Ratha sat, thinking. “That’s true, Thakur. I saw the look in his eyes. He understood what fire would do to the beasts.” And I saw that, and failed to act.
“If Night-who-eats-stars is alive and out there, he may be in as much pain as you are now. That is another reason to find him.”
“Well, his ‘help’ has caused a mess that I have to clean up. An ugly one, and I am not just thinking about the corpses in the canyon. I hope Fessran can find Night-who-eats-stars. I need to know why and how he did this.”
Ratha lay down, her nose buried in her tail, but she didn’t sleep for a long time.
In the morning, Fessran and her search party returned, tails switching in frustration. They had found no trace of Night-who-eats-stars, no scents, no footprints, not even a hair. Bira had a small hollowed out log, part of it burned away, but still containing sand and ash. She carried it in her mouth and placed it before Ratha.
“I think Night used this to keep the Red Tongue alive. Look at the tooth-marks on it.”
Blinking sleep away, Ratha studied Bira’s find. “If he did use this, and we now have it, does that mean he no longer has the Red Tongue?”
“He could make or find another log and scoop coals into it,” Fessran said, interrupting Bira’s reply. “No, my guts tell me that he still has the Red Tongue’s cubs. You were right, Ratha. This black fawn-killer is too smart.” A yawn muddled the Firekeeper’s last words, and she stretched her jaws open and arched her tongue, the tip curling up between her two lower fangs.
Ratha stared at the remains of Night’s hollow fire-carrier, lying between her paws. Its charred bark reminded her of the task that lay ahead: finding those who had been slain by the blaze. “Keep this safe,” she said finally, rolling the log back to Bira.
She felt Fessran’s gaze on her and lifted her head to meet it.
“Ratha,” her friend said abruptly, “let me lead the hunt for the dead. You take the search party and look for Night. You might do better than I did.”
“And I would be spared the smells, sights, and tastes of the ones my creature killed. You would do this for me?”
“Why not? I’ve seen similar things. I’m older, harder, meaner; it won’t bother me.”
For a tail-wave, Ratha was tempted to take Fessran’s offer. She dreaded the grisly job that loomed ahead. But she knew that the Firekeeper also would hate the task, even if she showed and said nothing. There was a core of kindness deeper than the streak of ruthlessness or the surface toughness in that soot streaked sandy coat and those fire-stung eyes. She didn’t want to damage that well-hidden but precious reserve.
“No, Fess. The Red Tongue is my creature and this is my task. Rest a bit, then please, if you can, take the search party out again.”
Fessran paused, holding Ratha’s gaze as if she meant to argue, but then she lowered her head, brushed past Ratha in a silent acknowledgment, and padded away. Bira followed, Night’s fire-carrying log in her jaws.
Ratha groomed herself briefly, just enough to get the worst of the ash out of her fur. A few last swipes, and she was ready to face the day and her people, who were waking and gathering around her.
“True-of-voice has asked that we help recover the bodies of the hunters who were slain by the Red Tongue. Anyone who feels they can’t do it may return to clan ground, especially the younger ones. I won’t just be directing the search; I will work among you.”
“Why must we do this?” Cherfan asked. “We didn’t set the fire. The fawn-killer did.”
“We do it because True-of-voice has asked. Yes, we did not start the fire, but we are responsible for taming and keeping it.” She paused. “You may be excused, if you wish, herder.”
“No. I may grumble and sneeze, but I’ll help you, Ratha. Just don’t ask me to climb any trees. I’m too big for that.”
She picked out the younger clan members. “You half-grown ones should be spared this. Go back to clan ground and wait for us there. Bundi, you lead them.”
“Clan leader, let me stay and help,” Bundi asked, unexpectedly.
“Why?”
“Because I have felt the Red Tongue’s touch. Because of this,” Bundi said, lifting his head to show the burnscars that ran down his neck and shoulder.
Because you know the pain that the hunter dead felt before my creature took their lives.
Ratha took a breath. “You can stay then, Bundi. Ashon, you lead the older cubs back. Go to Drani. She’s taking care of the nurslings.”
The silver-gray youngster gathered up his peers and departed for clan ground.
Ratha then found Thistle-chaser and Quiet Hunter, asking them to go over to True-of-voice’s group so that they could learn where the dead were to be taken. Thistle wanted to stay with the Named and work alongside her mother.
“No, I need you to go with the hunters,” Ratha told her firmly.
Thistle was stubborn. “Am as strong as Fessran. Won’t get belly-sick at smells. If, maybe, follow you as clan leader, need to take on same duties.”
“Thistle, I know you are willing. Right now I need you to go with the hunters and not argue.”
“Won’t argue, then. Will do.”
Ratha rubbed her forehead against her daughter’s. They had only begun to approach the idea that Thistle-chaser might lead the Named one day, when Ratha grew too old and feeble. Initially it had seemed ridiculous, but as Ratha watched Thistle growing, recovering from the injuries received as a cub, and, most of all, developing in character, the possibility had grown stronger.
Thistle rubbed alongside her with the affectionate tail-flop, then joined Quiet Hunter, who had been waiting nearby. Both headed across the intervening distance to True-of-voice and the hunter tribe. Ratha let her gaze rest on them only briefly, cradling the joy that the young couple gave her, then letting it go.
She turned to the remaining clan members.
“We’ll start at the canyon entrance. Space yourselves across so that we don’t miss anything.”
Heads lowered, shoulders hunched, the Named started up the fire-scoured canyon. Ratha was in the center, and they spread out to either side of her. Some hunters came across and joined them, filling up the gaps. Ratha noticed that Thakur took up a place downwind of her and two positions away, so that his scent wouldn’t distract her, but he could still speak to her.
The air was still, heavy with haze.
The first body they found was not burned or heat-damaged. The hunter lay on her side, as if she had fallen asleep.
“Killed by the Red Tongue’s breath,” said Thakur.
Ratha knew the sting of smoke in her throat. Sometimes it got so thick, it made her cough and gasp.
The body might be untouched, but Ratha knew that the death had been as wretched as any other in the canyon.
“Put that one where we can find it on the way out. No sense in dragging it up and back,” Ratha instructed.
They came across two more, both smoke-killed. Ratha recognized the face, but she couldn’t remember the name.
“Bent Whiskers,” said Thakur softly. “I knew her. I’ll take her.”
I knew her, too. Just a little.
Before Ratha could move, Cherfan grabbed the scruff of the other. “This may not be as bad as I feared,” he mumbled through his mouthful of fur.
“Just put them aside,” Ratha said, ignoring the clenching sensation in her stomach. “With the first.” She listened to the soft sounds as Thakur and Cherfan dragged the slain away. She didn’t watch.
The line of Named and hunters moved carefully up the floor of the ravaged cut in the earth.
When they found the next few dead hunters, Cherfan admitted that he was wrong. It was as bad as he had feared, and worse.
Ratha had seen Un-Named ones wounded or killed by her creature, but she never realized how bone could be so twisted by intense heat, how flesh and skin could be roasted, seared, charred into an ugly black crust that bled when it broke open.