Ratha’s Creature (The First Book of The Named) (2 page)

Ratha smelled mossy stone and damp fur. She heard Thakur’s pads slap on mud as he paced the streambank. He hunched himself, a compact shadow against the moonlit stream, and leaped across. On the other side she saw him wave his tail.

“Cross, yearling,” he said. “You have jumped it before.”

She crouched on a flat stone at the water’s edge, trying to judge the distance to the other shore. The beating in her throat made her thirsty and she lowered her muzzle to drink. In the faint light she saw her own face. Her eyes, green in daylight, were now swallowed up in black. She had seen her own reflection many times before and, when young, had drenched herself trying to swat it. Ratha looked at her night face, the broad nose, small fangs and strange expanded eyes. She turned away from it and jumped over the stream.

Thakur’s tail was flicking back and forth and he smelled uneasy. There was another smell in his scent, one Ratha didn’t know. She trotted toward him, shaking the mud from her paws.

“Hurry, yearling. The others have gone ahead and I don’t want them to wait for us.” His eyes reflected moonlight as he turned once more to the trail.

He set a faster pace than before. Ratha had to gallop to keep up and she felt the weight of her dinner drag at her belly as she ran. She lifted her head, gulping the coolness of the night air to soothe the pulsing in her throat. Smells of the meadow were mixed with the smells of the forest, telling her they would soon be there. The forest began to open. A few stars and then the half-disk of the moon appeared through the canopy.

A branch cracked. The sound was close and sharp, making Ratha start. Thakur, ahead, glanced back but didn’t slow down. The trail ran up a small rise and veered around at the crest. Here the canopy opened and the moon lit the trail. The light silvered Thakur’s coat as he galloped around the curve toward the hollow beyond. Ratha panted up the grade after him, wishing her legs were longer and she had eaten less. As she approached the top, there was a dry scratchy sound. Bark fell from a tree trunk. She looked toward a gnarled oak near the top of the rise. One of its large lower branches paralleled the trail for some distance, making it a short alternate route. As Thakur disappeared over the crest of the little hill, a form dropped from the oak’s branches and ran along the lower limb. For an instant the stranger paused, crouched, one forepaw lifted, staring back at Ratha. Then he was gone.

She leaped off the trail, cutting through the brush. Tucking her tail between her legs, she fled down into the hollow.

Thakur was nowhere to be seen and Ratha stopped, when she regained the trail, her heart pounding. “Ssss, yearling,” came a voice close by. “Here.” Thakur lifted his head from a clump of ferns. “Has Narir taught you no better trail-running than that? I thought a shambleclaw was coming through the bushes.”

“I saw him, Thakur,” Ratha interrupted, her whiskers quivering with excitement.

“What did you see?”

“The Un-Named One. He was there on the branch after you passed. He looked back at me.”

“Yarrr.
The Un-Named never allow themselves to be seen. You saw some clan litterling who imagines himself to be a night hunter.” Thakur snorted.

Ratha’s jaw dropped in dismay, then her ears flattened. “No. I saw him. He was there on the branch as if he wanted me to see him. And I have seen him before.”

“When?” Thakur asked.

“Many clan kills ago. I had a fight with Cherfan and he chased me into a thicket at the end of the meadow. He was in there asleep and I ran right over him. He snarled at me.”

Thakur left the ferns and came to her. His steps were quick, his eyes sudden and intense. Ratha smelled the same odor about him she had noticed before.

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“Only Cherfan,” Ratha said hesitantly, “and he never listens to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice had a harshness to it Ratha seldom heard, even when he was scolding her during training.

“I didn’t know enough then. Why, Thakur? Are you afraid of the Un-Named One?”

“No.”

Ratha turned toward the trail again, but he nudged her and she stopped.

“Wait, Ratha. The Un-Named One ... did he say anything to you?”

She blinked. “You mean, did he ... speak?”

The strange smell about Thakur was stronger and suddenly frightening. She sensed he wanted something that he also feared and that he wanted it very much. Ratha felt her tail creeping between her legs and her hackles rise.

“Yes, cub. Did he use words?”

She felt her eyes grow wide as she crouched and he stood over her. Was it the night’s touch that made him seem almost menacing?

“Ratha.”

She backed away from him. A hanging frond touched her back and she jumped. She whined miserably. “Thakur, I don’t understand. Everyone knows that the Un-Named Ones don’t speak. They can’t. They aren’t clever enough.”

Thakur drew back his whiskers and Ratha heard him snarl to himself, “Yes, Meoran. You believe the clanless ones are witless as well. Teach it to the cubs and see how the clan fares.”

“Thakur, the Un-Named can’t speak any more than a herdbeast can,” Ratha said hunching her shoulders stubbornly.

He sighed. His voice grew calm, changing him back into her teacher again. He paced beside her, licking her behind the ears. “I’m sorry, small one. I did not mean to frighten you. Perhaps I should take you back to Narir’s den.” He lifted his head. “This night is strange. I smell things that make me uneasy. This night is not for a cub.”

Ratha sat up and groomed some of the dried leaves out of her fur. Then they went on.

At first, Ratha could think only of the stranger whose eyes had glowed at her from the old oak. Was he one of the Un-Named? And why had Thakur asked her such strange things? There were no answers to her questions. Not yet.

Things moved abruptly at night, making Ratha turn her head and flatten her ears. She was much more aware of motion at night than during the day. Movement she seldom noticed in daylight, such as a grass blade swaying or a leaf falling, brought her head around and made her whiskers bristle. It was not fear, although night was fearsome. The pulse in her throat was excitement. She felt alive this night. All her senses were extended and her skin tingled as if the sensitive whiskers on her face were growing all over her body.

There was a rustle in the bushes ahead on the trail. Thakur skidded to a stop and Ratha nearly ran into him. Over his back, she could see a dark form fleet away.

“There he is again,” she whispered. “I did see him!”

“Arr!
Fool, to show yourself!” Thakur hissed into the darkness.

“He is a bad hunter, Thakur,” Ratha said. “He is noisy, like me. He is stupid,” she added, wagging her tail arrogantly. “All of the Un-Named are stupid and I am not afraid of any of them.
Ptahh.”
She spat.

“Hurry then, yearling,” Thakur said dryly. “We will need your courage in the meadow tonight.”

He took up the trail again and she followed.

* * *

Teeth ground together, a drawn-out groaning sound. The herdbeast belched and made wet mushy noises as it began chewing its cud. Ratha crept near, shaking her paws every few steps. The air was moist and the grass dewy. A light mist made the moonlight hazy and muffled the crickets’ song. The animal shifted on its belly. It snuffled and grunted as it watched her with small suspicious eyes set forward in a long block-shaped skull. It flicked large ears, like those of a three-horn, and swallowed the food it was chewing.

Ratha drew her whiskers back. The idea of eating grass disgusted her and the idea of bringing it up again and re-chewing it was even worse. Meat was much better, she thought. It was chewed once and when it went down, it stayed down, unless it had been eaten too fast.

The animal clamped its jaws together and eyed the cub ill-temperedly. Although it lacked horns, the creature used its big head like a battering ram. The barrel body and short legs made it look vulnerable and clumsy. Several of the herders had earned broken ribs by assuming it was.

The animal belched again. Ratha wrinkled her nose and padded away.

She glanced up and down the meadow at other herders who stood in a ring around the flock, their faces to the forest. She yawned and stretched until her tail quivered and saw an answering gape from another shadow in the mist. Nothing was going to happen tonight, she thought. The fright on the trail was all the excitement she was going to get. And perhaps Thakur was right and her Un-Named apparition was just a clan-cub.

She ambled past a fern thicket and heard a pair of dapplebacks snorting and pushing at each other in the dark. Dapplebacks usually climbed on top of each other in the spring season, but these two were starting early. Ratha smelled the rich lure-scent of the mare, the sweat and rut of the little stallion. The odor repelled her and fascinated her, making her think of the scents on trees that clan males had sprayed.

The odor also made her think of Thakur and the way he had licked her behind the ears on the trail. She listened to the dapplebacks bumping together and the little stallion’s rhythmic grunts, her tail twitching. These thoughts were new, not cub-thoughts at all, and she approached them as warily in her mind as she had approached the belching herdbeast.

Her feet were getting damp from standing in one place. She shook them. The mist was growing thicker. She decided to find Thakur.

His scent was mixed in with herdbeast smells, forest smells and the smells of other herders. Ratha separated it from all the others and followed it to him. He was crouched on top of the sunning stone, his tail curled across his feet, speaking to Fessran who stood nearby.

Ratha trotted quickly toward them and skidded to a stop, feeling the wet grass pull between her pads. Thakur cocked his head at her. She walked to Fessran and touched noses.

“Clan herder, two of your dapplebacks are hiding in the fern thicket,” she said. “I can chase them back to the herd for you.”

“No, Ratha. Leave them be. I’ll look after them,” Fessran answered in her soft voice.

“That little stallion doesn’t stop, does he? You’ll have enough dappleback colts to feed the clan well.”

“Yarrr.
Thakur, you think only of your belly.” Fessran launched a disgusted swipe in his direction and Thakur ducked.

“I am pleased that she has done so well,” Fessran said seriously, looking at Ratha.

“Yes, I am also pleased. There are not many of the female cubs who have the ability, but she does and she has worked hard.”

Ratha was startled to see Fessran bristle.

“Have you grown as short-whiskered as Meoran?” she snarled. “The female cubs have no lack of ability. Our fleabag of a clan leader won’t let me train them! Drani’s daughter, Singra, has the same talent as Ratha. But her father forbade it and Meoran said he would chew my ears if I taught my art to any cubs except the ones he selected.” Fessran lowered her head and lashed her tail. “And Singra was not among the ones chosen last season or this season. Now it is too late and she grows soft and fat.
Yarrr!”

“Gently, Fessran,” Thakur soothed. “You know how hard I fought for Ratha.”

“You only succeeded because Baire still lived. Now Meoran stands as clan leader and no she-cubs train as herders.
Ptahh!
He would mate me to a gray-coat and put one of his whelps in my place. How I hate him, Thakur!”

“
Ssss,
there are other ears in the meadow tonight. Be wary of your words, Fessran.”

“Wise Thakur. You always were more cautious than I.” Fessran smoothed her fur. “Those two dapplebacks should be finished. I’ll run them back to the herd.”

“Fessran.” She stopped and looked back at Thakur. “I’ll do my best for Ratha. You are the one I can’t protect. Choose your words with care and you may be safe.”

“My temper often chooses my words for me.” Fessran’s whiskers twitched ruefully and she trotted away.

Thakur sighed and settled himself on the damp stone, fluffing his fur. Ratha lifted a hind foot and scratched herself.

Across the meadow a herdbeast bawled. Thakur sat up. Another animal bellowed. Hooves beat, rushing through the grass. A harsh yowl began. It rose to a shriek and another answered. Ratha jumped up, her fur on end. Thakur leaped off his perch.

“That wasn’t a clan voice,” he said grimly as Ratha bounded to join him. She saw other herders running; heard wailing calls and snapping branches.

“Yearling, stay here,” Thakur said sharply.

A form appeared in the mist and galloped toward them. It was Fessran again.

“Thakur, the raiders have broken in at the end of the meadow. They’ve already pulled down two deer. Hurry!”

Thakur turned to Ratha. “Watch the dapplebacks, yearling. Keep them together.”

“What if the raiders come?”

“They won’t.” Fessran showed her teeth. “Not this far.”

“If anyone attacks my herd, I’ll fight.” Ratha lashed her tail eagerly.

“You will not.” Thakur glared at her. “You will climb the nearest tree and stay there until I call you. The clan can lose a few dapplebacks. Not you.”

“Arrr.
I want to go with you, Thakur.”

“This is not cub-tussling, Ratha. I told you that before we left. You are not to fight. Is that understood?”

“Yes-s-s.” Ratha sighed.

A herdbeast cried out and then choked as it fell. Muffled yowling came through the ground mist.

“Hurry, Thakur,” Fessran hissed and the two sprang up and galloped away, leaving Ratha alone.

She shivered and looked up at the sky. The moon was a hazy smear of white, the stars were gone. She jogged toward the scattered herd of dapplebacks and began circling it, driving the little horses into a tighter bunch. They sensed the danger and were restive, squealing and milling. The little stallion shepherded his flock of mares together and tried to separate them from the other dapplebacks. Ratha drove them all back, nipping at their flanks. Once she had the herd packed together, she kept circling it, staying far enough away not to panic the animals, but close enough to catch any strays.

She stopped, panting, flicking dewdrops off her whiskers. She listened to drumming hooves and shrill cries from the other end of the meadow. A body fell.
Another herdbeast down,
she thought. She flattened her ears. None of the Un-Named dung-eaters would touch Fessran’s dapplebacks, she promised herself. The little horses stood together, their heads raised, their stiff manes quivering. Ratha gained her breath and began circling the herd again. Running kept her from thinking; kept her from being frightened.