by Clare Bell
“No,” she growled to herself. Fessran gave her a puzzled look.
“Nothing. Go on. I’ll find Bira. Where did you see her last?”
“At one of the guard-fires around the meadow. Her partner left, but she may have stayed,” Fessran said and bounded away.
Ratha took the trail that led to the meadow. Bira’s scent was present, but faint, telling Ratha that the Firekeeper had gone to the meadow but had not returned. When Ratha arrived, she looked into the night, narrowing her eyes so she could see farther. At the most distant flame she made out the form of a single fire-tender.
As Ratha neared the fire, Bira charged out, her ears flattened and her teeth bared. “Go away! I told everyone I don’t need any help.”
Ratha held her ground. Bira’s pace slowed and her lashing tail went stiff. “I appreciate your diligence, Firekeeper,” Ratha said dryly. “But there are others who are waiting to serve their turn at duty.”
Bira’s eyes widened in dismay. “Clan leader! I didn’t mean ...”
“I know you didn’t,” Ratha said, trying to make her voice sound kind. “Come back to the fire and tell me why you abandoned your cubs.”
Bira followed her back to the circle of warm light thrown by the guard-fire. Ratha saw that Bira’s red-brown coat was rough and her tail ungroomed and matted. The young mother’s nipples bulged with too much milk and she admitted that they hurt.
“Why don’t you go and feed your litterlings?” Ratha asked again. Bira flinched and ducked her head, saying nothing.
“Is there something the matter with them?”
Bira trembled and then gave a little jerk as if she wanted to jump up and flee. She turned her head away and gazed with longing into the night. This was not like Bira at all, Ratha thought. She had always been calm and level-headed, even as a cub. Her only fault was vanity; she was overly proud of her long bushy tail. That she had ceased to groom herself told how troubled she was.
As Ratha watched her, she grew more certain that she knew the cause of Bira’s distress.
“Bira,” she said softly. “Are you afraid your cubs have no light in their eyes?”
The young mother shuddered and suddenly the words burst out of her. “Shongshar thinks there’s nothing wrong with them, but he doesn’t know. I’m the one who sees the lack of something in their eyes. I’m the one who tries to get them to say their first word, afraid that they will never speak ...”
“Bira, it’s too early to tell,” Ratha said, trying to make herself believe her own words. “Have any of the cubs in other litters begun to talk?”
“No ... but they try. Fessran said that her little female is starting to imitate her and makes noises that are almost words.”
“Ptahh! Fessran brags about her young. All the mothers do,” Ratha said, trying to comfort her. “And you should know better than to listen to them.”
But Bira didn’t seem convinced. “No,” she said stubbornly, looking at the ground. “There is something wrong. Maybe I carried them too long or my milk is bad.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your milk,” Ratha insisted. Bira said nothing. She sat and shivered even in the warmth of the fire. For a long time she stared at nothing.
“Fessran asked to nurse your cubs,” Ratha said at last. “I told her to feed them. I can’t let litterlings starve just because you think there is something wrong with them. We need every cub we can raise. I want you to take them back and care for them until we know if they can be named. Will you go and nurse them?”
Bira shut her eyes. “No, clan leader.”
Ratha sighed. “Well, I can’t drag you to your den and force you to nurse. Since Fessran is willing to feed your young, would you be willing to care for hers?”
“If my milk made my litterlings sick, wouldn’t it hurt hers?” Bira asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Ratha patiently.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble ... yes, I will feed Fessran’s cubs.”
Bira gave the guard-fire some more wood and then followed Ratha back across the meadow. The clan leader waved her tail at two other Firekeepers, who promptly took Bira’s place.
The young mother wasn’t sure that Fessran’s cubs would accept her, but soon Bira was lying on her side in the maternal lair with three cubs sucking and kneading her belly. Once she had been made comfortable, Ratha went to the other den to tell Fessran that her young were being cared for. Then she returned to her own den and fell into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning Ratha came by to see how Bira’s cubs were faring. When she arrived at the den, Fessran had finished feeding them and was gone. Shongshar was taking them out of the den to play. This was the first time she had seen his young in full daylight and she studied the cubs carefully.
Even though his litterlings were slightly younger than most of the clan cubs, they seemed older. They were larger, stronger and steadier on their legs than cubs in other litters. Although their heads had the same round baby form as other cubs’, there was a subtle hint that they would develop the same arched skull as their father. The color of the fur between their spots was a fawn so light it looked ashy, with touches of silver-gray. Their infant chubbiness couldn’t quite hide the heavier forequarters and longer forelegs. Their paws were large, showing that they would someday equal their father in size. The smell on them was more Shongshar’s than Bira’s.
She watched him too and saw that, unlike most of the clan males, who wouldn’t tolerate their cubs until they reached a sensible age, Shongshar was delighted with his. He abandoned his usual reserve and played with them as if he were just another cub in the same litter. He let them attack his tail, chew on his ears and climb all over him. Ratha had never heard Shongshar purr, but the continuous rumble that came from his throat as he rubbed his cheek against the little male was the sound of absolute contentment.
Yet, the longer she watched, the more she felt a growing uneasiness about the cubs. They played much as the litterlings in the nursery did: they stalked, pounced and wrestled; but there was something strangely lacking. Their movements were quick and their eyes keen; they seemed to notice everything that moved. But once the object, such as a swaying flower or their father’s tail, had been attacked and subdued, it held no further interest unless it moved again.
The litterlings in the nursery also were attracted by things that moved, but after the first clumsy pounce, the cub’s expression would change from the excitement of the hunter to the intent curiosity of one who hungered to understand its world. The litterlings’ eyes always held questions, even if their tongues were not yet ready to ask them.
Being careful not to disturb the three, Ratha edged closer so she could see more clearly. Shongshar’s eyes were glowing with affection and happiness as he tumbled the cubs about with his big paws. Their eyes were alive with momentary excitement, but there was nothing more. Trying to fight the chill creeping over her, Ratha stared hard until her own eyes ached, but she could see nothing. No questions, no hunger ... no light. As much as she desperately wished to deny it, she knew Bira’s instincts had been right.
She felt as though she were looking at cubs who had been stricken with sickness and were soon to die. The sight of them suddenly made her belly churn as it did when she smelled rotten meat; she hated herself for her feeling. Now she knew why Bira couldn’t nurse them. If she had forced the young mother to care for these cubs, she would certainly have killed them and then run from the clan in shame and despair.
“Clan leader!” Shongshar had caught sight of her. Ratha gathered her feelings together and put them away. She forced herself to approach him.
“I see that they’re thriving on Fessran’s milk,” she said, unable to think of anything else.
“I’m grateful to her for nursing them.” Shongshar stopped and looked troubled. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with Bira. How could she leave such fine cubs as these? Look how quick and strong they are.”
Ratha knew she didn’t have
to answer him. As clan leader, she didn’t have to answer anyone if she didn’t want to. She could just mumble something vague and walk away. She looked up into his eyes. The happiness had gone, replaced by the shadow of the same pain she had seen in Bira’s. Inwardly she hesitated, knowing that what she must say next would only add to his hurt.
“Shongshar, do you remember the promise you made to me the night you were given your name?”
His ears twitched as if he wanted to lay them back and hiss at her. “Yes,” he said harshly. His eyes widened, becoming frightened, almost pleading. “Clan leader, isn’t it too soon to tell? I’m sure my cubs will have the light in their eyes when they are older. You can’t judge them now. Please, give them some time. I know what Bira thinks, and she’s wrong; I know she is.”
Ratha wanted to turn away from him, but she forced herself to stay where she was and show no expression. “Do you regret that promise to me?” she asked him.
“No. There was no other choice. If I hadn’t come to you, I would have died,” he said simply. “But I thought it would be easy to give up my cubs. I never knew how I would feel about them.”
Thakur knew, she thought. That was the reason he was worried.
“I won’t judge them now,” she said, looking directly at him. “You are right; it is not yet time. But the time will come when I must judge them and you must accept my decision.”
His tail drooped and he looked at the ground. “I understand, clan leader.”
He said no more and went back to playing with the cubs, but his movements seemed slower and less spirited. Ratha found it easier not to watch as she went away.
The following day, Ratha visited the nursery. The weather seemed to share her stormy mood. Spring had retreated back into winter, with gusty winds that blew her fur backward and stole the warmth from her coat. Despite the weather, the mothers had brought their cubs out; two females were looking after a large collection of active youngsters.
Most of the cubs had mastered the skill of walking and were now attempting to run. The nursery enclosure was full of spotted bodies hurtling from one side to the other. Ratha watched their antics until she heard someone coming toward her from the opposite direction. It was Fessran, carrying one of Bira’s cubs in her mouth. She had a meaningful look in her eyes that said she was not just bringing the cub out to play. Ratha had almost been expecting something like this. Although Fessran had continued to care for Bira’s cubs, she missed her own and the strain of worrying about two litters, in addition to her duties as Firekeeper leader, was making her curt and short-tempered.
Behind Fessran, Ratha saw Shongshar with the other. “Drani,” Ratha heard Fessran say to one of the two other females who were there, “you have so many litterlings that a few more shouldn’t trouble you. I’ll make sure Bira takes her turn here since these are hers.”
Fessran backed out, allowing Shongshar to slither through the narrow cleft between the rocks and deposit the second cub. Drani hissed at the unexpected entry of a male and Shongshar hastily retreated, tailfirst.
“If you see Bira,” said Fessran irritably, “tell her she can feed her own wretched cubs. I want mine back.” Then she was gone.
Ratha settled down to watch Bira’s youngsters as they made their first attempts to enter the group. Unexpectedly, Shongshar hopped up beside her. Drani looked at him and growled.
“Oh, stop it. He isn’t going to hurt them,” Ratha snapped.
Shongshar sent Ratha a grateful look as he found a seat on the boulder. The wind teased his silver fur and spread the hairs of his tail against the rock. He leaned down, picked up his little female cub by the scruff and began washing her. When he was finished, he put the litterling back in the nursery.
Another cub pattered up to her and tried to touch noses. She shook herself and walked away. The other youngster followed, trying to sniff her tail. With a silent snarl and laid-back ears, she jumped on him and seized his ear. With a squeal, the other cub backed away dragging her with him.
“No, no, no!” the clan-cub cried shrilly, using the only word he knew. Finally he managed to shake her off and retreated, looking totally bewildered.
“Come here,” Shongshar growled at his daughter. She gave him one glance and then bounced away beyond reach of his paw. Drani had to catch her and deliver her back to her father. He took her by the scruff and set her between his paws while Ratha watched. “No,” he said sternly. “No. You shouldn’t do that to the other cubs.”
She looked at him blankly and struggled to get free. When Shongshar put her back in the nursery, she promptly attacked another litterling and paid no attention to his scolding. It took a sharp cuff from Drani to free the victim, and the culprit was again delivered to her father.
“She’s not used to other cubs,” Shongshar said, with a faintly embarrassed look at Ratha. This time, he kept the cub in front of him, giving Ratha a good chance to study her closely. Her eyes were a gray-blue, with odd orange flecks. She was definitely larger and stronger than the other litterlings, but her stare was as flat and unfocused as that of a newborn whose eyes had just opened.
Ratha suspected that Shongshar couldn’t control her because she couldn’t understand his words. The only language she knew was that of growls and cuffs. She wasn’t surprised when Shongshar took his daughter by the nape and left the nursery. He reappeared a short time later and picked up the young male.
Chapter Nine
Ratha waited before she decided to go after Shongshar. He must know by now that his cubs will never bear names, she thought. Bira knows and she has cut herself off from them. He must do the same or leave clan ground.
The late afternoon sun had slipped behind a cloud and the rocks beneath her were starting to chill. Wearily she rose and left the nursery, seeking the path to Shongshar’s den, a trail her feet were coming to know too well.
He was there, lying across the entrance to the lair as if guarding the way in. Two spotted faces peered out over his back. He lifted his head, showing his profile, and his lip drew back to expose the length of his fangs. He did not look at her.
Ratha sat down, keeping her distance. She waited as the shadows of trees and bushes lengthened, spreading across the ground to the mouth of the den. Her own shadow crept with the others until it touched him.
The wind shifted, blowing his scent to her. She smelled the pungent odor of anger and the bitter acrid scent of despair. She rose and took one pace toward him. The orange glow in his eyes deepened and his nape lifted. Fear struck at her and she fought it aside.
“You have long fangs, Shongshar,” she said. “They could easily find my throat. Killing me would not change the truth about your litterlings.”
“It is not you I would kill, clan leader,” Shongshar answered in a low growl.
Ratha’s gaze hardened. “If you seek revenge on Bira, you are wrong. She is clan born. Had she taken someone other than you—”
“It is not Bira’s fault. I know that.”
Her fear eased, but she remained wary. “Bira will not return to these cubs. Now that you know what they are, you must abandon them and never think of them again.”
The little female started to climb over Shongshar’s back. He took her by the scruff, laid her down between his paws and began licking her, even though she smelled as though she had already been washed. Ratha sensed this was his answer.
At last he looked up at her and said, “I didn’t know how I would feel about my cubs when I made you the promise that gave me my name. I didn’t know how hard it would be.” His eyes added the accusation, You can’t know how hard it is, clan leader.
Her belly ached for him in his sorrow. “You think I ask you to give up your cubs without knowing the bitterness of it?” she asked. He had begun licking the female cub again, but he stopped and laid a paw over her.
“I will tell you something,” Ratha said to him. “I have told it to only one other among the Named. I bore a litter of cubs like yours. I took a male who came from outside the clan
, like you. When I realized that my young were witless, I nearly went mad.” The words poured out of her as the memory came flooding back. “I attacked my mate and tried to kill one of the cubs. He drove me away. Later, he died. I don’t know what happened to the cubs; they are probably dead now.”
Shongshar lay, looking at her in silence while the shadows crept over his coat. His daughter squeaked and he hushed her. “So you know what this is like.” He nudged the cub, who gave Ratha a wide-eyed stare, then blinked and yawned.
Ratha found it difficult to keep her gaze steady. “Yes, I do,” she answered finally. “I’m ... sorry.”
He looked away. “What must I do now if I choose to obey you?”
“Take the cubs far away from clan ground and leave them. Or, if you choose not to obey me, you may leave the clan tonight and take them with you.” She paused, letting him absorb her words. “I will return to your den tomorrow morning. Either way, if you stay or leave, the cubs must be gone.”
“And if I choose to go?”
Ratha swallowed. “Then we will lose the best fire-tender we have ever trained. Your name will be given to the eldest male in the next litter that is born and you will again be the orange-eyed one among the Un-Named.”
She got up. The shadows were fading with the coming twilight. “Despite everything, I wish you well, Shongshar,” she said and hoped he couldn’t see how she had begun to tremble.
She suddenly wanted to be with someone who could give her comfort, or at least some understanding and companionship. Thakur, she thought, I need you. I know we have disagreed, but don’t turn away from me now ... please don’t turn away ...
The desire to see the herding teacher became an overwhelming hunger that sent her flying down the darkened trail in search of him.
“Watch out, clan leader!” came a familiar voice out of the dusk; she saw a pair of green eyes ahead on the trail. Ratha stopped so fast to avoid a collision that she skidded on wet leaves and fell on her side. Her breath burning in her throat, she hauled herself to her feet.
