The Un-Named One took one deliberate step toward the deer. Ratha watched carefully. An animal who learned it could defy the herders was too dangerous to keep. If the three-horn doe charged again, she would be clan meat that day. If the Un-Named One could stare her down and break her will, she would live to nurse her fawns.
She saw Thakur come to a halt. He, too, was watching. The deer lifted a hind leg and placed it nervously behind the other. The Un-Named One took another step. The three-horn’s defiance broke and she backed away.
“Enough,” Thakur said, nudging the silvercoat aside. He took over and soon had the deer in full retreat. With a disgusted bray, the three-horn wheeled and galloped back into the herd. The fawns followed on spindly legs.
Ratha let out her breath. She heard a smaller sound beside her. Bundi flinched when she looked down on him, and she imagined how he must be feeling. Not only had his foolishness gotten him in danger; he had to be rescued by the clan leader. No, not really, Ratha thought. I wasn’t the one who stopped the deer in mid-charge.
“Thakur will chew your ears for your foolishness,” she said roughly to the cub, “but at least you’re alive.”
The herding teacher had taken the Un-Named into a patch of shade. Ratha trotted across to Thakur with Bundi trailing behind. “Is the Un-Named One hurt?” she asked.
“No, just tired.” He turned to Bundi. “Cub, you know what you did. Go over to the side of the meadow and think about it. I’ll speak to you later.”
Chapter Three
A fitful wind blew against Thakur’s whiskers. He caught a scent he hadn’t smelled all summer: the scent of rain. It was only midday, but the sky above the meadow had started to darken. Thakur lifted his muzzle to the clouds and saw other herders raising their heads.
The herders circled the restless deer and dapplebacks. Thakur joined them in driving the animals together. Dust rose from beneath many trotting hooves and caught in his throat. There was dust in his eyes, between his toes and on his whiskers. His pelt felt dirty and gritty right down to the roots of his hairs. He had given up trying to lick all of it out, for the taste of it on his tongue made him gag and the next day’s work would only add more. Everyone in the clan was beginning to look the same dusty color. Even the Un-Named One’s silver fur had turned mousy, giving his fire-colored eyes a startling brightness.
The dapplebacks whinnied and bucked as the herders drove them under the old oak, but Thakur knew that, if the storm brought thunder, they would be less likely to bolt if they were sheltered. The three-horns spread out under other scattered trees, whose few dried leaves offered them little of either food or shelter.
Pale sunlight faded as clouds massed overhead. The herders and their animals lost their shadows and the sky’s gray deepened. More torchbearers appeared at the trailhead, carrying the Red Tongue and wood to feed it. Thakur saw the Un-Named One trailing behind them, carrying a small bundle of twigs in his jaws. Although Ratha hadn’t yet assigned him a task, he had chosen to help the Firekeepers.
The Un-Named One, who was still called Orange-Eyes for lack of a clan name, delivered his mouthful of wood to the nearest Firekeeper who needed it and joined Thakur near the oak.
“They bring the Red Tongue today early,” Orange-Eyes said in answer to Thakur’s glance. “Fessran said the herders see bristlemanes and there may be attack before dark.” He still spoke awkwardly, but his mastery of clan speech had improved in a surprisingly short time.
They watched the Firekeepers build small piles of kindling at equal intervals around the edge of the herd and set them alight. The torchbearers tried to locate the guard-fires beneath overhanging pine boughs or thorn-bushes that were high enough not to catch and would give some shelter, but several had to be built out in the open.
Soon a wide ring of small flames, each guarded by a Firekeeper, surrounded the deer and dapplebacks. The sharp scent of woodsmoke mixed with the blowing dust and the smell of the coming storm.
Something struck the ground at Thakur’s feet, kicking up a puff of dust. A drop hit his nose. Thunder grumbled and the three-horns bleated. A gust of wind came, tearing at the grass and whipping the guard-fires. Firekeepers pawed at the ground around each flame, scraping away the dried weeds and litter so the fire-creature couldn’t escape. They know how hungry the Red Tongue can be, he thought.
Again he lifted his nose to the sky. It was a smoky gray, with streaks and ripples that moved like the water in a wide, slow river. Rain would be a welcome gift after the parching heat that had lasted past the summer season, but a downpour might kill some of the fire-creatures, opening up a vulnerable place in the ring of defense around the herd. Thakur felt more heavy drops on his head and his ears. This would be no light shower.
The rain fell faster, beating on his pelt. He didn’t usually enjoy getting wet but the rain was warm enough to be pleasant and he was dirty enough to welcome a bath. He stretched himself and fluffed his fur letting the rain trickle through to his skin.
Thakur found himself watching the streaks made by the rain on his companion’s dusty flank. Orange-Eyes had recovered rapidly from his bout with starvation. His wounds had healed and his mange was receding, leaving a few sparse areas that already bore the fuzz of new fur.
Thakur noticed other things about him as well. The silvercoat’s chest was deeper and his forelegs longer than those of the clan, giving his back a slight slope downwards to his tail. His forequarters looked more powerful than those of the Named; his shoulders and neck more heavily muscled. Even the shape of his head was subtly different. He had an odd arch in his skull that began at the crown of his head and flowed down through his broad nose to meet and blend with the backward curve of his fangs.
It was clear to Thakur that part of the stranger’s parentage was neither that of the clan nor that of the Un-Named, but a line unknown. Yet, at least one of his parents had given him the gift of self-knowledge that lit his eyes. Would he be able to pass it on to his young?
The rain grew heavier, soaking their coats and turning the dust to mud. Thakur saw several Firekeepers gathered about one of the guard-fires in the open. Some ducked beneath the sheltering pine bough and breathed on the Red Tongue while others piled kindling.
“Have to go bring more wood,” the silvercoat said and loped away. He had barely gone when Thakur heard a strange howl. He turned his whiskers outward from the herd in the direction of the sound. At first the cry was faint and lost in the constant beat of the rain, but it continued rising, gaining strength until it filled the meadow. The eerie, wavering howl broke into barks and yips that seemed to taunt the herders and the Firekeepers as they worked to protect their animals.
The howl faded, leaving only the hiss of the rain. Thakur retreated beneath the boughs of the old oak, water streaming from his tail and ears. The air under the tree was dank and heavy with the noise and smell of wet dapplebacks. In a while Orange-Eyes reappeared at the trailhead into the meadow, delivered his mouthful of sticks and joined Thakur. Many of the other herders also sought shelter from the downpour, although some aided the Firekeepers in trying to protect the guard-fires.
“Dung-eating bristlemanes!” growled the herder Cherfan, spraying his companions as he shook his heavy pelt. “It’s not the rain that makes me shiver; it’s those howls.”
“How many of them did you see?” asked Thakur.
“A pair, but I smelled more. There may be a whole pack. How I hate the stink of those belly-biters!”
As if the enemy had heard Cherfan’s words, the howls started again. They were louder this time and wilder, breaking into bursts of short, frantic cries that were unlike any other sound made by animals the Named knew. To Thakur, they had the sound of madness. He felt as though he could no longer stand and listen. “I’m going to help the Firekeepers,” he told Orange-Eyes, and dashed out from beneath the oak.