“Bone—” Ratha started. His tail slapped her across the muzzle before she could say his name. Hurt and outraged, Ratha snapped at the tail and caught a mouthful of fur before he whisked it away.
“Why did you—” she demanded, but he cut her off before she could finish.
“To keep you from making a fool of yourself and of me as well,” he said softly. “There is no use of names here. Do not forget.”
“How am I to speak to you if I can’t use your name?” Ratha asked, feeling bewildered.
“Call me dweller-by-the-water, as they do. Or, better still, be quiet and listen.”
“Yarrr.” Ratha flattened her ears but she knew he was right. He had stopped calling her “clan cat” as well. Although the nickname had begun as an insult, he used it now in an affectionate sense. To have this stripped from her left her feeling empty and desolate, as if she were becoming one of those who had nothing behind their eyes. She hung her head and swallowed hard.
“What is the matter, young one?” The voice was not Bonechewer’s, although he still stood nearby. Ratha looked up into a pair of glowing green eyes in a face so black it seemed to her that the eyes floated by themselves in the dark.
“She is just tired, nightling,” Bonechewer said before Ratha could gather her wits to speak.
“I haven’t seen or smelled her before,” the black remarked, “yet she is too old to be of the last litters. Did she come with you, dweller-by-the-water?”
“She joined me on the trail,” Bonechewer said shortly. Ratha sensed a certain tension between him and the black one.
“We meet at the same place, among the stones-with-fangs.”
“I will be there, nightling.”
“Good.” The black turned and snarled at the two dull-eyed shadows standing behind her. “Away, cubs! I have no need of you until sunrise.” With guttural growls, the two males lowered their heads and padded away.
“Why do you keep them, nightling?” Bonechewer asked. “You are worthy of better companions.”
“If I wanted companions, I would choose others. The witless ones obey me and that is all I ask.”
“All you ask, nightling?” Bonechewer said.
The black opened her eyes all the way, revealing their full depth. “There are certain things that wit or lack of wit does not affect, dweller-by-the-water. And you seem to have made a similar choice, for I have not heard your little female speak.”
“I can speak,” Ratha spluttered, sending a burning glance at Bonechewer.
The other yawned and arched her back. “Ah. Perhaps, then, he will bring you to council.”
“I think not, nightling.”
“Very well, dweller-by-the-water,” the black said and trotted away.
“Your little female!” Ratha spat in disgust and pawed in the dirt as if she were burying dung. “If there are many like her among the Un-Named, I want nothing more to do with them. Where are you going?” she asked, for she felt Bonechewer start to move away from her.
“To the stones-with-fangs.”
“Are you taking me?”
“No. You stay here. Curl up and sleep. You won’t get much sleep later.”
“Sleep! How can I—” Ratha stopped. He was already gone, his shadow disappearing among the rocks.
She lashed her tail and dug her claws into the gravel.
What was this gathering for? What was this council the black spoke of and why hadn’t Bonechewer taken her? Was he afraid she would embarrass him by speaking his name? Ratha snorted. He was just being silly. Who other than she and he would know that “Bonechewer” was even a name? There had to be another reason.
She sniffed the ground. Bonechewer’s track was still fresh. She could follow him to the place he spoke of, the stones-with-fangs. Perhaps she could hide and attend the meeting in secret. Perhaps she would even get a chance to maul that slinky black before she could summon her body-guards. Now that was an appealing idea.
CHAPTER NINE
Ratha peered between rows of jagged stones that rose from the cavern floor. Those who had come to meet were settling, and she watched them form a circle under the phosphorescent light that shone from the roof of the cave. Bonechewer sat next to two huge gray hunters, the odd blue-green glow turning his copper coat inky and his eyes emerald. Beside him on the other side sat the black. A grizzled elder who limped on three legs, a silver-coat, and a young male barely out of his spots made up the rest of the gathering.
They spoke quietly among themselves for a while and Ratha could hear nothing but water dripping from overhead into puddles on the floor. A particularly cold drop landed on her and she jumped, shivering. Then she huddled and fluffed her fur, trying to keep warm. It was like being in the mouth of a huge beast, she thought, looking up at the stone fangs that also hung down from the ceiling. Perhaps this was the maw of some great unknown animal who lay buried in the mountain. Ratha imagined the jaws closing, the spikes overhead driving down to mesh with those rising from the floor.
No, she thought, trying to still her racing heart. Even if this is the mouth of a great beast, the jaws will never move again. It has died, she thought. I am in the mouth of a dead, cold beast.
The voices grew louder, drawing Ratha’s attention back to the Un-Named in their circle. Now she could hear what they were saying. She crept forward on her belly, laying her nose between two of the stone teeth.
One of the gray hunters was talking to the black.
“For you and your people, it is easy to wait,” the shaggy speaker was grumbling. “My people have come far and empty bellies have no patience. How am I to answer them?”
“In the language you have always used, gray hunter,” the black said, laying her tail across her delicate feet. “Claws and, if needed, teeth.” She looked at him through slitted eyes. “Do you doubt your strength?”
“It is talk I doubt. Let there be less of it. I and my people came to kill, not talk. When does the hunt begin?”
“When all are here, gray one,” interrupted the grizzled male in a scratchy voice.
“Don’t misunderstand me, gray hunter,” the black said, opening her green eyes wide. Her voice took on a silky tone. “I do understand your difficulty. I, at least, can talk to the ones I lead and many of them will listen to reason.”
“Enough!” snapped the grizzled cripple. “We have come here to plan, not to quarrel.” He turned to Bonechewer. “I see you decided to come after all, dweller-by-the-water. Your absence last season cost us, as you well know.”
“I will do what I can,” Bonechewer said.
Ratha was starting to get stiff and drops of water were soaking her ruff, but she dared not move. She had heard enough to whet her curiosity, not enough to answer her questions, although she sensed she was getting close.
“I am curious, dweller-by-the-water, why you came this time.” Scratchy-voice was speaking again. Ratha pricked her ears to catch Bonechewer’s answer.
“Old one, I hoped that you would listen to me, even though you have heard my words before.”
The gray hunter jumped to his feet. “Don’t listen to him! He would keep us hungry and save the herds of the hated ones. He is not one of us. He is clan-born filth!”
“Gray one, when you have finished howling and are ready to listen,” Bonechewer said, his voice acid, “I will tell you why I think as I do.”