by Clare Bell
The Firekeepers’ task began drawing to an end at last. Even Fessran agreed with Ratha that enough dry wood had been stored to last through the longest rainy season. She was less agreeable about taking the Red Tongue out of the cave, and Ratha found, to her dismay, that not only the Firekeepers, but many of the herders wanted it kept there. Why protect only the Red Tongue’s food from the wind and rain? Did it make sense to do that while the fires that were the main source for lighting all the others were left ill-protected in shallow dens dug for them in the meadow? In a bad storm, the fire-lairs could flood. Why not keep a source-fire safe in the deep cave? Then the clan would never have to worry about losing the Red Tongue even in the fiercest of storms.
What angered Ratha most about this idea was that she had no good reason to reject it. The bristlemane attack during a rainstorm had showed her how vulnerable the herds could be if the Red Tongue failed. The argument was simple and obvious. At times she could almost convince herself to think about it that way.
But the shadow of her dream remained in her mind. She still saw the hunger of those coal-red eyes and heard the voice that was the rush of the flames. “Bare your throat to me, for I am the one who rules,” it had said and her terror had made her crouch and tremble, lifting her chin. Others of the Named would do so more willingly and knowing that frightened her in a way she could not understand.
Her belly knew the truth of her fear, but her tongue had no words to shape it. How could she hold the image of her dream-creature up before the clan as a reason to reject something that might be essential to the clan’s survival? She wondered if the danger she saw was only an illusion; that she was growing fainthearted and unwilling to take risks.
The heat of the afternoon lay heavily on her as she padded along the trail that led to Thakur’s den. She smelled the scent of summer leaves and of faded flowers whose centers were swelling into fruit. Once she would have stopped to let the smells fill her nose with the richness of the season, but now her cares pushed aside any enjoyment.
She found Thakur lying in the shade outside his lair. Aree was not perched in her usual place on his shoulder She sat huddled up against him. As Ratha approached, the treeling tried to curl herself up, but her pregnant belly kept her from doing much more than looping her long tail over her shoulder. She seemed restless and unable to get comfortable.
Ratha was so used to seeing Aree on Thakur’s back or the nape of his neck that the treeling looked odd sitting beside him.
Thakur caught her look. He raised his head and grinned at her. “Poor flea-picker is getting too bulgy to stay on my shoulder. She wobbled a lot this morning and I thought she was going to tumble off.”
“When will she have her cubs?”
“Tonight, I think. She’s been gathering fern leaves for a nest in the back of my lair and her smell has changed.”
Aree reached up on Thakur’s flank, grasped two handfuls of fur and heaved herself up onto him. She reached for his tail, which he obligingly curled across his leg where she could reach it. She began pulling out tufts of hair and bundled them together in her fingers.
“She found out I was still shedding a little and she likes the fur to line her nest,” Thakur explained.
“I hope she leaves you enough to cover your tail,” Ratha observed, as the treeling pulled out a large tuft of his fur.
“Ouch!” Thakur flicked his tail out of Aree’s reach. “All right, you’ve got plenty. You’d better go build your nest before you decide to have your cubs on top of me.”
“Aree!” agreed the treeling as she clambered off him and shuffled into the den, holding the wad of fur.
Thakur looked after her anxiously for a minute. “I’m glad you came,” he said to Ratha. “You know more about this than I do.”
“Me? I don’t know anything about treelings,” she protested.
“Yes, but you do know about having cubs.”
Ratha cocked her head at him. “I did it once. I don’t see how that is going to help.”
“Well, maybe not,” Thakur conceded. “At least you can tell me what she’s doing.”
Ratha expected that Aree would soon emerge from the den to gather more leaves or steal more fur. As the afternoon shadows lengthened and the treeling didn’t appear, Thakur began to get nervous.
“Maybe I should go and see if she’s all right,” he said, rolling to his feet. He crept inside until only his tail hung out. “She’s in the nest, on her side,” he called, his voice muffled. “She’s moving a little and making funny noises.”
Ratha poked her head in alongside his flank and listened. She could hear Aree breathing and every few breaths the treeling gave a soft grunt. Satisfied that everything sounded all right, Ratha withdrew from the lair and gave a tug on Thakur’s tail.
“Come out, herding teacher. You’re worse than a curious yearling at birthing time. The best thing you can do now is leave her alone.”
Thakur backed out of the den, his fur rumpled. “Anyone would think you had sired Aree’s cubs,” Ratha teased.
“Don’t hold it against me, clan leader,” he said wryly. “After all, this may be as close as I get to having a family of my own.”
She winced. “I’m sorry, Thakur. I didn’t mean to remind you.”
“Don’t be. I’ve become used to living with it,” he said. “I decided not to take the chance and, after seeing what happened to Shongshar’s cubs, I’m more convinced than ever.” He paused. “I don’t think you would want to have to abandon another litter, especially if I was their father.”
She stretched out with her hindquarters in the sun and the rest of her in the dappled shade. She laid her head on her paws and felt grateful to Thakur that he had the sensitivity to make himself absent during the time the females were in heat. By doing so, he freed her from having to make the painful decision: whether to exile him during the mating season or allow him to take a partner. She sighed. If only Shongshar had done the same!
“Thakur,” she said suddenly. “Do you think Shongshar’s cubs are still alive?”
It was a while before he answered. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I wonder if I should have told him we didn’t kill them. If I had let him know where we left them, he might have been able to go and see them.” She lifted her head. “I didn’t tell him because I thought he might try to bring them back. Perhaps it would have been better had I trusted him.” She fell silent awhile and then asked softly, “Do you think it would do any good to tell him now?”
“No,” Thakur answered. “If there was a time that it would have done any good, that time is past. His grief has set him on a new trail and he has been on it too long.”
She sighed. “I wish I knew why Fessran listens to him.”
“She listens to him for the same reason you find it difficult to disbelieve his words: he understands the power of the Red Tongue and he knows how to use it.”
“I don’t know whether they are his words or Fessran’s. All I know is that they give me a feeling in my belly that I don’t like and I can’t do anything about it.”
He leaned closer, listening, and she felt her despair rising up again. “He is so clever! Everything he says or tells Fessran to say makes sense. He is right about sheltering the Red Tongue in the cave during the winter rains. He seems to think only of the safety of my people, but my belly tells me he has other reasons for what he does.”
“Your belly has been right before,” said Thakur.
“Yes, but my belly only had to persuade the rest of me that it was right. Persuading others is harder,” Ratha grumbled.
Thakur shifted so that he was farther into the sun and half-closed his eyes. Ratha was afraid he was going to drift off to sleep, but he opened his eyes and said, “The important thing is to show Fessran what treelings can do. She will see that there is another way to make use of the Red Tongue’s power. I think she listens to Shongshar because she thinks there is no way other than his.”
“Now that we will soon have m
ore treelings, there is another way. I know we still have to train them and there may still be problems, but I think it will work.” She was about to say more when Thakur sat up and looked intently toward the lair.
“I hear Aree,” he said. “I think she wants me.”
Despite Ratha’s admonitions, he entered the den. She could only sigh and follow. When her eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she saw Thakur curled around the treeling’s nest. How he had done so without disturbing her, Ratha didn’t know, but Aree seemed to be pleased that he was there. The treeling wriggled herself close to him. He began to purr and she crooned softly to herself.
The blend of sounds soothed Ratha and made her drowsy. She laid her cheek against the hard-packed soil of the den floor and let herself drift. She was within the earth, as she had been in the Red Tongue’s cave, but here she felt sheltered and safe rather than afraid.
Daylight faded outside, but the moon rose, and she could see by the faint silvery light that filtered into the den. Aree grew restless again and Ratha heard her turning about inside her nest. Thakur’s half-closed eyes opened wide. Aree halted, crouched and seemed to shudder. She gave a deep grunt, a noise Ratha had never heard from a treeling before. She grunted again and began to pant.
“She’s pushing at me with her feet,” Thakur said. “Do you think she’s all right?”
“Yes. I made all sorts of strange noises when I was birthing my cubs. Let her push against you if she needs to.”
Ratha’s curiosity was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of joyous excitement. This was the way she had felt when she knew that her first cub was pushing its way out from within her. Even the later knowledge that her litterlings were no more than animals couldn’t mar this first memory, and it came flooding back to her so that she began to pant eagerly along with Aree. It did not matter that these were treeling cubs rather than those of the Named; the wonder was still the same.
“Anyone would think you were birthing these litterlings,” Thakur teased gently.
Too excited to feel abashed, she peered into the nest, trying to see as much as she could. Aree gave an odd sort of heave and made a long grunt that was almost a growl.
“The first one’s coming, Thakur!” Ratha hissed. She heard Aree take a deep breath and growl again, and then there was something else in the nest, a shiny wriggling bundle that made tiny noises of its own. She saw the treeling’s eyes glint as the little mother curled around to lick her firstborn and free it from the birth-cord that still bound it to her body.
Ratha remembered the taste and feel of salty wet fur on her own tongue and the way the tiny thing mewed and writhed beneath her muzzle. She heard a surprisingly strong cry and then fast snuffling sounds as the newborn creature began to breathe.
Aree gathered her litterling to her and nursed it. She ate the afterbirth that soon followed and began to grunt again. The second treeling cub quickly followed its elder sibling and Aree lay against Thakur, cradling both little ones in her arms.
Several more arrived in the nest and Aree had to lie on her side to nurse them.
“I think she’s finished,” said Thakur after they had waited a long time for more treeling cubs to appear.
“I’m not surprised. Her litter is larger than any of ours.”
“How many are there?” asked Thakur. “I can’t see them all.”
“She has as many litterlings as you have paws,” said Ratha.
“That’s a clever way to think about it,” said Thakur, admiringly. “Whenever I want to know if I have all my herdbeasts together, I just smell them and I know which smells are missing. But we don’t know the treelings’ smells very well yet.”
“Until we do, just match them up with your paws. If you have a paw left over, then you know a little treeling is missing.”
She saw Thakur’s outline against the faintly moonlit wall of the den as he leaned over to nose his treeling. “Aree certainly doesn’t care how many there are. She’s happy.”
The sound of the treeling’s crooning filled the den. Soon Thakur joined in with a deep purr and Ratha found herself adding her own note. She wasn’t sure when his purr faded, for soon afterward, her own voice fell silent and she joined him in sleep.
It seemed that she had just closed her eyes when she was awakened by a nudge in the ribs. She rolled onto her back and blinked sleepily at Thakur. Brilliant morning sunlight lit the floor of the den near the entrance and the growing warmth promised a hot day.
“I have to go and teach my pupils, Ratha,” he said as he stepped over her, trailing his shadow. “Can you watch Aree and her litterlings until I get back?”
She yawned and shook her pelt, trying to rid herself of the sleepiness that still clung to her. She remembered the previous night’s events and came fully awake.
“How is Aree doing?” she asked.
“She just fed her litterlings again and they’re all asleep. They’re so tiny, but they already look fat.”
Ratha peered into the nest at the four balls of damp-fluffed fur curled up against the larger lump that was their mother. For a while, she lay with her chin resting on her crossed forepaws and watched the treelings sleep.
Later, she went outside to stretch her legs and keep watch. When she went in again to escape the full strength of the noon sun, she found Aree was awake and nursing two of her young while the others slept. She alternately dozed and watched the treeling family. Sometimes Aree would lie on her side and feed her little ones in the same manner as did the females of the Named. But often she nursed them in a different way, cradling them in her arms and holding them to her teats.
Ratha found this strange and endlessly fascinating. Aree seemed to know how to exchange her youngsters so that all got an equal share of milk, rather than having to fight their littermates for it as did the cubs of the Named. She became so absorbed that she didn’t notice the afternoon was passing until she smelled Thakur and heard his footsteps outside the den.
She was almost reluctant to give him back the duty of watching the treelings, but she also felt slightly guilty for hiding away where no one could find her.
Promising to return and look after the treelings the following morning, she gave Thakur a farewell nuzzle and trotted away. She took the trail leading back to the meadow and soon heard footsteps coming from the other direction. Ratha saw one of the herders approaching her. His steps were quick and purposeful, his eyes strangely intent, as if he were looking at something that always floated ahead of him.
A look of startled surprise came over his face. He ducked his head as he passed Ratha, but he did not slow his pace. She stopped and watched his hindquarters disappear around a bush.
He certainly didn’t expect to see me, thought Ratha. His astonishment had been tinged with a look of shame, as if she had caught him doing something forbidden and she knew at once he was on his way to the Red Tongue’s cave.
She wanted to race down the path after him and order him back to the meadow. That thought quickly gave way to a feeling of frustration. He knew exactly what he was doing. The look on his face told her that. Even if she caught him and scolded him, he would probably do it again.
She decided instead to follow him at a distance and watch what happened when he arrived at the cave. His scent was fresh and his trail easy to follow. She thought he might already be within the cave as she crept up the last stretch of the trail, but she heard his voice over the sound of the waterfall.
She hid herself in the scattered boulders to the side of the path and peered over, pricking her ears as far forward as they would go. The herder had his back to her so that she could see only his tail, which had begun to curl and wag. The cool breeze from the falls carried the scent of his dismay and another, less pleasant smell, the smug self-satisfaction of the two Firekeepers who barred his way.
“This is the Red Tongue’s den, not a place to amuse idle dappleback-keepers,” one of them growled.
“Just let me in for a little while. You speak so much of the strength a
nd beauty of the fire-creature within this cave that I want to see it for myself.”
“Perhaps you think yourself worthy to serve it, young herder.” The other Firekeeper grinned. “I see you bothered to groom the manure out of your fur before you came, so the Red Tongue won’t be too displeased.”
The herder’s tail sprang upright and he took an eager step toward the cleft in the rocks. Again the Firekeepers blocked him.
“Not so quickly, dung-wearer,” the larger one snapped. “First we must tell you what you may or may not do when you are inside.”
“All right, tell me.” The herder turned his ears slightly back.
“Keep your ears up and your tail down. No scratching or licking.”
“I scratch myself near the guard-fires,” said the herder, mystified.
“Well, you shouldn’t. And this is different. This is the Red Tongue’s den and you should be respectful. Are you ready?”
The herder answered that he was. One Firekeeper led him in while the other stayed beside the entrance. He wasn’t gone long before he was led out again, but Ratha could tell he was dazed and awestruck. He blinked and, as he looked at the Firekeepers, a new, envious hunger came into his eyes.
“You must have been judged most worthy to serve such a wondrous creature,” he said, and Ratha could see that his words inflated their pride even further. She was tempted to jump out from her hiding place and snarl at them for being so supercilious and overbearing, but she held herself back. She needed to learn more before she could confront Fessran and Shongshar with any real proof of wrongdoing among the Firekeepers.
She decided to come back and hide herself again the following day to gather more evidence. If the behavior of these two Firekeepers was any indication, she thought sourly, she would soon have all she needed. Perhaps she could even persuade Fessran to hide and listen, for she sensed that the Firekeeper leader was growing uneasy about her dependence on Shongshar and her toleration of his methods.
