by Clare Bell
The group quieted, leaving the evening to the snap and hiss of the Red Tongue. Ratha stood up, waving her tail to indicate the meeting was to begin. She sat and curled her tail about her feet.
“We of the Named,” she said, “have seen many changes. Once we were ruled by the Law of the Named and the power of teeth and claws. Now we follow a new law and a new way.” She turned her head toward the meeting fire and the Firekeepers beside it. “Change begets change as do cubs that grow up and have their own young. Now another change has come upon us, and again we must choose whether to accept it or turn it back.
“We have always grown from within,” she continued. “In Baire’s day and Meoran’s too, that was the law. There was no mingling with the clanless ones. But we were different then. We are fewer now. The number of cubs born each season is less. We never dared to seek outside the clan for others, but now one of them has come seeking us. He is Un-Named, but he has the same light in his eyes that we do. The question I must decide is this: shall the Un-Named One be taken among us?”
Fessran raised her soot-stained muzzle. “Tamer of the Red Tongue, I would speak in support of the Un-Named One. I would like him to hear my words. Why is he not here?”
Ratha’s gaze darted to Thakur. He seemed to wilt a bit as other stares followed hers. He sighed and sat up. “He is not here, Fessran, because I told him to stay with the yearlings. I thought it best that we make our decision without him.” Thakur paused. “Remember what happened during the dance-hunt.”
Fessran walked to the base of the sunning rock and looked up at Ratha. “Giver of the New Law, I do recall what happened then and that is why I speak in praise of him. Never have I seen such courage, even among my own torchbearers.”
“Firekeeper leader,” said Thakur, “you forget that he is neither Named nor of the clan. Our own yearlings may not come to this meeting until they have proven themselves worthy.”
But the Un-Named One has proven himself, Ratha thought suddenly. When he turned back the herdbeast so I could save Bundi, he showed his worth.
“He can’t be treated as a yearling, Thakur,” said Fessran. “He isn’t one. Ratha said his coming is something new to the clan. It can’t be dealt with in old ways.”
The Firekeeper leader turned again to the sunning rock. “Clan leader, I and the Firekeepers ask that he be allowed into this gathering so he may hear our words.”
A surprised murmur rippled through the group and Ratha caught an undercurrent of growls from the herders. Shoman leaped to his feet, his tail lashing.
“I have no praise for the Un-Named One,” the lop-eared herder sneered, glaring at Thakur. “But I join with the Firekeepers and ask that he be brought before us.”
Thakur’s jaw dropped. His eyes narrowed at Shoman. He looked to Ratha. “Is it the will of the Named?” he asked, his voice sounding harsh.
“Yes, Thakur,” she said and saw his eyes frost. “The meeting will wait while you fetch him.”
Clanfolk parted to let the herding teacher through. When he was gone, Ratha studied the two others who had spoken: Shoman, with his lip curled and his whiskers drawn back in a malicious grin, and Fessran, with her eyes eager, but not entirely innocent.
Ratha suddenly wished she could be down among them, waiting for someone else on the sunning rock to make the decisions and find the answers.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Thakur returning with Orange-Eyes. The Un-Named One looked guarded and wary as he followed Thakur to a place among the herders. He sought to catch Thakur’s gaze, but the herding teacher, who had led him in without looking at him, turned his face away. The silvercoat lowered his head and whisked his tail away from Thakur’s.
On the other side of the meeting circle, the Firekeepers stirred. Fessran rose again. “Now that the Un-Named One is among us, as he deserves to be, I may speak. I am not one to praise the clanless ones. I have seen too many of us fall to them. But, as Ratha has said, some of them hold the same light in their eyes as we do and want more than the lives of raiders and scavengers.”
A hard voice broke from the growls of the herders. “Ptahh! What he wants is to fill his belly with the flesh of our herdbeasts!”
Heads turned to Shoman. Fessran tried to answer, but her words were drowned in the sudden uproar. Ratha slapped the sunning rock with her paw to quiet the gathering. “Let Fessran speak.” She directed a meaningful glance at Shoman.
Fessran also eyed Shoman and said, “If that’s all you think he wants, why did you ask that he be brought to the meeting?”
“So that all of you may see him for what he is.” Shoman’s gaze darted over the group. “You, Cherfan,” he said to a herder in the back, “you, who lost a lair-son to the Un-Named. You, Mondir, who buried the body of your littermate after a raid. All of you who bear scars on your coats. Look at him. Those eyes. Are they like ours? Those teeth. They could easily slash our throats.” He turned back to Fessran. “You don’t think of that, Firekeeper.”
Fessran only yawned. “You bear no scars on your pelt,” she said dryly. Some of the Firekeepers lolled their tongues in derisive grins.
Shoman’s eyes blazed. “Wounds may be deep but unseen. I know my lair-father died at the jaws of the Un-Named. That is enough.”
Several of the herders who were Shoman’s friends flattened their ears at the Un-Named One. The silvercoat ignored them, drawing himself in and sitting stiffly.
“No, it is not enough,” Fessran snapped. “What you want, Shoman, is revenge, not what is best for the rest of us. As for teeth, we all have them and we could all bite each other’s throats if we were savage enough.” She stamped impatiently. “You of the clan, don’t you know what you saw that night of the dance-hunt? You saw someone with the strength of will to fight his fear of the Red Tongue, someone who stood his ground against my Firekeepers even when he was sick and starving.”
Fessran began to circle, twitching her tail. “Yes, he wants to fill his belly. All of us do. And he will earn that right by using his courage to defend our herds.”
She reared up on her hind legs, her belly fur showing golden-white in the flame’s glow.
“Cherfan!” she called to him. “You lost a litterling in the Un-Named raids. What was his name?”
Cherfan reacted slowly, blinking in surprise. “He was called Shongshar.”
“Good. What the Un-Named have taken, they will give back. Had Cherfan’s cub lived, he would have been a brave herder and sired strong young. I have seen that this one”—she wagged her whiskers toward the silvercoat—“shows much courage in guarding the animals. As for young, we will have to wait a little while, but not too long, I think.” Fessran cast a sly glance at the young females among the Firekeepers.
Trust Fessran to provide a little humor, Ratha thought, but the Firekeeper’s words made her uneasy and the shadow of an old memory fell across her mind. She looked for Thakur and found him sitting stiffly. She had never seen him look so solemn.
“Shongshar is a good name,” Fessran was saying. “It shouldn’t be lost. Let the newcomer join and give him that name. Let the clan have a new Shongshar!”
Again there was an uproar. Ratha noticed that the silvercoat was saying the name to himself; trying it to see how it fit. Fessran, obviously enjoying the attention she was getting, swaggered over to Thakur. For an instant he didn’t seem to know she was there, then he jerked his head around and faced her.
The Firekeeper’s intent wasn’t malicious as Shoman’s had been. She did have a tendency to poke fun at those who took themselves too seriously. Ratha herself had received a few sharp digs from the claws of Fessran’s wit.
“Herder, you spoke against the Un-Named One at the start of this meeting,” Fessran said, still looking amused. “Why are you quiet now?” The sudden misery on his face made the Firekeeper lose her grin. Her brows drew together and she said something to Thakur in a softer tone that Ratha couldn’t hear.
She caught Thakur’s reply as he got to his feet.
“If you mean to support him,” Fessran interrupted, her eyes wide, “why did you want to leave him out of the meeting?”
“I have other words besides those of praise,” Thakur snapped back. “Firekeeper leader, like everyone else here, I try to make things easy for myself. What I have to say would be easier if he weren’t listening to it.”
Ratha caught the silvercoat peering at Thakur with complete bewilderment in his orange eyes. One ear was cocked forward, the other back, as though he didn’t know whether to be jubilant or outraged. Other clan members exchanged puzzled looks. Shoman looked completely taken aback and Ratha didn’t blame him.
“We have made many mistakes about the clanless ones,” said Thakur. “We thought them all witless and we found a few were not. We thought them too scattered and incapable of a major attack on the clan. We were wrong. Now we think we know enough about them to accept them into the clan. I warn you that we may be wrong again.” Thakur took a breath. “Ratha, you said there have been many changes. That is so, but not all things can or should change. The old law that forbade Named from mingling with Un-Named had a reason for being. It kept the light in the cubs’ eyes. If we forget it now, we risk losing what we have struggled to be.”
He looked up at Ratha as he spoke, and she felt her old memory rise and wash over her like a river flood. The faces of her own cubs, with their blank animal eyes ...
The seasons had covered that pain slowly; the days falling on it like leaves to the forest floor. Now it was back again and the pain as fresh as ever. Thakur’s face seemed to change in her vision; his green eyes turning amber with a hint of bitter yellow; his scarred muzzle turning to one that was unblemished except for a broken left lower fang. Even his odor changed, becoming stronger and wilder: the scent of one who had lived alone and hunted for himself until he had taken her as his mate.
She thrust the memory away and saw the face that was really before her. Why does Thakur have to look and smell so much like his dead brother?
A sense of shame rose up as Bonechewer’s memory receded. She had been so caught up in Fessran’s idea that she had nearly forgotten the harsh lesson the past had taught her. Now she wanted to bury her head between her paws and cry aloud.
Thakur spoke again and she focused once more on his voice. “I think it is better for the Un-Named One and for ourselves that we not accept him and that he leave clan ground.” For the first time since he had returned to the group, he looked the silvercoat in the face. His whiskers started to droop. “I am sorry. I wish we had thought about it sooner.”
From her perch, Ratha studied the Un-Named One. The firelight played over him, making him seem to move abruptly, even though he stayed still and gazed at the clan with unreadable eyes.
Below her, arguments flew back and forth. Anger and disappointment showed on some faces, puzzlement on others. Fessran looked especially disgruntled and Ratha guessed she would not easily forgive Thakur if he destroyed her vision of a replacement for the dead Shongshar.
She caught fragments of conversations.
“... we can let him eat from the kill, but forbid him to mate ...”
“... our flock is getting too large. Another herder would be helpful ...”
“... the way those female Firekeepers look at him? They won’t be thinking of anything else once the heat has come on them ...”
Eyes turned to her for answers, but she had none. Either choice might wreck the clan. She felt paralyzed, lost, and wished she were running free in the night, with only herself to think about. Then, out of the confusion and despair came the beginnings of an idea. It wasn’t an easy one, but something told her it might work.
She jumped up and lashed her tail for silence. “I have listened to all who would speak. Now hear what I say. Fessran, you are right about our need. And Thakur, you speak wisely of the dangers. I also heard someone say we might accept the Un-Named One if he were forbidden to mate. That won’t work; no one thinks of that sort of thing when the time comes.
“What I suggest is this,” she continued, beginning to pace back and forth on the edge of the sunning rock. “If we allow him to take a mate from among us, he must present the cubs he sires to the rest of us so we can see whether they have the light of the Named in their eyes.”
“I will be glad if they do,” Thakur said. “What will happen if they don’t?”
Ratha took a breath and halted her pacing. “If we judge them fit to raise in the clan, he and his mate will keep them. If not, the young ones must be taken far from clan ground and abandoned.”
She crouched on the edge of the rock and stared down at the silvercoat. “You, who would be Named, do you understand?”
“Orange-eyes must show his cubs to the clan and do what the leader says.”
“Yes. If you agree to that and bare your throat to the Red Tongue, I will accept you.”
The meeting erupted again as those who favored and opposed the silvercoat both made their opinions known. Triumphant roars and angry hisses filled the air. The emotions battered at Ratha, throwing her back. She leaped up, adding her voice to the tumult. “Be silent, all of you! The decision is mine and I have made it.”
The meeting quieted, but an undercurrent of muttering continued. She leaped down and stood before the gathering. “Are you ready?” Ratha asked the Un-Named One. “Then come to the sunning rock.”
She ordered two torchbearers to stand on either side while Fessran lighted another brand and brought it to her. Before she took it between her jaws she lifted her muzzle. “Crouch and bare your throat.” A sudden fear jumped in his eyes and she knew he remembered the dance-hunt. The clan watched, waiting. If his will failed him now, both he and she would lose.
She lifted the torch high. He took his place as she bid and lifted his chin, turning his head so that she could see the pulse beat in his throat beneath the fur.
“Now to them,” she said, around the branch in her teeth. Obediently he turned and bared his throat to the clan. The sight of his submission seemed to calm the group. He prolonged his awkward crouch with his head strained up until Ratha told him to rise. She flung her torch back into the fire.
“Stand before the clan ... Shongshar!” she cried. “Let the Named greet their new lair-brother.”
At first the newly named Shongshar stood alone, but gradually the clanfolk began to surround him, touching noses and exchanging cheek rubs. When Fessran and the Firekeepers joined in, things became more enthusiastic. Their friendly assault nearly knocked Shongshar over, but Ratha saw that he bore it in good humor, especially since they all left their torches behind.
The herders were less excited, but even Shoman grudgingly brushed whiskers. Thakur gave his pupil a formal nose-touch and came to sit by Ratha. Neither one of them spoke as they watched the crowd of well-wishers wash over and around Shongshar.
She couldn’t help feeling a small glow of pride. “You’re making a mistake,” said Thakur softly, his whiskers in her ear.
“Arr, don’t spoil it, Thakur.”
“All right. I am happy for him, but I hope you know the trail you’re running.”
“I have to. There is no other.”
He fell silent again. She felt deflated and couldn’t help but remember her uncertainty about the newcomer and the subtle defiance she had once sensed in him. Surely she was wrong about that ... or was she?
Suddenly, she was disgusted by her own ambivalence and told herself to stop fretting. I�
�ve done what is best for us. I can’t ask myself for more. Only the passing days will tell me whether I was right. I won’t think about it any more. I don’t need to hunt trouble.
Chapter Six
Thakur sat in the dry leaves underneath the oak and watched the yearlings manage the dapplebacks and three-horns by themselves. He hoped his training had prepared the young herders well enough for the work ahead of them. It was fall now, and the clan’s mating season had begun. During this time, the yearlings took charge of the animals, for the cubs had not reached the age to heed the meaning of new scents carried across the meadow on the autumn wind.
Thakur smelled the odors of females in heat. He prickled and quivered as each smell tantalized his nose. He jerked his tail restlessly, wishing the mating season hadn’t come so soon.
He would leave clan ground, he promised himself. His work preparing the youthful herders was done. Now he and the other clan adults would have to trust the skill and courage of the youngsters. Judging from the smells and the yowling courtship songs that filled the air, he doubted that any of the other clan members were thinking about the herd. Perhaps the cries of the courting males would have irritated him less if he hadn’t recognized Shongshar’s voice among them.
Thakur had hoped that the silvercoat’s youth would delay his mating for a year, postponing difficulties that might arise over the cubs he would sire. But Shongshar was older than he looked, and his rapid development into a fully mature male surprised many in the clan. A few days earlier, he had begun courting the young Firekeeper Bira, edging out Cherfan, who was also seeking her attention. The herder retreated with good grace, but admitted to Thakur that he had underestimated Shongshar as a rival. “That young rake has a louder voice than I do, if you can believe it,” Cherfan had said, lolling his tongue in a rueful grimace.
Thakur tried to tell himself that his reaction to Shongshar’s success was only jealousy, but there was a part of his mind that refused to accept such an easy answer. He had spoken to Shongshar about the possible consequences of his mating and the silvercoat’s answers had disturbed him.
