Even though she let the thought run only briefly, it opened the old ache in her belly. How she had loved Bone-chewer, raider and loner that he was, and how wrenching it had been to lose him. He was slain in the long-ago battle between the clan and the Un-Named.
It was then that Thakur had placed the flaming branch in her teeth, though she would have refused it if acceptance had not meant survival for her people. And now she was learning anew what the choice meant.
Again her gaze sought out Thistle and Quiet Hunter. Her daughter still had her eyes closed and her muzzle raised. Now she was shivering. So was Quiet Hunter. What was True-of-voice telling the two?
Ratha set her teeth, feeling the top fangs slide over the lower ones, the small teeth between the fangs scissor together. Her strong will brought her through so many trials—it would get her through this as well.
Thistle and Quiet Hunter were getting up, touching noses with True-of-voice, turning, looking to her, coming back. She forced herself to wait until the pair reached her. Both looked shaken. Thistle gave intermittent shivers. Stolid Quiet Hunter was not shivering, but the fur ridged along his back and tail. He also looked baffled.
He spoke first, in answer to Ratha’s expectant look. “This one, this … I … asked True-of-voice about the black eater of stars. The reply was strange.”
“How?”
“The song said that the star-eater was known, but is no longer. It does not sing of that one. It will never again sing of him. He is gone from the song.”
“Claw-rip the song!” Ratha hissed. “Did you ask if True-of-voice would find the renegade so that we can take the Red Tongue back? Then he can do what he likes with that black fawn-killer.”
“I tried,” Quiet Hunter said calmly. “This is the only reply. To True-of-voice, the black hunter no longer exists, so he can do nothing.”
“No longer exists? You mean the renegade is dead?”
“No, although he could be. It means only that True-of-voice cannot reach him.”
“Then we have to find him ourselves. Arrr!” Ratha felt her tail wanting to lash and put a firm forefoot on it.
“Something we have to do first.” The lighter voice was Thistle-chaser’s. Ratha stared at her daughter, and then dropped her gaze to avoid implying challenge. “What?”
“Red Tongue in the canyon—soon it will die. True-of-voice asks something hard.”
Ratha waited. Thistle hardened her voice to stop it from trembling. “Wants us to stay, help find dead ones, give them to …” She halted, the fur between her eyebrow whiskers wrinkling. “Hard to understand. Maybe Thistle-mistake. Says he wants us to help give them to … the air?”
Ratha wanted to throw her head back and forth and howl with frustration. She felt as though she were being shrouded with this maddening mystery, as though threads were wrapping around her until she was immobilized, cocooned. She wanted to act, to leap, to claw, to bite, to shred …
“Easy, yearling.” It was Thakur’s shoulder against her, his words calming her.
“This is like trying to bite mist,” she growled. “I can’t get hold of it.”
She caught Thistle glancing up at her. “Having hard time, too. Like getting across fast-running water, but am finding rocks to step on. One rock is, True-of-voice wants dead ones found and brought. By his people … and us.”
“Dead ones? You mean bodies? Thistle, there won’t be anything left! You saw how the Red Tongue’s wildness blew the trees completely apart. What could remain after that?”
“Of some hunters, nothing. But others not burned up. Climbed canyon walls. Up trees. Died from heat, from smoke,” Thistle said. “Wait with True-of-voice. When Red Tongue finally lies down, must search.”
“We have to find the renegade. Or make sure he is dead. We can’t chase our tails scuffing in the ashes to find …” Ratha couldn’t go on. The images in her mind were bad enough, and she dreaded that the reality would be worse.
She looked away from Thistle to Quiet Hunter. His calm gaze was soothing rather than disturbing, but it held the same message. He answered, “This one, at least, must join in the search. I must help those who were, and still are, my people.”
Ratha was momentarily distracted as Fessran entered the group and came alongside. “Well, clan leader,” the Firekeeper said, evidently having heard part of the conversation, “it could be worse. True-of-voice might have wanted revenge by killing some of us.”
“If he means this as punishment, it is. Do you really want a mouthful of … ?” Ratha broke off. “Fess, keep looking for the black hunter. Take anyone you need. We’ve got to keep him from setting the Red Tongue loose again.”
Waving a soot-streaked paw, Fessran added more of the Named to her search party, which already included Bira and other Firekeepers. She took Thistle, leaving Quiet Hunter as interpreter, saying that Thistle had been on hunters’ ground so often that, of all the Named, she knew it best. Quiet Hunter might know it better, but Thistle’s young mate felt he needed to join in the search for the hunter dead. Ratha was grateful that the usually impatient and demanding Firekeeper leader would respect that.
Then Ratha and the Named settled down to wait until the fire had burned itself out. Waiting, for her, was the hardest part. Too many thoughts crowded into her head, memories of finding the Red Tongue, bringing it to the clan, of killing the old clan leader Meoran by jamming a lighted torch through the bottom of his jaw. Then she felt triumph. Now it made her shudder and she suddenly wanted the comfort of her treeling very badly.
Thakur seemed to sense her distress, for he left his nest in the ashes and came to her.
“Thakur, what have I done? I thought the trail that led us to the Red Tongue was done, but it isn’t. What unbearable thing will come next? Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“Then we would have perished, clan leader,” he answered, his whiskers brushing her cheek fur. “And all our uncomfortable thoughts with us.” He licked the nape of her neck; his scent started to make her head swim. Oh, no. Not this. Not now …
As if he sensed the effect he had on her, he moved downwind, staying close enough to be comforting, far away enough not to be distracting.
“Yearling,” he said, “if it helps, I believe that you will lead us through this and we will be better because of it.”
His words made her want to wrinkle her nose, yet it touched the needy part of her and soothed it. “That is a lot of faith, herding teacher.”
“Faith based on knowing you,” he answered simply.
She shifted. “It is going to be hard pulling those dead ones out of the canyon. My nose and my tongue won’t like me for it. And knowing that it was my creature that killed them. I’m afraid when I pick them up, they will just fall apart, like dead coals … like Meoran did when the Red Tongue finally let him go … .”
“I was beside you then. I will be beside you tomorrow.” He paused. “Don’t take this all on yourself, yearling. You did all you could to prevent it. If there is blame, it lies with the one whose pelt eats stars.”
“He … he … fascinates me, Thakur. I can’t help it. He draws me like the Red Tongue draws a dazed dappleback. How can that be, when he has done so much harm and I hate him? I would bring him down with a throat-bite, yet I have to know who he is, where he comes from.”
“I thought you believed he was True-of-voice’s son.”
She turned, stared into the emerald of his eyes. “He couldn’t be. Not after what he did to his own people.”
“Maybe it was an accident. Maybe he was trying to help and the fire got away from him.”
“Help?” This time her nose did wrinkle in disbelief.
“They were hunting face-tails in that canyon. Remember several days ago when the tusked ones ran into the fire? You told me that Night was there and watching. Maybe he thought he could help the hunters by drawing the face-tails or driving them.”