The torchbearers pulled back their brands and the captive’s eyes opened. Thakur looked into them, expecting to see a dull green or yellow stare clouded by panic, and the inability to understand. He had seen it before: the gaze of animals who resembled the Named in every way except for the lack of light in their eyes.
The herding teacher flinched in surprise at what he saw. The Un-Named One’s eyes shone orange. Not amber, but a deep, glowing orange, the color at the center of the Red Tongue. In the depths of those eyes, almost masked by rage and fear, was a clarity and intensity Thakur hadn’t expected.
Others of the Named had seen it too. Suddenly the invader had become more than a scavenging animal.
Thakur saw Ratha lean so far down from the rock he thought she might tumble off. Slowly the Un-Named One lifted his muzzle to meet her stare. The silvercoat opened his mouth and Thakur tensed, ready to spring to Ratha’s aid if the Un-Named One attacked her.
What came from the stranger’s jaws was not a roar of challenge nor a whimper of fear, but words in clan speech.
“Not bite. Not claw,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Came to clan. Not to kill.”
The words were awkward and ill-spoken, but understandable. This time Ratha did slip and had to scramble to regain her seat. The other clanfolk stared at each other in disbelief.
“No kills.” The silvercoat put out a stiff forefoot. “Sniff paw. No deer-smell. No horse-smell. No blood.” He kept the leg extended, although it trembled from weariness.
No one else moved. Thakur saw Ratha look toward him. “Herding teacher, you know the scents of our animals better than anyone else. Tell me if what he says is so.”
As Thakur approached the crouching silvercoat, she added, “If there is even a trace of a herdbeast’s scent on him, he will die now by my fangs.”
The herding teacher circled the Un-Named One, smelling him carefully from all sides and trying to ignore the stench from filth and festering sores. He pawed dirt away from between the toes so he could smell the soil without the other’s odor intruding. When he finished, he stood back and said, “He has eaten only roots and grubs. There is no herdbeast smell on him.”
Ratha peered down at the orange-eyed silvercoat. “So Thakur says you have made no kills on clan ground. Why have you come here?”
“Clan is fierce and strong. Clan eats while Un-Named grow thin and die. This one, Orange-Eyes, not ready to die.”
The hostile muttering faded. The Un-Named One glanced about. “Orange-Eyes is clever, like clan. Not afraid. Should be with clan.” Boldly he added, “Clan needs Orange-Eyes.”
Ratha recoiled and spat. “We have no need for a mange-ridden scavenger who thinks too much of himself.”
“Orange-eyes has sores because no food. Eating will make better.”
“I told you we don’t want you. Now go.”
The Firekeepers drew their brands aside to let the Un-Named One slink away, but he turned instead to Ratha. “Now this one wants only to die by clan fangs. Let ugly herder with kinked tail come forward and kill Orange-Eyes.”
“Gladly,” Shoman growled from the back. Thakur felt Shoman push past him roughly, leaving his fur rumpled.
“Shoman, keep your place!” Ratha narrowed her eyes at him, then at the Un-Named One. “So you think you are clever and brave enough to join us.” She raised her head. “Fessran, the dance-hunt is unfinished. Let the Firekeepers take their place.”
Again the ritual started, the quarry now a single enemy. At Ratha’s order, not a claw touched Orange-Eyes, but the torchbearers’ steps took them close to him, and they thrust their brands at him, flaunting the Red Tongue’s power. Each time a flaming torch came near the Un-Named One, he jumped and shuddered, but he held his ground. The Firekeepers’ lunges came closer until fire licked silver fur. Orange-Eyes fell on his side, no longer able to keep his balance, but he refused to either flee or cower.
Fessran, sitting next to Thakur, never took her eyes from the stranger. Her tail curled and twitched with suppressed excitement.
“Enough!” Ratha cried.
The torchbearers fell back. The silvercoat crept to the base of the sunning rock. Thakur heard the murmurs around him and knew that the stranger’s courage had impressed even those who bore the greatest hatred for the Un-Named.
The silver lifted his streaked and smeared muzzle to Ratha and stared directly into her eyes. “Orange-Eyes is worthy. Orange-Eyes stays.”
She crouched on the edge of the rock, her lips drawn back to show the tips of her fangs. For a moment Thakur thought she would pounce on the Un-Named One and shred the rest of his face for his impudence. As green and fire-colored eyes met, Thakur saw in Ratha’s gaze a reluctant and surprised admission of respect. There was a further moment of tension between them; then she wrinkled her nose at the stranger and relaxed.
“All right, Orange-Eyes is worthy,” she said. “He stays, at least for now.” She got to her feet, cutting off the mutters and growls of astonishment and outrage. “The gathering is ended. The Firekeepers may eat now. To your dens, the rest of you. There are still beasts to herd and day will come soon.”
She waited until the group had begun to disperse before calling, “Thakur, come to the sunning rock.”
His tail curled in surprise. Ratha jumped down and stood beside Orange-Eyes. The Un-Named One had regained his feet, but only by leaning heavily against the base of the rock.
“Clan teacher,” Ratha began, “since you have the most patience of any of us, I ask you to take charge of him for the night. Give him some meat from the Firekeepers’ kill and show him the stream where he may wash the blood away. If he is still alive tomorrow, bring him to my den.”
Chapter Two
Ratha drifted up out of deep slumber. She became aware of the damp, chilly ground under her chin. She squirmed further back into her den, into the warmth still held by dry leaves and grass, leaving only her nose poking out into the early morning wind. When the breeze died, the sun bathed her muzzle and dried the dew on her whiskers. She was slipping back into sleep again when a cold shadow fell across her face.
She came awake instantly, jerking her head up and pulling her paws beneath her. She squinted at the two figures who stood against the sunrise. One she recognized as Thakur, but the other she couldn’t place. Who was this skeleton with such a ragged pelt and strange long fangs? Then she caught the stranger’s pungent stink and winced.
“Last night,” said Thakur’s voice softly. Ratha didn’t need his words to remember.
“You’re early,” she grumbled, crawling from the den and trying to smooth her rumpled fur with her tongue. She was further disconcerted when neither of her visitors said anything. They waited while she stretched and groomed. She found herself taking longer than she usually did, for the stranger’s direct gaze irritated her.
“I see he survived the night despite the Firekeepers’ games,” she said to Thakur, allowing her tail one irritable wag. She saw his ears swivel back slightly and she imagined what he must be thinking. The Firekeepers’ game? No, Ratha, the dance-hunt is yours and you gave the order for it to continue.
At least he had the tact not to speak the thought aloud. She shook her head, making her ears flap. Had she really turned her victory celebration into a test of courage for the Un-Named One? And had she promised him he could stay with the clan as a reward for enduring the Red Tongue’s terror? She groaned softly to herself. I was half-mad last night. I think we all were.
She sat up, curling her tail over her feet. “Bring him here and let me look at him.” She immediately regretted her request when Thakur led his charge in front of her. The full sunlight did nothing to disguise his appearance and seemed to intensify his smell. New blisters overlay old mange and along his ridged back and sunken flanks ulcers showed from festering fly bites. Where parasites and fire hadn’t ravaged him, there were the bites and scratches from the frenzied Firekeepers.