Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

Smell and flavor combined with sound, telling Ratha that Thakur was still in the meadow with his group of half-grown cubs. Now they were working with three-horn deer instead of stripers.

Ratha knew that long ago her kind had been hunters, but they had learned to tame and herd the three-horn deer, dappleback horses, and other beasts they once stalked. Because they had to know one another well in order to cooperate, they needed and valued names. They also grew to value the light in a cub’s eyes that meant that the young one would be able to think clearly and speak well.

Lifting her head, Ratha narrowed green eyes against the sunlight. Looking down, she saw paw prints on the damp soil below.

She knew that the sunning rock stood not only at the center of the surrounding meadow, but also at the center of clan life. The Named used it as a meeting ground and a seat of honor for their leader.

In the midst of all the prints lay a clear area where stones encircled a still-smoldering pile of ash. It was a nest of the Red Tongue, the fire-creature she had brought to her people.

She grimaced as she remembered how the clan had kept her up late last night with their arguing and yowling in the firelight. She had let all have their say. Though still young, she knew by experience that a good clan leader should listen rather than speak.

Gathering her hindquarters beneath her, Ratha raised herself on her forepaws. A front claw snagged on the sandstone. Her tail tip flicked with annoyance. With her tongue, she explored her paw and found a not-quite-shed outer layer of the claw. Using the small sharp incisor teeth between her fangs, she nibbled it off.

Sandstone grit scraped beneath her pads as she pushed her front paws out, bowed her back, and indulged in a good long stretch. She enjoyed the feel of her body: her long powerful hind legs that launched her into a swift charge at a herdbeast; her slim but muscular forelegs that could wrap around the animal’s neck and pull it down. Her neck and shoulders drove the force of her bite, but her forequarters were flexible enough so that she could lick most of her back.

Her longer hind legs raised her hindquarters slightly above her forequarters so that her back sloped gently down from hips to shoulders. When Ratha galloped, she could feel the arch and bow of her spine, giving her strides additional length.

She thought about the herding teacher, and his place in the clan. Shifting from hunters to herders helped the Named, but others had taken advantage of the change. Raiders of Ratha’s own kind, but lacking the self-aware gift of the Named, attacked the herds. The Un-Named ones far outnumbered the clan and could devastate the herd, driving the Named to starvation. Clan cubs had to be well trained in the ways the Named used to defend and protect their animals.

While thinking about Thakur again, she caught the distant flash of morning sun on his copper coat.

Ratha watched the shapes moving against the sky and trees at the meadow’s edge. She saw spotted cub-students cut in and out of the small teaching herd of three-horn deer as Thakur dashed alongside, yowling instructions. Other cubs practiced stare-downs with the young deer.

One youngster instantly became a ball of fluff as an aggressive half-grown buck broke the cub’s stare and charged. A whiff and taste of cub fear-scent made Ratha tense, but Thakur had already plunged in and headed the buck off. She watched, tail flicking, as he confronted it with bared claws and teeth. For an instant it challenged him with its forked nose-horn and pronged antlers, then backed off.

At least he didn’t have to kill the animal, Ratha thought, again remembering the day when a three-horn stag had nearly gotten the best of her. Thakur had not let that deer live with its dangerous knowledge that it could defy its Named keepers. It had swiftly become clan meat.

From a closer part of the meadow screened off by brush came another ruckus, accompanied by strange smells and puffs of dust. Ratha couldn’t see the source, but brassy bellows and yearling cub-cries told her that the older herding students were practicing their skills on a leathery-skinned baby beast with legs like young trees.

She remembered when she had first seen one of these creatures. At first she had the odd thought that they were built backward, for the tail on their rumps was far less impressive than the one that curled down from their faces and waved about in front of their tusks.

This“ face-tail” trunk was as impressive as it looked, as several of the Named had learned by being suddenly plucked from the ground and hurled into a thornbush. It had earned the beasts their name.

The Named decided to start slowly with baby face-tails but even so, the huge, boisterous infants kept the herders busy. The young face-tails used their domed heads as well as their trunks and many a Named herder had been butted from behind and sent rolling across the meadow.

Ratha listened to the assorted screeches, bellows, and yowled commands and thought, Thakur sounds like he is losing patience with them, but he never does.

The wind shifted, bringing Ratha another scent, acrid and ashy.

Cubs, herdbeasts, and skirmishes with Un-Named raiders; these were all we knew. Until…

She gazed upwind, to the source of the smell. From the open forest bordering the meadow, smoke twisted into the sky. Ratha could almost imagine that she saw the flicker of fire through the leaves. She looked down at the remains of the campfire from the previous evening.

Training cubs, caring for herdbeasts, and fighting off marauders had been the life of the Named until a young she-cub dared to bring something new to the clan.

Ratha’s skin prickled as if flakes of hot ash and embers were falling into her fur. She remembered the eerie, almost-alive thing she had tamed and called “her creature.” Even though the clan did not see the fiery color as well as they did other hues, the flame shone intensely enough for them to call it the Red Tongue. It now burned on torches carried by Named Firekeepers and in guard-fires that frightened Un-Named ones back. It held a strange power that warmed and sheltered, yet had terrified, tempted, and corrupted. The old way of claws and fangs gave way to the new power of fire. Remembering, Ratha felt her whiskers rise and pull back as her lips drew back in a half-snarl and her ears flattened. Though she had not wished for it, the death of the old clan tyrant Meoran and her own ascension to leadership began the change.

Guard-fires, campfires, the Firekeeper’s den dug in the meadow, wood gathering, and tending the Red Tongue had become the Named way.

The rustle of leaves nearby and a rising chirr reminded Ratha of other, gentler changes. Her ears and whiskers relaxed when she caught sight of a small agile climber scrambling down from a sapling. The creature clung to branches with fingers and toes that had flat nails instead of claws. Lifting its head and balancing with its long ringed tail, it pointed its sharp muzzle at her. Gently mischievous, yellow eyes blinked at her from the black-and-gray mask over the face. Tufted black ears pricked. She answered the chirr with one of her own and called,“Come to me, little treeling.”

The lemurlike creature bounced down from the sapling and into the high meadow grass. Ringed tail held high, it bounded to the sunning rock, jumped up, and perched on the edge. It cocked its head, widened its large eyes at Ratha, and said,“Aree?”

“Good Ratharee,” she praised, lowering her head so that the treeling could climb onto her nape. It wound its fingers in her fur. They felt slightly sticky.

Ratha often found herself talking to her treeling, even though she knew Ratharee could not speak, at least not in the clan language. The treeling did respond to the various sounds of Ratha’s voice, as well as Named paw-and tail-waves.