared at the trailhead into the meadow, delivered his mouthful of sticks and joined Thakur. Many of the other herders also sought shelter from the downpour, although some aided the Firekeepers in trying to protect the guard-fires.
“Dung-eating bristlemanes!” growled the herder Cherfan, spraying his companions as he shook his heavy pelt. “It’s not the rain that makes me shiver; it’s those howls.”
“How many of them did you see?” asked Thakur.
“A pair, but I smelled more. There may be a whole pack. How I hate the stink of those belly-biters!”
As if the enemy had heard Cherfan’s words, the howls started again. They were louder this time and wilder, breaking into bursts of short, frantic cries that were unlike any other sound made by animals the Named knew. To Thakur, they had the sound of madness. He felt as though he could no longer stand and listen. “I’m going to help the Firekeepers,” he told Orange-Eyes, and dashed out from beneath the oak.
He narrowed his eyes against the sheeting rain and headed for the farthest guard-fire, which had begun to gutter and smoke beneath the canopy of branches held over it by the Firekeepers. He saw Fessran there, fighting to keep the flame alight. She started and shivered as another burst of wild howling broke across the meadow.
“No!” she snarled, slapping a branch from the mouth of a Firekeeper. “That won’t do. It’s much too green and too wet.” She turned to another Firekeeper, a young female with a red-brown coat. “Bira, get a pinewood torch from the nearest fire-lair.” She glanced over her shoulder at Thakur. He heard Orange-Eyes canter up behind him as Fessran said, “Herding teacher, you could help by bringing more dry kindling. Take Orange-Eyes with you; he knows where the woodpiles are.”
Bira dashed off toward the den where the master fire was kept, and Thakur turned to Orange-Eyes. Before he could repeat Fessran’s request, the silvercoat said, “I know what she needs. Follow me, herding teacher.”
As Orange-Eyes sprang away, Thakur saw Fessran lay back her ears at another luckless Firekeeper. “Can’t you hold that branch so that it doesn’t drip right on the Red Tongue? No wonder the creature is dying!”
Thakur peered through the rain, made out the form of Orange-Eyes, ducked his head and galloped after him. When they reached the woodpile, a heap of broken branches thrown against the base of a large fir, Orange-Eyes began to pull the top ones off.
“The sticks underneath are dry,” he said quickly. Thakur forced his muzzle in among the piled branches, ignoring thorns that raked his face. He smelled the warm resinous aroma of wood that had been drying all summer. He fastened his jaws on a branch sticking out from the bottom of the pile and pulled until he thought his fangs would break.
With a sudden snap, the branch came free and he tumbled backwards into a puddle. He felt the clammy ooze soak through his fur to his skin as he scrambled to his feet, but he managed to keep the wood from getting soaked.
To keep the rest of the wood covered, Orange-Eyes replaced the sticks he had taken from the top of the pile. He wrapped his bundle of sticks in a large dock leaf before taking it into his mouth, and showed Thakur how to do the same. When the herding teacher was ready, they galloped back through the rain toward the dying guard-fire.
Thakur saw the blurred forms of Bira and another Firekeeper pacing alongside her with a pine bough held above the torch she carried. But it was already too late. He heard a despairing yowl above the rain and caught sight of Fessran deserting her fire-creature’s nest. For an instant he was puzzled; then he knew that the guard-fire had died and they were trying to save the next one.
He and Orange-Eyes changed direction and galloped to Fessran with their loads of thornwood. Ratha was there, helping the Firekeepers, but despite the new torch Bira had brought the guard-fire began to smoke and faded quickly to embers. They retreated to another blaze that was still alive.
Thakur passed the wood he had brought to the jaws of a Firekeeper and rubbed his muzzle against his foreleg to ease the sting of a scratch on his jowls.
“Go tell Cherfan to drive the three-horns under the oak with the other animals,” Ratha said to him. The rain ran down her face, streaking the soot on her muzzle. Behind him he heard Fessran roar in alarm, “The dapplebacks! They’re attacking the dapplebacks!”
As Thakur backed out of the choking haze, he saw a line of hunched forms lope from beneath the trees at the meadow’s far side. They galloped past the ashes of the dead guard-fires and toward the herd of horses. He could hear their shrill, excited yips.
Ratha bunched her hindquarters and sprang away, followed by Fessran and several Firekeepers. Thakur wheeled and sprinted after them. He felt mud spray his legs and found Orange-Eyes running alongside of him. Ahead were the bristlemanes, a full pack of them. He caught the flicker of Ratha’s fawn coat through the rain as she dashed to cut them off.
Her attack split the pack of marauders. Half of them ran past her, heading for the dappleback herd. She and the Firekeepers gave chase and disappeared into the rain. Fessran plunged after her, only to slide to a sudden stop. There were shadows in front of her, shadows turned gray by the rain. Thakur saw the Firekeeper lunge and slash with her foreclaws. The bristlemanes retreated, but not far. They started to close about her again with hungry whines.
Together Thakur and Orange-Eyes charged them. The animals loped away, their tongues hanging and their short, ragged tails tucked between their legs. Instead of scattering, the bristlemanes circled back. Thakur spun to seek a retreat only to find himself blocked in every direction. He, Fessran and Orange-Eyes were completely surrounded.
He backed up against the two others, smelling their fear and feeling them shake. The downpour grew heavier, until he could barely see a tail-length ahead or hear the faraway cries of the other herders. He felt the fur on his neck rise in fright. The three of them would get no help from the other herders, who must be busy chasing the other raiders from the herd.
The bristlemanes closed in. Now he could see the black and yellow mottling on their pelts and the stiff, coarse manes along their necks. Their eyes shone cold and eager. The flesh of the Named could fill those bellies as well as herdbeast meat, Thakur knew. Their nostrils widened and their large ears trembled, swiveling forward.
The bristlemanes approached cautiously, their black muzzles lowered, their heavy jaws slavering. Their sm
ell reached him, making him think of flies crawling over white bones. The Un-Named One’s growl sounded on one side of him, Fessran’s snarl on the other. Her snarl turned to a screech as a bristlemane dived for her flank. Thakur saw her twist away and fasten her teeth in the thick mane, but the fur was so stiff and heavy that, however she worked her jaws, she couldn’t bite deeply enough. Blood began to run, but the creature stayed on its feet, dragging Fessran with it.
Thakur had to guard himself as another bristlemane rushed him and snapped at his belly. He sprang onto the creature’s back, sinking his teeth into its neck. The bristlemane strained its head back, shoving against his jaws until they ached. Teeth clamped on his tail and a savage jerk nearly dragged him off.
He fell to the side, his forelegs wrapped around the creature’s neck as he sought frantically for a throat hold. The pull on his tail dragged his hindquarters loose and he heard the shrill cries of the other bristlemanes as they danced around him. He lost his grip and fell heavily on his side. Paws stepped on his flank and noses snuffled at him.
For a moment he could see only legs and bellies. The nearest set of legs shuddered and then staggered. The bristlemane went down with Orange-Eyes on top of it.
Thakur was near enough to see every detail. The silvercoat flung his head back and his lower jaw dropped close to the underside of his throat freeing the full length of his fangs. His head drove down, the teeth descending with the full weight of the Un-Named One’s forequarters behind them.
There was a tearing and grinding as teeth sheared through fur and hide to meet bone. The bristlemane screamed once.
Orange-Eyes lifted his muzzle from the ruin of the animal’s nape. Thakur stared at him, caught in a sudden cold fright stronger than his fear of the bristlemanes. He knew that the stabbing bite he’d seen was like nothing the Named had ever used.
He pulled himself from his daze as he regained his feet, becoming aware that the other bristlemanes had retreated, whimpering uneasily. A short distance away, Fessran worried the limp body of another. She gave it one last shake and left it. Thakur did not have to approach to see the mark of Orange-Eyes’s bite.
Fessran rubbed against Thakur, still shivering with rage. She spat and showed her fangs at the marauders. She turned to Orange-Eyes, who was wiping his muzzle on the soaked pelt of his kill, and said, “Thanks, youngster. Those teeth of yours are good in a fight.”
The Un-Named One looked at Fessran. His eyes were oddly wary. She didn’t seem to notice.
She knows he killed the bristlemanes, Thakur thought to himself. She didn’t see how he killed them.
“Are you injured, herding teacher?”
It took Thakur an instant to respond to Orange-Eyes’s question. “They chewed my tail, but nothing else.”
Hoarse brays and shrill barks came through the sound of the rain. “There are more of those belly-biters after the dapplebacks,” Fessran growled. “Come on!”
Together, the three of them bounded toward the noise.
The rain lightened, and Thakur could see further ahead. The rest of the bristlemanes had cut into the dappleback herd, trying to separate out an old mare and her late-birthed colt. Her coat was grizzled and her feet worn. Thakur knew the herders had marked the pair for culling, for the colt was sickly. So had the bristlemanes.
They ringed the mare and her offspring, forcing them away from the flock. She fought fiercely to regain it, lashing out with her hind feet. One marauder staggered away with its jaw broken and flopping loose. The others dodged her kicks and began to drive the colt down the meadow, nipping at its hocks. They broke into a fast lope, forcing the young dappleback to canter.
From the opposite direction came Ratha and the Firekeepers with newly lit torches in their jaws, but they were too far away and the pack was gathering speed.
Thakur lengthened his stride until he was alongside the bristlemanes. He saw Orange-Eyes and Fessran pacing him on the other side, across the backs of the bristlemanes. Encircled by the pack, the dappleback mare and her colt veered from side to side, trying to break through the ring of their captors. The mare’s sides heaved and her breath came in heavy grunts. Lather flew from her neck and her eyes rolled.
Thakur felt the breath burn in his chest as he panted. He knew he could outrun the bristlemanes over short distances, but they could travel far keeping this pace. They had already settled into a ground-eating lope that would soon weary the pursuing Firekeepers. If the pack got away with these dapplebacks, they would run the pair until they were exhausted, then harass and nip at the horses until they pulled them down.
He clamped his teeth together and put all his remaining strength into one last sprint. He glanced back to see an ugly muzzle open its jaws behind his tail. He raced ahead, lengthening his lead, knowing he would need every bit of the distance.
He bounced to a stop, kicked himself into the air, spun around and hurled himself broadside into the chest of the pack leader. The impact drove the breath from his lungs. With a choked howl, the bristlemane tumbled, and Thakur felt the animal shudder repeatedly as more of the pack piled into it. He clawed his way up through a confused mass of thrashing bodies and snapping muzzles. He heard shrill cries as the rest of the animals scattered in confusion.
With a triumphant whinny, the old mare sailed over his head and galloped away from the writhing heap of bristlemanes. The colt followed. From the corner of his eye Thakur saw the Un-Named One yank a bristlemane away by its tail and seize another. He didn’t bother to kill them but just thrust them aside as he and Fessran opened a path for Thakur. The herding teacher dragged his forepaw loose and thrust it at Fessran. He yelped in pain as she fastened her jaws on his leg and hauled him out of the fray.
Thakur caught the gleam of fire on wet pelts and knew the Firekeepers had encircled the bristlemane pack. Now that the rain was stopping, the torches remained lit. The bristlemanes huddled together in the center, their ears flattened, their howls turning to whines. Several Firekeepers brought unlit sticks that had been chewed to a point and sharpened in the flame.
The bristlemanes climbed over and around each other to escape the vengeful creature that surrounded them. A Firekeeper thrust a brand at a trapped animal and it retreated until it backed into the others and could go no further. Its cries became faster and shriller until they became a terrified wail. It crouched and shuddered, trying to bury its face in its flank.
Something made Thakur glance at Orange-Eyes, who stood just outside the circle of torchbearers. The silvercoat’s eyes narrowed and his lips drew back in a half-snarl. It was not the same expression as the Firekeepers wore. Their eyes blazed with vengeance-hunger and a sudden, eager cruelty. Orange-Eyes was looking, not at the frightened bristlemanes, but at those of the clan who brandished fire at them.
Thakur remembered that the Un-Named One had also faced the Red Tongue’s wrath. He came alongside the silvercoat and softly said, “The mare and colt are still loose. We should help the herders find them.”
Orange-Eyes’s gaze remained fixed on the scene. A change came over his eyes. Their color grew more intense, and it was not just the firelight on his face.
“The Red Tongue is powerful creature,” he said softly to himself.
“The mare,” said Thakur, nudging the Un-Named One’s shoulder.
“Yes, herding teacher.” Orange-Eyes blinked, lowered his head and followed.
They found the mare’s scent trail, still strong in the wet grass. Thakur looked back once to see the flames rise and fall. Firekeepers lunged with pointed sticks in their jaws. Yapping and snarling, the frenzied animals charged the ring of torchbearers. One Firekeeper lost his brand and fell back. The cornered bristlemanes attacked again. Yowls mingled with shrill yelps as they broke through the circle, throwing their tormentors aside.
Before either Thakur or Orange-Eyes could whirl around, the pack had fled away into the night. Recovering themselves, the torchbearers gave chase, the flames tossing on their brands. Orange-Eyes leaped to join them, but t
hey had gone and their cries had already begun to fade.
Thakur let his muscles relax. “Come back,” he called to the silvercoat. “Let the Firekeepers chase them.”
Orange-Eyes hesitated, looking after the disappearing glow of the torches. He muttered something to himself that the herding teacher couldn’t hear.
“Are you going to help me track those dapplebacks or not?” Thakur felt his patience going. Orange-Eyes started and swung around, the strange expression still in his eyes. It was half resentment and half something else ... Thakur didn’t know what. A hunger, perhaps. A hunger that would not be sated by meat.
Chapter Four
Ratha halted the pursuit at the far end of the meadow. She slowed, panting, the cries of the escaping bristlemanes still in her ears. Behind her, the torchbearers’ growls mingled with the angry snap of the Red Tongue. She shared their fever; the urge to hunt the enemy down with fang and fire.
Terror had given the bristlemanes the speed to outrun the Firekeepers. Their pack-mates lay dead in the meadow and Ratha knew that those who lived bore scars on their memories as well as their hides that would forbid them from again setting foot on clan ground.
She heard a muffled snarl and the sound of a body being dragged and shaken. She turned to see one of the Firekeepers mauling another dead bristlemane. The long tongue hung out of the stiff black jaws and flopped around with each angry jerk he gave the body.
Ratha watched, letting the sight feed her hunger for vengeance. “Enough!” she cried suddenly. The Firekeeper released the corpse and backed away. She waited, studying the eyes that shone back at her with reflected torchlight, their glow softened only by a fine mist of rain. “Enough,” she said again in a low voice. “The herd is safe and the enemy gone. Firekeepers, return with me and rekindle the dead fires.”
The torchbearers did as she bid them and soon new flames were burning in the ashes of the old. But they too were small and uncertain. Ratha knew that if the rain fell harder it would quench them as easily as it had the others.
