She made her plans carefully as she rested in her den or lay atop the sunning rock. Each morning she asked Thakur whether Aree was ready. The last time, instead of saying no, he had told her to assemble the entire clan on the following day. This was something for everyone to see, he said. Not just Firekeepers.
On the evening before the assembly was to take place, Ratha visited him to be sure he was prepared. She came just before sunset and was only halfway to his den when she heard someone running toward her on the path. Thakur galloped up to her, his whiskers trembling and his fur on end.
“Aree’s gone, Ratha!” he gasped.
Disbelief shot through her. “What? He can’t be. You never leave him alone.”
“I did. Just for a little while. I left him curled up in my den. I had to get some wood; Bira let the woodpile get low. Thornwood is best, but I can’t get into a thicket with Aree on my back, so I left him.”
“How long ago?” She began to pace beside him.
“I had just come back from teaching my herding pupils. I left Aree in my den, went to get wood, and when I came back I couldn’t find him. I looked everywhere,” he added mournfully.
“Did you try to track him?”
“Yes, but there was such a smoky smell in the air that I couldn’t follow his scent.”
They reached his den. Ratha trotted over to the ashy bed where the teaching fire usually burned. She lifted her nose and sniffed. Thakur certainly was right: the air was too acrid to detect the treeling’s scent. Carefully she pawed the dirt and cinders. If the fire had been burning recently, they would still be hot. They weren’t.
Then why did the whole place smell like someone had been throwing ashes around, she wondered.
“Where’s Bira?” she asked, suddenly.
“She’s not here. She only helps me in the mornings. I thought I’d build a fire myself and then get a Firekeeper to light it.”
Ratha glanced up at the few trees that stood about the den. Their branches were outlined against the red and gray sunset, but she saw nothing on them that looked like the hunched form of a treeling. She helped Thakur look through the bushes, but neither one of them found anything.
The wind had begun to stir, blowing away the acrid smell in the air, but Aree’s scent had faded too. The treeling was gone and there was nothing either one of them could do about it.
Thakur crawled into his den and laid his head on his paws. “It’s my fault,” he moaned. “I shouldn’t have left him alone. Aree, wherever you are, please come back. I miss you.”
“Thakur,” Ratha said softly, “I have to go and tell everyone that the gathering won’t happen tomorrow.”
“Tell the mothers they can keep their cubs for the day,” Thakur growled. “I don’t feel like teaching. I may be doing some other things, such as asking a lot of questions. Maybe I should start now.” He raised himself up and started to crawl out of the den, but Ratha put a paw on his back.
“No,” she said. “You stay here. If there are any questions to ask, I will ask them and I will bring you the answers.”
“I suppose you can get better ones than I can.” Thakur laid his head on his paws again.
His dejection and the misery in his voice made Ratha hot with indignant anger. Whoever had taken the treeling or driven it away had done more than deprive Thakur of a companion. They had stolen his hope and wounded him badly.
She licked him gently on the forehead, trying to comfort him in his grief and anger. At last he fell into a troubled sleep and she left, resolving that she would either find Aree or have her revenge on whoever had stolen the treeling.
Chapter Twelve
The face of the sunning rock was lit with orange as Ratha emerged into the night meadow. Against it, she could see the forms of the assembled Firekeepers, and in front of it, someone paced back and forth. Ratha could hear the drone of a voice mixed in with the hiss and roar of the bonfire.
Irritation stung her and quickly turned to anger. The Firekeepers were meeting again without her permission and without her knowledge. Again they had built the nest for their overfed fire right at the base of her sunning rock.
Too angry to feel unwelcome, Ratha galloped across the meadow and pushed her way through the gathered torchbearers until she faced the firelit form in front. She felt the warning touch of fear when she realized that it was Shongshar, not Fessran.
She looked for the Firekeeper leader and found her sitting off to the side. Her eyes were narrowed and cold, but suddenly they opened and a false welcoming expression forced itself onto Fessran’s face. That look on the face of one who had been a friend made Ratha’s belly twist and she looked away.
She turned instead toward the others and saw Bira sitting behind Khushi, crouching as if she wanted to hide. Nyang was in front of the crowd, gazing at Shongshar with a rapt expression and adoration glowing in his eyes. Someone else also sat in front, someone she had not expected to see.
The herder Shoman turned and stared at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. Slowly he lowered his head and began to lick his foreleg. The motion drew Ratha’s gaze to his leg. She saw an ugly red streak that oozed and glistened in the orange light.
“Clan leader.” Fessran rose to break the tension that Ratha’s arrival had brought. “I am glad you have come. I was going to send Nyang to fetch you.”
Ratha ignored her. “Why is Shoman here? What happened to his leg?”
“Ask him,” said Shongshar and looked toward Shoman.
The herder answered, “I … was warming myself by the herders’ fire. There were no Firekeepers there. I tried to give the Red Tongue more wood, but it grew angry and hurt me.”
“You have done wrong, Shoman,” said Fessran severely. “Only the Firekeepers may tend the Red Tongue. You should have gone and fetched one of us.”
“Why is he here?” Ratha demanded. “If he has done wrong, let Cherfan punish him since he is a herder, not a Firekeeper.”
“He has come to make amends,” answered Fessran. “He agreed to come and show the cubs what can happen if the fire-creature is angered by carelessness.”
Ratha looked again at Shoman. He crouched, huddled, nursing his leg and grimacing in pain. His glance was furtive and resentful. Fear flitted across his face as he caught Shongshar’s gaze; she knew he hadn’t come here by choice.
“All right!” she cried, suddenly sickened. “The cubs have seen enough. Shoman, go to Thakur and have your wound tended.”
Shoman slunk off into the darkness, limping. The look he gave Ratha was still heavy with resentment, but there was a strange tinge of relief in his eyes.
“We are glad you have come, clan leader,” said Fessran. “You have seen with your own eyes the danger the Red Tongue presents to herders, who are not trained to care for it properly.”
Ratha waited, trying not to twitch her tail. Fessran eyed her and continued, “As leader of the Firekeepers, I am asking you to forbid anyone to approach the Red Tongue unless one of us gives permission. This would prevent any of the herders from injuring themselves as Shoman did.”
“I am glad you are concerned about those who provide meat for the clan,” she answered, letting a little sarcasm creep into her voice. “However, I don’t think the herders would like it if they had to ask a Firekeeper for permission to warm themselves or see by the Red Tongue’s light.”
“Cubs do not like being forbidden to do dangerous things, but we must restrict them to keep them safe. Those who do not understand the fire-creature’s ways should not meddle with it,” said Fessran.