“You should talk to all your Firekeepers. Before I leave, let me remind you that I will not permit anyone to steal from a carcass or accept meat that has been stolen.” She turned to leave and then looked back over her shoulder. “If I find that this has happened again, I will have this fire killed and the wood moved somewhere else. Do you understand me? Good.”
She whirled around, trotted across the cave floor, down the gallery and out into the sunlight. She felt cleansed by her anger and pleased that she had finally confronted this thing that had been festering in her mind like the canker made by a tick burrowing into her flesh. She felt as though she had found it and nipped it out. But she knew as she traveled down the trail in the hazy sunlight of late afternoon that she hadn’t yet gotten all of it.
Chapter Fifteen
The herders continued to visit the Red Tongue’s cave. Some did so openly; others were ashamed and furtive, sneaking up the trail through the shadows. Ratha knew she could do nothing to stop them, but she kept a careful watch to see that no meat was taken. Once or twice, she had read that intention in someone’s eyes as they sank their teeth into a haunch of three-horn, but her look and the slight lift of her lip as she growled quickly dissuaded them.
Her suspicion and the growing ascendancy of the Firekeepers over the herders poisoned the rough-and-tumble yet good-natured competition for places about a culled herdbeast. Ratha made sure that everyone received an adequate share, and there was in fact less inequality than there had been before. But everyone ate in a tense silence, punctuated only by the sound of tearing flesh. Ratha found herself eating less, for the atmosphere around a kill made the meat seem to taste rancid and stick in her throat. Even the cubs were subdued; they rarely dived in to snatch a piece of meat as they had done before. Perhaps they had learned that such antics could result in a fierce bite or scratch rather than an easygoing cuff.
No more food was stolen, and Ratha became less obvious about her watchfulness, hoping that the event would be forgotten and the clan would go back to its old ways. This helped a little. There was more conversation at meal-times and even some humor, but the unspoken distrust between the Firekeepers and the herders was an undercurrent of ill-feeling that kept everyone on edge.
A few days after the last cull, Ratha noticed that one of the three-horn fawns that had been born that spring was missing. She questioned the herders closely and had them search, but no sign of the animal was found. To lose a herdbeast without explanation was a dangerous precedent and she made it clear to the herders that it was not to happen again.
Sometimes she felt as if she was no longer walking among her own people, but among strangers whose puzzled, resentful glances made her feel strangely lost. She looked for the animal herself and did no better than the herders.
At last Cherfan told her that the fawn had been diseased. It died when the herd was driven to the river and the carcass had been buried there as it was unfit for food. She suspected this was told to placate her; she knew Cherfan and the others were growing tired of her suspicions. She gave up the search, finally deciding that trying to discover the animal’s fate would cost too much resentment and further divide the clan.
She found herself turning more and more to Thakur and his family of treelings as a relief from the burden of her leadership. Each morning, when the herding teacher went off to instruct his pupils, she stayed at his den and watched over Aree and her young ones until he returned.
At first, when the youngsters were too small to leave the nest, Ratha found her task easy and pleasant. They would nurse and sleep, although sometimes Aree would take them out into the morning sun to creep about and stare at the world with wide eyes. Like cubs, they were intensely curious and aware of everything around them. Ratha knew, however, that their awareness was not like that of the Named.
As the treelings grew older, the differences between them began to show. The larger of the two males was placid and even-tempered, while his brother made up for his small size with a bullying aggressive nature. Both the little females of the litter were lively and inquisitive, although one sister was reckless, tending to shred the objects of her curiosity, while the other would gaze at flowers or insects without touching them. She seemed to know how to be gentle without needing to be taught.
At first, Ratha was attracted to the larger and bolder of the two sisters. The young treeling shared qualities she had herself and which she thought she might want in a companion. She was stronger and had a beautifully marked pelt and distinctive masking around her muzzle. She was also adventurous, having been the first to come out of the nest. Aree was forever having to seize her tail and yank her out of trouble.
Although Ratha enjoyed the bigger female’s rough-and-tumble play, she often felt her gaze wandering to the smaller sister. The little female’s fur was less rich in color and her markings more subdued, but her gentle nature seemed to feed Ratha’s hunger for affection in a way that even Thakur’s companionship could not. The little treeling could sense when Ratha was troubled and would come to cuddle against her before settling down to groom her fur.
She wasn’t sure when she decided that the little treeling was to be her companion. Perhaps it was when Thakur noticed the growing friendship and in a teasing way began to call the youngster “Ratha’s Aree.” Since Ratha could think of nothing better, she finally accepted the name. It was easier for her to blend the two words into one, so after a while, she began to call the little treeling “Ratharee.”
The ripening season soon started, and Aree climbed trees eagerly to gather fruit. At first, the young treelings disdained this new food, but they were growing too big to nurse and the sweet smell began to tempt them. It was not long before they were eating fruit with as much gusto as their mother.
From birth, the young treelings knew fire. Its glow flickered on the wall of the den above their nest, and they became as used to the smell and sound as they were to their own mother. When the litter was old enough for Aree to leave them for long periods, Thakur again began to teach her how to care for the Red Tongue. Soon they had an audience of youngsters, who attended each teaching session and watched their mother’s training with eager curiosity.
Both Thakur and Ratha welcomed this interest and began to test the little creatures for evidence of Aree’s ability. They did this carefully and gradually, using the same methods that Thakur had used with Aree. Like their mother, the youngsters quickly discovered that the Red Tongue’s warmth could be strong enough to hurt, but if they were careful, they would not be injured.
Ratha feared that her little treeling, Ratharee, might be too timid to train as a fire-bearer. She was indeed more cautious than the others, but underneath her shyness was a certain streak of determination. Like her siblings, she wanted to imitate her mother’s prowess, and Ratha nuzzled her and praised her each time she made an effort to overcome her reticence.
Once it was evident that Aree’s youngsters could be taught the same skills as their mother, Thakur and Ratha began to devote more teaching time to them. She found that he was a much better teacher than she, for he had the experience and the patience to repeat commands and actions endlessly until the pupil finally accepted and understood. Her own impatience often made her blunder, and she struggled hard to control it. Gradually she found herself more able to master her temper, especially with her own treeling Ratharee. The affection she felt for her little companion helped to keep her sense of urgency in check.
Urgency? Yes. Neither Ratha nor Thakur said it aloud, but both shared a feeling that training the treelings was important. How quickly it was done might affect what happened in the days to come. Fessran’s old objection to depending on Aree alone was valid, but now that they had five treelings, the risk was much less. Thakur’s continued training had made Aree herself much more dependable and less likely to do something unexpected, such as the antics she had performed around the Firekeepers. But Ratha did have to grin when she remembered the expressions on the faces of the torchbearers.