by Clare Bell
“We’ve done it!” Ratha roared to Bira as they galloped back to the top where Fessran and Thakur waited.
“We certainly have,” said Thakur as she reached him. “Look. The stream’s left its old path entirely.” He pointed with his paw toward the streambed below the spillway opening. Only a small trickle of water ran between puddles in the sand.
Above the roar of water surging into the channel, Ratha caught the sound of shrieks and cries drifting up from far below.
“The cave-fire must be dead!” she cried, leaping up. “Now we strike against Shongshar!”
She led the four of them down past the new lake that was filling the hollow, to the trail that led to the bottom of the waterfall. She noticed that the sound of the fall was gone. Instead, the noise of falling water came from the cave that had once been the Red Tongue’s den. A torrent gushed from the entrance, washing away a portion of the trail that ran beside the stream and cutting its way back to fill the now-empty streambed.
Even as they watched, a body rode out on the flow, tumbling over rocks and boulders until it was finally pushed to one side and left. Ratha could see others, some lying limp and still in the rain, some trying to crawl away from the growing cataract.
Charred logs that hurtled out on the flood about the entrance gave evidence that the cave-fire had been drowned and washed away. The conspirators gazed at each other, awed by the destruction.
Ratha’s imagination gave her an image of what the inside of the cave had been like when the water came pouring in. First, a small dribble that hissed into steam when it struck the Red Tongue and startled the dancers. Then more rivulets falling from the ceiling, glinting in the firelight. The dancers would have stopped, laying back their ears and snarling at this strange invasion. And when the full force of the flood hit the great fire and plunged the cave into sudden darkness, she could almost hear the howls and screams above the echoing roar that grew louder and louder ...
Some would have tried to flee the cave in a panic near madness, guessing that the earth itself had turned against them for their wickedness in worshiping the Red Tongue. She could imagine that terror in the eyes of the half-drowned Firekeepers.
“It must have been terrible,” said Bira softly, saying what Ratha saw in the eyes of the two others.
“Let’s find Shongshar,” she said roughly and turned away.
They found him farther downstream, in a small gorge beside the trail. The rush of water had carried him with it, tumbling and turning him until at last it flung him aside. Now he lay, a sodden mass of silver fur, among the boulders at the bottom.
Carefully Ratha made her way down into the gorge, followed by the others. If Shongshar was dead, he shouldn’t be left to rot in the stream and taint the water. He should be taken elsewhere and buried. And if he wasn’t dead, she should know.
He remained so still as she approached that she was convinced life had gone from him. She was about to tell Thakur to take Shongshar’s tail in his jaws when Shongshar’s eyes suddenly cracked open. With a gasp, Bira skittered back, bumping into Fessran.
Shongshar’s eyes widened and focused on Ratha. She felt a sudden chill that was not just the wind on her wet pelt.
“Your rule is ended, Shongshar,” she said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “The Red Tongue in the cave has been destroyed and the Firekeepers are too frightened to listen to you again.”
“Then it was you who sent the angry water into the cave,” he hissed and drew a shuddering breath.
“Yes.”
“You have grown great indeed if water moves itself to do your will,” he said hoarsely. “The weaker power must yield to the stronger. That is the law of all things, clan leader. I offer you my throat for your fangs.” He rolled his head back as he spoke.
“Be careful!” Thakur hissed beside her. Behind her she could hear Fessran growl, “Kill him for me, Ratha.”
But Ratha stepped back from him. “No. There has been enough death among us. I offer you this, Shongshar. You may leave clan ground with your life, if you never return.”
“You offer me nothing then,” he snarled weakly.
“You say there is nothing for you outside the clan. What about your cubs?”
His eyes narrowed, and orange blazed between the lids. His lips drew back from his fangs as he spat. “You are crueler than I am, Ratha. You killed them. The thought of their deaths only left me when I gazed into the heart of the Red Tongue, and now that is gone, you torment me again with their memory.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t kill your cubs? Thakur and I took them off clan ground and left them in a place where they could find food and water. They might still be alive.”
Shongshar looked at her and she saw a faint hope warring with rage in his eyes. He sought Thakur. “Does she speak truth, herding teacher?”
“Yes,” Thakur replied.
“You couldn’t have told me, could you?” Shongshar said bitterly, turning his gaze back to Ratha.
“I couldn’t trust you. Listen, when you are ready to leave clan ground, I’ll tell you where we left them.”
Shongshar sank back, a strange glaze over his eyes. “You should have trusted me then, clan leader ... it’s too late now.”
Ratha barely heard Thakur’s warning cry before a fierce blow struck the side of her head, sending her reeling. Shongshar was suddenly on top of her, raking her sides with his claws. She writhed underneath him, heaving and bucking, trying to dodge the plunging teeth. A fang scored her side and she lashed up, dragging her claws across his cheek.
“I offered to let you go ... to find your lost cubs,” she gasped. She twisted underneath him, ignoring the rocks that bruised her back.
“What good would it do me to search for them now?” he hissed. “If they were as witless as you believed, they wouldn’t care who fathered them. And if they weren’t, they have been gone from me too long to know me.”
She understood then that hate had worked inside him too long for anything to turn it aside. The fierce glow of his eyes was the fire of madness. “No, Ratha,” he hissed, baring his fangs in front of her face. “All I want from you now is your death or mine.”
Again he strained his head back for a killing downslash. At the instant his throat lay exposed, Thakur struck. The momentum of the herding teacher’s attack thrust Shongshar aside from Ratha. She scrambled to her feet as Fessran and Bira leaped to Thakur’s aid.
Fessran made up for the handicap of her injury by the intensity of her rage. Shongshar was bleeding from many wounds by the time the three bore him down, but their combined strength could scarcely hold him.
“All right, Shongshar,” Ratha panted. “You have a choice. Either you leave clan ground now, or your life ends here.”
His only answer was a lunge at Ratha. Thakur cast her a look of despair that told her Shongshar had made his decision, and there was nothing the herding teacher could do about it.
“You are going to kill me,” Shongshar said, narrowing his eyes at Thakur. “That is a bitter thing, to have to kill one who was a friend. If you don’t, I will bury my teeth in her. Choose which one of us you will grieve for, herding teacher.”
Again he lunged for Ratha, nearly throwing off his captors. They seized him, throwing him back. Thakur opened his jaws for the killing bite.
“No,” Ratha said. “I brought him among us. I will take him to the dark trail.”
She felt the herding teacher tremble as he moved aside for her. He looked at her, his eyes dark with grief. “Be quick,” he said and stared away.
When it was done and Shongshar lay still, Ratha lifted her head with a deep weariness that seemed to fill her. She stared down at the blood oozing onto the silver fur, as the others backed away from the body.
“We will carry him into the meadow and place him beneath the tree where Bonechewer died,” she said softly. “He deserves at least that much.”
“Ratha!” The harshness in Thakur’s voice jerked her gaze from
Shongshar. Fessran was looking up at the rim of the gorge, her tail starting to wag. Angry eyes glared down. The Named were all about them, descending the steep slope of the gorge on both sides. It was too late to run or to hide Shongshar’s body. Ratha knew she would either have to win the clan over or fight.
She felt Thakur edge against her, protecting Bira between himself and Fessran. The bitter smell of vengeance-hunger filled the stream as the Named crept down into the gorge.
“It’s a bad place for a fight,” Thakur growled softly.
“Stay together,” Fessran hissed. “To reach any of us, they’ll have to kill us all.”
Ratha narrowed her eyes at the pack. She sensed that the herders among them did not seem as vengeful as the Firekeepers; in fact the latter had to bully the herders into sullen complacency.
“There is the one who murdered our leader and teacher! Tear out her throat!” cried a Firekeeper and he clawed a herder, who flinched and growled, “Yes, tear out her throat!”
“Let her taste the same meat she gives to others!” cried someone else among the herders.
“Ptahh!” Ratha spat back. “You herders know the meat he gave you. He dragged away your beasts to glut himself and those who served him while leaving you nothing. Why do you howl for him?”
“He gave us power and strength,” roared one. “He gave us the dance in the cave,” howled another.
“The dance,” said Ratha. “And was that dance ever for herders? Were the ones who worked to feed the Firekeepers ever allowed to come before the cave-fire to feast and share in the celebration?”
The herders exchanged looks with each other, despite the Firekeepers’ prodding. “No,” muttered one. “They said our coats were too dirty and that we must watch from a distance and be grateful that the Red Tongue would even permit us in the cave.”
Other mutterings broke out, and Ratha could hear more complaints being spoken against Shongshar’s attitude toward those who tended the clan’s animals.
“I’m glad Shongshar’s dead,” roared someone else, and with a start Ratha recognized Cherfan’s voice. “I’m tired of crouching to those singe-whiskered fools and hearing that we herders aren’t worthy to approach the Red Tongue.”
Heads turned among the herders and more voices joined Cherfan’s until they broke from the rest of the clan and crowded around Ratha. Cherfan faced the Firekeepers and bellowed, “All right, now we’ll see how brave you are in a fair fight!”
But Ratha could see that the Firekeepers still held the advantage. Although there were more herders in the meadow, Cherfan had no way of summoning their help without forcing a confrontation. And whether the sides were matched or not did not matter to Ratha. This battle would cost the clan heavily in lives no matter who won.
“If she wins, she will forbid us to crouch before the fire creature or offer ourselves in the dance,” she heard one Firekeeper growl to another. Muttering spread among them and one yowled, “Attack now! She has killed the fire-creature in the cave. She will keep the Red Tongue from rising again.”
“No!” cried Ratha, turning to face him. “You are wrong!”
Even Thakur and Fessran stared at her in astonishment as she waved her tail for silence. “Hear me, Firekeepers,” she said. “I understand your wish to crouch and dance before the Red Tongue. I once thought that was wrong and should be stopped, but I know better now. I killed the cave-fire because it was being misused.” She paused, looking into their eyes. “Tell me yourselves. Was it right to look down upon the herders and take their beasts when your bellies were already bloated? Or to keep them from the cave unless they brought you meat?”
Several Firekeepers lowered their heads and stared down at their paws. “No,” Ratha continued. “Shongshar did wrong by making you believe that serving the fire-creature made you more deserving than the rest. He used your belief to make you do fierce and cruel things you would not have done. That is why he died.”
A Firekeeper raised his head. “Then you will allow us to honor the Red Tongue as well as use it to guard the herds?”
“Yes. I have said nothing against honoring the fire-creature itself. Listen. This is what I will do. We will enlarge one of the old fire-lairs to make an earth-cave in the meadow where the source-fire may be kept. There dry wood can be stored and the fire will be safe from rain. It will be guarded, but anyone, Firekeeper or herder, may enter for warmth, and they may crouch and lower their whiskers before the fire, if they wish.”
“I don’t think that’s enough,” growled another Firekeeper, glaring at Ratha. “Shongshar allowed only us to approach Red Tongue and crouch before it. The herders should tend their dapplebacks.”
Yowls and hisses rose from the herders and the fur on their napes began to lift. Ratha feared that she might not be able to avert a fight.
“Listen to me, both of you. I brought the Red Tongue to the clan for all to share. The Firekeepers were created so that their skills could benefit the rest of us. Herders, the Firekeepers need you as much as you need them. Neither of you can survive without the skill of the others. If you follow me, I will see that both herders and Firekeepers share the fire-creature in a way that is good for both.”
Again mutters broke out from the Firekeepers. The one who had challenged Ratha tried to speak again, but was silenced by his companions. She waited until the Firekeepers had stopped scuffling and speaking among themselves. “Clan leader,” the first one said, “most of us think that what you have suggested is wise. But we need our own leader. We would like Fessran to return to us.”
“I think that can be done,” said Ratha as she turned to her friend and said in a lower voice, “Now that you know the pitfalls along this path, I can trust you to tread it with care.”
A few Firekeepers separated themselves from their companions and glared at Ratha. “I still don’t like it,” complained the same one who had objected before. “You think that Shongshar was wrong to take meat from the herders and give it to us? We need more than they do. We have to be strong. What’s wrong with that?”
With a roar Fessran sprang forward. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that, you greedy wretch!” He skittered away as she glared at the others in his group. “What Ratha offers is fair to all, and I intend to support her. Either you obey my orders, or you leave the Firekeepers. Is that clear?”
With sullen growls they reluctantly agreed.
To pull Shongshar’s body up out of the gorge took the efforts of Ratha and her companions. When that was done, she sent Thakur and Fessran to search for other survivors of the disaster who might have fled and were now in hiding. Gradually they began to come back, their coats soaked and their eyes haunted. Some coughed and wheezed from the water in their lungs, while others walked stiffly, pained by sprains and bruises. When they were all assembled, Ratha led them down to the meadow.
Fessran and Bira took care of the half-drowned Firekeepers, treating them like a large litter of disobedient but still-loved cubs. Fessran made them dry themselves by the fire, a new blaze that had been lit from the fire-lairs. Bira soothed those who still trembled from their memories.
Ratha found the bodies of those who had died in the flood and helped to bring them to be laid under grave-trees at the edge of clan ground. Among the dead was the herder Shoman. Another, as she had feared, was Fessran’s son, Nyang.
Some of the more wrathful herders wanted to tear Shongshar’s body and scatter his bones, but Ratha sternly forbade them from approaching him. Carefully and respectfully, she and Thakur carried the body through the meadow and laid it beneath Bonchewer’s grave-tree.
In the following days, she and Fessran reorganized the Firekeepers, reducing their number and sending some to be retrained as herders. Now that she had control of the Red Tongue again, she could encourage Thakur and the others who had treelings to resume training them in the art of caring for fire. She was pleased to learn that Aree had not forgotten her careful lessons and the young treelings still retained much of what they had learned.
She and Ratharee joined in with the others and soon were spending many of their evenings learning what treeling paws could do.
They had many spectators, for those in the clan who did not have treelings were drawn by curiosity. There was still some uneasiness about having such creatures tend the Red Tongue, but Ratha sensed that it was diffuse and no longer the threat it had been during Shongshar’s rise to power. She shared Ratharee with those who wished to try working with a treeling and encouraged Thakur, Bira and Fessran to do the same.
As Ratha lifted the first pawful of earth from the threshold of the old fire-lair, she hesitated before throwing it aside. Despite her words to the Firekeepers, she felt she had set her feet in Shongshar’s pawprints and hoped she would have the strength not to take the trail he had followed.
She felt Ratharee on her shoulder, turned her head to nuzzle the treeling and felt calmer. The creature’s gentle touch eased the loneliness that sometimes came over her even when she was close to her own kind. Ratharee couldn’t speak, but she seemed to say as much with her nimble hands and bright, wise eyes as the Named did with words.
The treeling shared much more than the skill of her hands. She was a companion who never questioned or judged. Her presence seemed to lessen Ratha’s fierce need to prove herself to others, and she felt herself gaining a stability of mind that she had not known before.
When she was directing Ratharee in a task such as laying out kindling, she often felt that the treeling knew what she wanted before she nudged her arms or gave the clicking sounds that she followed. The understanding between them grew less that of one creature serving another and became a partnership. In concentrating on a task, the bond between them grew so strong that she and Ratharee were one being with shared abilities beyond those of either partner.
She also realized that the relationship was more equal than she had first thought. While she experienced the tree-ling’s dexterity as if it were her own, she sensed that her companion was gaining knowledge treelings had never had. She gave Ratharee her strength and her speed as well as her ability to see at night. Her intelligence too she shared, although she often wondered, when she looked into the startling depths of Ratharee’s eyes, whether treelings might have a cleverness of their own that was equal to that of the Named, even though it was different.
