Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

For many days, the Un-Named stayed in the clearing, lazing in the pale winter sun and gorging themselves on their kills. Ratha, along with others of her pack, were posted as sentries to guard against attacks by the clan herders. None ever came, telling her that the clan was too weakened and dispirited to try for revenge.

She ate little and tried to stay far from the sounds of feasting. She felt odd sensations in her belly, vague aches, heaviness and strange rippling motions, as if something was moving inside her. She was also enlarged and her teats were tender. At first the feelings were mild and she hardly noticed. As the Un-Named alternately raided and feasted and the days grew colder, her pregnancy became obvious, earning her questioning looks from the others. This was not the season to bear cubs. If the Un-Named females were like the clan, they would mate in early spring and have their young in summer. She had done everything wrong, she thought miserably, as she stood in the rain watching for an attack that never came. She couldn’t even bear cubs at the right time of year. They would be born too soon, before she could get away from the Un-Named. And even if she did, hunting in winter would be poor. She would starve and her cubs would die.

Ratha took no part in the raids following the first one. She, along with the gray-coat, was held back to drag away beasts that others had killed. She spent many nights wrestling carcasses through the undergrowth, collapsing at dawn to watch the raiders feast until they were bloated. After each raid she saw Bonechewer eating with the council leaders as before. She caught him giving her anxious glances but this time it was she who turned away.

One rainy morning between raids, she stood guard near the edge of the meadow where the fighting had been. Her partner hissed, taking her mind from her troubles. Ratha tensed, driving her claws into the spongy ground. Had the clan reclaimed enough strength to attack? The gray lurched to her feet, growling as the bushes rustled several tail-lengths away. Her ears went back, making her look uglier than ever.

“Ho, ancient one,” came a voice from behind the bushes. “Still your noise. You know my smell.” A coppery head poked through, framed by wet leaves. It disappeared for a moment, then Bonechewer pushed his way through the undergrowth, carrying meat in his mouth.

“Not for you,” he said through his teeth as he pushed the slavering gray-coat aside. She whined and showed her teeth, but under his gaze, she backed off.

“There you are,” Bonechewer said, and without further words, he laid the meat down in front of Ratha. She stared at it dully, then at him.

“Eat. You need it. That young fool of a pack leader is letting you starve.”

She said nothing. She sniffed the aroma of the meat. It was fresh, taken from the latest kill. She still could not eat.

“Ratha,” he said, growing exasperated. “I bring you something better than the rotten leavings you pick from old bones, yet you eat nothing and stare at me like that witless gray-coat. Have you forgotten how to speak?”

For a moment, she stared at him, able to answer only with her eyes. She had not spoken for so long that the words came slowly. His words shocked her and her own awkwardness frightened her. She fought down panic; the fear that she, in pretending to be mute and stupid, had actually become so. It lasted only an instant; then the words came.

“You said I was to be among the lowest of the Un-Named,” she said, her voice hoarse from disuse.

“Even the lowest should have enough to eat,” Bonechewer answered. He nudged her. “Every rib shows. If you get any thinner, you’ll lose the cubs.”

Ratha flattened her ears.“So that is why you watch me and bring me meat. You care nothing for me; only for what I carry in my belly.Ptahh!”

“Does it matter why I am here?” Bonechewer snarled back. “I could leave you to your pack leader’s mercies; think about that.”

Ratha kicked mud on the meat and walked away.“Give it to the gray-coat.”

“I saved your ragged pelt, and believe me, it has cost me to do even that. Few on the council listen to me now, and the foolish killing goes on. I can do nothing about it, just as I can do nothing for you except bring you extra food.” Bonechewer pawed the meat. “Yes, I care about the cubs,”he said, his eyes seeming to glow even in daylight. “But I want you just as much. The others want you killed, and if you do anything that brings you to their attention, you will not live long and I may not either.”

Ratha lowered her muzzle and nosed the slab of flesh. As she took a first bite, she felt him gently licking her ears. Startled, she jumped back and stared at him in astonishment.

“All right,” he said. “Eat. I’ll leave you alone.”

Ratha devoured half of the meat, all her stomach could hold. As she ate, she could hear the gray-coat whining softly.

“If I eat it all, I’ll be sick,” she said to Bonechewer. “Take some to the gray. She works as hard as I do.”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t,” Ratha said, gaining back some of her spirit now that she had eaten. “I hate her, especially the look in her eyes. But you said that even the lowest should have enough to eat.”

Bonechewer grinned at her and, with a toss of his head, threw the rest of the morsel to the old gray. She caught it in midair and began demolishing it in noisy gulps.

“I will come back,” Bonechewer said, as he turned to go. “I’ll bring you food as often as I can. I wish I had come sooner; I hate to see you so thin.”

Ratha did not expect him to keep his word, but a day later, he appeared through the bushes with another piece of meat. This too, she shared with the gray, and the old one’s eyes widened in astonishment. Every few days he came, bringing something he had taken from the freshest kill. Ratha began to anticipate his visits, not only for the food, but for the conversation. To all the others, she remained dumb. They thought her witless and she encouraged them to think so, hoping to dull certain memories of her performance in the meadow during the first raid.

As the weather grew harsher, the Un-Named began to raid once more. Ratha expected to have no part of the fighting. Again, she and the others of her pack were made to carry the spoils from the meadow. Her job was easier this time, for the slain beasts were few and small. Her only contact with the fighting was through Bonechewer, when he brought her food. She also hungered for news of the clan and that, too, Bonechewer brought, although none of it was cheerful.

He told her that plans were being made for a final raid in which the Un-Named would drive the clan from their dens, slaughter them and take their land. Ratha listened in silence. There was nothing she could do to change the fate of her people. She could only look out for herself and try to survive along with her cubs. She sought refuge in the old anger. Why should she mourn for those who had made her renegade and outcast because they did not understand the new power she had brought them? Whatever death Meoran died he would have earned. The only ones who tried to defend her, she remembered, had been Thakur and Fessran. And even Thakur had turned betrayer.I will mourn for none of them except Fessran,she thought bitterly.

That evening, she watched the packs assemble for the last attack on the clan. Her group was among them, since all were needed to fight and none to drag away kills. The only carcasses this time would be those of the enemy. Even so, Ratha was held back from the fighting, along with others too old, too young or otherwise unsuitable. Her pregnancy did not make her awkward, and she suspected the real reason was distrust.

She lay with her chin on her paws, glancing from time to time at the guards who had been assigned to keep watch on her and her companions. The night was quiet except for a breeze rustling the dry leaves and a last lonely cricket chirping. Once in a while, faraway shrieks and cries broke the stillness, and Ratha lifted her head. She thought of Srass’s death in the first raid and shivered. That scene would be repeated again and again before dawn. The cries died out and she could hear only the wind and the cricket.