She peered down. The stream below her ran black and glistening.
Ratha crouched at the mouth of her den, her heartbeat rocking her. The fire’s fury made her want to run, yet a deeper longing drew her toward it. The line of trees was soon a wall of flame. Ratha could see shadows bounding and leaping; other creatures fleeing the fire.
The Red Tongue, she thought, looking at it. The Red Tongue has come again.
She saw deer running, silhouetted against the flames. Small creatures scampered past her, almost between her legs, their fear of the wildfire so great, they took no notice of her. A small snake slithered by, the firelight jeweling its scales. The rain had stopped, and Ratha could hear the crackle and sputter of the fire.
She heard something else and jerked her head around in fright. Coming toward her along the stream bank was a slender shadow.
“Thakur?” Ratha whispered, but her voice stuck in her throat. The stranger’s gait told her it wasn’t Thakur. Ratha huddled at the entrance, her head low, her ears back. Who else had found her den?
The smoke-blurred form halted. “Ratha?” The voice was Fessran’s.
For a moment Ratha was silent, remembering why Thakur had not brought Fessran to see her.
“Ratha!” The voice came again, husky, and trembling. “I followed Thakur the last time he came. I waited until tonight.”
“Why did you come, herder?” Ratha heard her own voice say. Fessran was suddenly before her, blocking out the shadowed orange light, replacing it with two burning eyes.
She paced before Ratha, lashing her tail. “A cub has died,” she said.
“Thakur told me Cherfan’s son was killed by raiders,” Ratha said, looking up.
“By Meoran’s stupidity! To ask a cub that young to guard the herd, without training! Meoran said there was no time for training. Ptahh! I saw the young one pulled down. Meoran was too late to save him. Now Cherfan’s son lies with maggots crawling across his bones.” Fessran’s voice was low and harsh. “All of us will die, one by one. There is no hope for the Named as long as Meoran leads us.” She turned and stared at the fire.
Ratha waited, knowing and dreading what Fessran would say next.
“Meoran’s power is ended. You and the Red Tongue are all we have against the Un-Named,” Fessran hissed. “Take up your creature, Ratha. I will follow you again.”
“No. That trail is closed to me,” Ratha answered, but she too could not help staring beyond Fessran into the wall of writhing flame. Waves of heat beat in her face.
“No trail is closed to you if you bear the Red Tongue,” Fessran’s voice hissed in her ear.
“Go back to your den, herder,” Ratha said between her teeth. “Leave the Red Tongue to burn and die.”
The other’s eyes widened. “Are you afraid to take up your creature again?”
“It never was my creature. Do you understand? It never was my creature. Fessran!” she cried as the other spat and leaped away.
“I do not fear the Red Tongue!” Fessran’s howl came back.
It is not the Red Tongue I fear. Ratha stared after Fessran.
The bounding figure grew smaller and blacker against the rippling orange flame, curling around the lower branches of the trees, flowing up them like a river into the night sky.
For an instant Ratha could only watch. Then she too was running, stretching her muscles in a half-mad attempt to catch her friend. Fessran plunged toward the fire like a falling stone.
The sound of the fire grew in Ratha’s ears until it was a continuous pounding roar. The wind whipped across her back, feeding the rising flame. A cracking, groaning sound made her look up. Another tree started its majestic fall, fire streaming from its crown. It toppled forward into the meadow, igniting the dried grass. It fell across Fessran’s track and Ratha could no longer see her.
She galloped toward the fallen tree, getting as close as she could before the thick smoke drove her back. She retreated, racing along the burning length of the fallen pine. Smoke rolled over her in searing clouds, choking her. As she skirted the tip of the pine, another tree crashed down in front of her, spitting sparks into the grass.
Ratha reared up on her hind legs, trying to see across the fiery barrier. There, deep in the inferno, was a figure whose image shimmered in the waves of heat rising from the flames.
“Fessran!” Ratha screamed and thought she heard an answer. The two trees had fallen toward each other so that they lay with their tips together, their trunks still hidden in the fire that engulfed the trees still standing. The two blazing trunks formed a barrier that trapped Fessran inside. The only way in or out between the two crowns, whose interlocked branches formed a menacing lattice, would be to break them away in order to get through.
Ratha leaped into the air, trying to catch a glimpse of Fessran. She saw her friend on the other side of the barrier, crouching in a patch of grass that had not yet caught. Ratha could hear her coughing.
She flung herself at the maze of burning branches, using her rage to drive away her fear. She sank her teeth into bark, feeling hot resin sting her tongue. She bit through small branches and broke away large ones, ignoring the flames leaping around her. Her mouth was soon bleeding, her paws scorched and blistered, but she attacked the blazing mass again and again as if she had gone mad. Then, suddenly, with a final flurry, she broke through.
For a moment she stared in disbelief. Fessran was there, encircled by flames, yet she carried a burning branch in her mouth. She swung her torch at the fire, trying to drive it away.
Fool! thought Ratha. The creature does not fear itself.
“Fessran!” she called and the head bearing the torch came up. Fessran gathered herself and leaped toward Ratha. The fire licked at them from both sides, burning their fur and searing their skin.
“Fool! Mad one!” spat Ratha even before they were out of the flames. “Leave it here with the rest!”
Fessran only curled her lips back, showing Ratha her teeth clamped on the shaft of the branch. Ratha tried to swat it out of her mouth, but Fessran dodged and galloped away. She stood, looking back at Ratha. “Take one for yourself and run with me,” she said between her teeth.
Ratha stared at her. The power of the Red Tongue was rising again. There was nothing Ratha could do now to stop it. The night would only end in death, for Meoran would know by now where Fessran had gone and on what errand.
As if in defeat, Ratha lowered her head. With eyes still on Fessran, she seized a flaming branch and broke it off at the base. Despite herself, her heart beat faster. To have her creature once again was a triumph, even though a bitter one. Fessran trotted away, her torch held high. Ratha followed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The storm moved on, leaving the trees burning. Ratha and Fessran stood together on the far side of the stream, sensing that water would check the wildfire’s advance. Ratha stuck her torch into the soft mudbank. Fessran still held hers between her jaws. The crackle of their two torches echoed the groaning roar of the wildfire. A touch of gray showed beyond the sparks shooting into the sky.
Ratha gathered a pile of branches, for she knew the torches would soon burn low. Fessran snapped her head around as the wet grass seemed to move in the firelight. Ratha nudged her friend, feeling Fessran shiver. She felt curiously calm.
“Meoran will not come,” Fessran hissed. “We will have to seek him out. I grow weary of waiting here and the Red Tongue in the trees burns too close.”
“He will be here, herder,” Ratha answered. “Once he knows you have come seeking me, he will be on your track.”
“I wish him speed,” Fessran snarled, her teeth clenched on the torch shaft.