Clan Ground (The Second Book of the Named)

by Clare Bell

  “Herders! Listen to me!” she cried. “The need he speaks of is really his own. If you give yourselves and your beasts to the will of the creature he serves, you will be the meat that feeds him.”

  “No!” the herders cried, but many voices were missing, and those she heard sounded thin and ragged with doubt. It was too late to command them to attack the Firekeepers. She didn’t know how many of the herders who had spoken so bravely down in the meadow would stand by her if it came to an open battle. Even as they stood beside her, she sensed their courage being stolen from them by the raging creature in the center of the cave from which Shongshar drew his power. It was there that she would have to strike.

  “The wood,” whispered Thakur softly behind her. “They have forgotten about it”

  She glanced at the side of the cave, to where stacks of branches and kindling lay. Then she looked at the herders and hoped they would follow her. With Thakur at her flank, she leaped up and galloped toward the woodpile.

  For an instant she thought she and Thakur would have to face the Firekeepers alone. Then Cherfan plunged after her and the herders followed. They reached the woodpile before the other side could rally and cut them off. Ratha saw that the Firekeepers had mistaken the herders’ charge for an attack on the carcass and had massed together to defend their kill.

  “Form a line so none of them can get through,” Ratha said and her pack spread themselves out, guarding the woodpile. Nyang and several other Firekeepers approached, but they soon retreated from the menacing growls and bared fangs of the defenders.

  She paced across in front of her own line and faced Shongshar. He looked at her and said nothing as she sat and curled her tail across her feet.

  “You may eat, Firekeepers,” she said, turning her gaze toward them, “but this will be your last meal in this cave by the Red Tongue’s light.”

  Her words were met with snarls and jeers. Soon, however, the Firekeepers grew tired of taunting her pack and turned their attention to the kill, dragging it around on the cave floor as they wrenched chunks of flesh loose and gulped them down. They did not seem to notice that the fire had already begun to fall and that their shadows were growing longer. Only Shongshar did not eat with them. He sat and watched the herders through slitted eyes.

  When the carcass was stripped, the Firekeepers again amused themselves by throwing insults at the herders and trying to break through their line, but Ratha could see that the effort was half-hearted. The grim response the herders gave them quickly discouraged any idea that this was fun.

  Shongshar continued to watch, and Ratha sensed that he was waiting. For what, she didn’t know, and she grew uneasy. His strength was waning with the falling fire, yet he made no attempt to launch an attack. He only sat and studied the herders’ faces with an acuteness that made them show their fangs and then try to look away from him.

  The Firekeepers groomed themselves, or lay and slept as if the herders weren’t there. Shadows crept in from the sides of the cave and the dying fire’s light turned ruddy. The fire began to smoke and flicker. The flame no longer drew the wind from outside, and the cave started to fill with smoky haze.

  Ratha was stiff from sitting and was about to get up and move to ease her legs when she heard Shongshar’s voice. It had grown so dim in the cave that she could see only his eyes, which now burned brighter than the fire.

  “Let it die, then, clan leader,” he hissed. “Let it die and give this den back to darkness. It is better that we have nothing to crouch down before or nothing to dance to in wild joy. It is better that we of the Named turn our backs on something as great as this, for we are too weak to hold it within our jaws.”

  Ratha heard whispered mutters behind her and the looks she received were shadowed by doubt. Even Cherfan seemed lost and gazed at Shongshar as if he might find a refuge in his words.

  She had no answer for Shongshar except stern silence, and soon his voice came again.

  “Watch this creature die, you of the clan, and see the death of all you could be. The Named could rule far beyond clan ground and be so fierce and terrible that all who once preyed on us would either flee or throw themselves at our feet. That is the power you are throwing away if you obey her.”

  Again voices buzzed behind her, and eyes grew bright with visions of such a future.

  “Be silent!” she hissed, as much at them as at Shongshar. The flame sank into its bed of ashes and tumbled coals. Slowly the fierce red glow faded.

  Ratha felt herself start to tremble with the triumph of her victory. The cave-fire was dead and Shongshar’s power crippled. She waited, feeling the air around her grow cool.

  “It is over,” she said, rising. “Firekeepers, leave the cave.”

  One by one, they passed in front of her, with lowered heads and dragging tails until only one was left. Shongshar.

  “Do you come, or do I have you dragged out?” she growled.

  The two orange slits glared at her from the blackness. His form was a deeper darkness than that of the cave and she tensed, fearing that he would use the instant that he passed her to strike out at her.

  Suddenly the eyes were gone. She saw them again as she heard coals break under the slap of his paw.

  “You of the clan!” he roared. “Look! It lives!”

  A tiny flame burst from the broken embers and grew as he breathed on it. Then she heard the sound of running feet, and before she could fling herself toward the fire to scatter it and beat out the remaining life, she saw that someone had broken from the herders’ ranks, bringing Shongshar wood and tinder.

  Her roar of rage filled the cave and she charged him, but several more herders had already joined him and they threw her back She struck hard, rolled over, and when she staggered to her feet again, the flame was rekindled, surging up with new strength.

  Shongshar’s roar called the Firekeepers back into the cave. They mingled with the deserting herders until Ratha could no longer tell them apart. Even those herders that tried to stay with her were seized and dragged away from their positions by the woodpile. She saw Cherfan’s despairing look as he was surrounded by Firekeepers and forced to the back of the cave.

  The fire crackled with malicious energy as it consumed the new offerings of wood that were laid upon it. Ratha saw by the harsh light that only Thakur stood beside her, his nape and tail flared, his lips drawn back from his fangs.

  “Take the herding teacher,” Shongshar commanded, standing near the flames. “He is the one who would mock us by giving the keeping of the Red Tongue to treelings. Bring him here and have him bare his throat.”

  Nyang led the eager pack that fell on Thakur. Ratha leaped on them, raking their backs and their ears, but again she was flung aside and could only look on as Thakur fought with savage desperation. He bloodied several pelts before they subdued him. Teeth fastened on his scruff, his forelegs, his tail; someone got their jaws around his muzzle to keep him from biting.

  Slowly they dragged him, writhing and kicking, toward the fire. His claws, dragging on the rock, made a sound like the death shriek of a herdbeast. There was a gasp that made Ratha glance toward Fessran and she saw the Firekeeper’s eyes grow wide with horror and helplessness.

  Once more she flung herself at Thakur’s captors, but another pack pulled her off and held her. They brought her close and forced her to watch.

  “Now, herding teacher,” said Shongshar, leering at Thakur. “Bare your throat to the Red Tongue.”

  Again Thakur fought, but again he was stilled. His captors pulled him closer to the flames and forced his head back so his throat lay open and exposed.

  “I bare it, but it is to you I bare it, Shongshar,” he growled between his teeth. “This talk of serving the Red Tongue’s power is nothing but a lie.”

  They shook him to silence him. Ratha thought then that Shongshar would slash Thakur’s throat with his long fangs, but he stepped back from the herding teacher with satisfaction on his face.

  “Good. He has begun to show h
is loyalty. Hold him. We will need him to guide us to the renegade Firekeeper Bira and the treelings.”

  He turned, fixing his eyes on Ratha, filling her with an icy fear that she could not overcome with anger. He began to pace toward her, seeming to grow with each step.

  The Firekeepers that held Ratha drew back, leaving her alone facing him.

  “You are worthy of my fangs, clan leader,” he said softly. “You know I can’t leave you alive. If you lie still, I will be quick.”

  Ratha dodged his first strike. They circled each other, ears flat, tails lashing. She forced her trembling legs to tighten for a spring and she leaped onto his back, driving her teeth into the side of his neck. He shuddered, but did not fall, even as she threw her weight out to drag him off balance. His blood welled into her mouth, but she knew her strike was not a killing wound.

  He shook her to the side and rolled on her, but she kept her jaws locked, despite his crushing weight. Her teeth sank deeper, and she flung her forelegs around his neck, adding their pull to the strength of her straining jaws. He wrenched his head back and forth, but he could not break free, and she thought for an instant that she might be able to keep her hold until loss of blood weakened him.

  He shoved a paw between her chest and his and began to pry her away. She could not sustain her grip against his powerful forelegs. She twisted her head, trying to bite deeper, but her teeth tore from the wound. The great pressure of his massive paw against her chest threatened to crush her ribs, and she drew short painful breaths.

  She lost her hold and he forced her to the cave floor, one paw on her neck, the other on her chest. She writhed and wriggled, but only exhausted herself.

  Above her, his teeth gleamed and his eyes burned. His jaw dropped far down, exposing the full and terrible length of his fangs. He lowered his head, and she felt the hard curve against the pulsing of her throat. His claws drove into her to hold her still as he reared his head back for the killing downslash.

  “Ratha!” The scream filled the cave. From the corner of her eye, she saw the circle of herders give way as someone burst through. She grunted at the sudden impact of a body hurtling on top of her own and felt scrabbling claws as Fessran’s smell washed over her.

  Ratha caught a glimpse of Shongshar’s fangs driving down toward her; then Fessran heaved and jerked. She felt the shock as Shongshar struck and heard the shriek of teeth against bone. She wrenched herself out from beneath them as a dismayed hiss welled up from those watching.

  In her blurred sight, Shongshar lifted his reddened fangs from the body of the Firekeeper who had once been her friend.

  “I bare my throat to you again, Ratha,” Fessran whispered, rolling her head to look up at her. “Forgive my foolishness.”

  A sudden commotion broke out near the fire. One of the Firekeepers guarding Thakur recoiled from his slash. Using the moment of confusion to break free, he streaked across the cave floor to Ratha.

  “Run!” he cried. She gave Fessran one last, despairing look and plunged after Thakur as he passed her. They dashed out of the cavern, down the gallery, and were out in the sunlight before roars and howls broke from the cave behind them.

  Thakur rushed to the stream that spilled from the base of the falls, leaping from rock to rock until he was nearly lost in the spray. She followed, fighting to keep her footing on slick stones. He ran downstream and leaped onto the bole of a tree that leaned out from the steep slope rising before them. She sprang up behind him and together they bounded through the brush until they reached the crest of the hill.

  “That should confuse them,” Thakur panted, looking back. “They’ll think we took the trail.”

  Ratha was too numb to hear his words. She still seemed to feel the shock and shudder as Fessran took the strike meant for her. Softly she moaned her friend’s name aloud.

  “Ratha,” Thakur said. “Ratha, there’s no hope for her. Even if he hasn’t killed her, she will die soon. Those fangs went deep.”

  “I should go back and take my revenge on him. I should fight for my place as clan leader,” she hissed, rage and despair choking her throat.

  “And there will be another of the Named to lie bleeding on the floor in the Red Tongue’s den. Without you, neither Bira nor I have any hope. The time is past when you can listen to anger,” he said, and Ratha knew he was right.

  The sound of angry calls below sent them running up the slope of the next hill.

  “Soon the Firekeepers will find our track,” said Thakur. “We should split up and draw them away from where Bira and the treelings are hiding.”

  “I’ll draw them. You circle back, find Bira and tell her what has happened. Don’t worry,” she said, at his doubtful look. “I won’t try to turn and fight them. I’ll meet you at the little cave by the stream.”

  “All right.” He flicked his tail and trotted uphill. After he was gone, she went back along his path, smearing out his pugmarks and covering his smell with hers. Satisfied that she had concealed his trail, she glanced at the sun and galloped down the slope, away from the cries that told her that Shongshar and the Firekeepers had found her tracks.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Resting briefly, Ratha leaned on a dew-dampened rock, laying her cheek against its coolness. She heard the Firekeepers crashing through brush and dead leaves. She could see the approaching flicker of their firebrands through the trees and sensed that once again they were picking up her trail. A shiver that was half fear and half excitement ran through her.

  She was glad, however, that the Firekeepers had chosen to track her by torchlight. A scent trail, which they might have followed easily in the damp night air, became difficult and elusive in the smoky haze from the torches. No. Shongshar knew better than to think he would catch her this way. He had brought out the torchbearers to show the Red Tongue’s wrath and let her own fear drive her like a renegade from clan ground.

  She grinned bitterly as she ran across a patch of hair-ferns that made no rustle to give her away. She had already seen the worst that the fire-creature could do. It could burn flesh and bone and even forest, but it could also possess the minds and twist the wills of her people as if they were pieces of bark glowing and curling in the heart of the flame.

  The sky above the treetops showed deep violet and the glittering stars were dimming. Ratha realized, looking up, that she had been leading the Firekeepers astray all night. Thakur would have had plenty of time to reach Bira. It was time to put an end to this cub’s play before daylight gave the searchers additional advantage.

  She crept away a little farther and listened. Again they had come to a halt and were casting about for signs of her. She spat quietly to herself, disgusted with the noise they were making, and then slipped away through the underbrush.

  She kept to the edge of clan ground to avoid being seen by accident. To conceal her trail, she frequently backtracked, waded in streams and rolled in the dung of other animals to disguise her smell.

  The sun was just showing over the treetops when she reached the sandy path that led beneath the overhang to the cave where she, Bira, Thakur and the treelings had spent the previous night. She had a bad moment when she discovered that particular hollow empty. She was nervously searching the other caves when the sound of Thakur’s voice came from the shadows beneath the overhang.

  “Over here,” he said. “We’ve moved our hiding place.” Her relief made her nearly collapse on the sand, but she only lolled her tongue out and padded after him.

  Thakur led her farther upstream, to a smaller fall where the water cascaded down onto split stones that turned it into many tumbling rivulets. Ratha turned for a moment to watch the morning light dance and run down the falling water. Then she glimpsed Thakur’s tail disappearing between two slabs of rock that leaned against each other.

  She followed him, reluctant to leave the cheerful morning and go into the dimness of a cave. When she was inside, however, she found the tilted stone floor dappled with sunlight and shadow and felt a breeze th
at carried the fresh smell and sound of the little fall. It was sufficient shelter to keep anyone who hid within from being seen, yet it was open enough not to feel confining.

  Bira lay in a sun-washed hollow with the treelings gathered around her and on top of her. Ratha looked for Ratharee and saw the young one’s black eyes gleam as Ratharee spotted her. With a squeal of joy, the treeling scampered up the sloping rock and launched herself at her companion.

  “Ooof. She’s getting heavy, Thakur,” Ratha groaned, but she couldn’t quite make her voice sound convincingly plaintive. Once the treeling had taken her usual place on Ratha’s shoulder with her tail curled around her neck, Ratha stretched out in a pool of sun near Thakur and Bira.

  For a while, they lay there, quietly relaxed, and Ratha felt herself drifting into a light doze. Then Thakur sat up, with Aree perched on his shoulder, and said, “We must talk.”

  Ratha yawned and shook away her drowsiness. “Does Bira know what happened last night?”

  “Yes, Thakur told me,” Bira answered. “I’m not surprised that the herders deserted you. Shongshar seems able to persuade anyone to do anything.”

  “There were some things I should have said,” Ratha growled, laying her head on her paws and feeling the helplessness and rage sweep over her again. “I should have told them that his talk about the Named ruling beyond clan ground was a mad cub’s dream. I should have torn apart the herder who brought Shongshar the kindling. And I should have known that trying to kill the Red Tongue by starving it was exactly what Shongshar wanted me to do.”

  “Extending his rule may not be a mad cub’s dream for him,” said Thakur thoughtfully. “If he can make the Firekeepers fierce and arrogant, they can hold more territory and the herders can graze more animals. This may be difficult to face, but we have to admit that Shongshar has offered the Named a way not only to survive, but to flourish.”

  “Ptahh! They will be meat for his belly.” Ratha spat. “They will grovel before the fire-creature in the cave and forget they once had wills of their own.”