Ratha’s Creature (The First Book of The Named) (22 page)

“Ratha?” The voice was louder; the eyes closer.

“Stay out!” she hissed.

“I want to see them,” Bonechewer said, shouldering his way in. “What’s the matter with you?”

Ratha bared her teeth. “Get out!” She clawed at him. He flinched and backed away. He looked so lost and bewildered that Ratha wanted to go and soothe him. Yet she couldn’t leave her cubs, and if he came toward her again she knew the ancient rage would force her to attack him.

“I’m not ready,” she said, trying to take the harshness out of her voice.

“I want to see them,” he said again.

Ratha swallowed. “Bonechewer ...” she said trying to see him as her mate rather than a marauding male. Behind her the cubs squealed their impatience. She circled them nervously and lay down again.

Bonechewer retreated, but she could still see his face at the entrance to the den.

“Are you hungry, Ratha?” he asked softly. “Shall I hunt for you?”

“Yes,” Ratha said gratefully. “When you come back, perhaps you can see them.”

She heard him pad away and laid her chin in the leaves, remembering the hurt and misery in his eyes. There was no way she could explain it to him. A fear with no reason ... once there had been a reason. Never had a clan male attacked and eaten his young. Perhaps it still happened among the Un-Named. Ratha felt the cubs clambering over her belly, hunting for milk. They butted their heads against her, their cries shrill and demanding. She gathered them together with her forepaws and gave them her teats. How strong they were already, she thought. What fierce hunters they would be when they grew!

Again she lay back and was drifting into sleep when another idea struck her. Hunting was not the only thing she could teach her cubs.
The clan is no more,
she thought, lifting her head and opening her eyes in the darkness.
But
the way of the herder has not been lost, for I remember what I was taught and I can teach that way. Did Thakur not say that I could have been the best herder in the clan?

The memory brought pain as well as pride. She nosed the cubs. She and her children could capture beasts from the forest as clan ancestors had and graze them here on the lowland meadows. As the cubs nursed, she dreamed of founding a new clan to take the place of the old. She could also teach the Un-Named as well, so that they could keep herds of their own and no longer live by raiding. Ratha listened to the soft sucking sounds and began to purr herself. She had seen too many old things die and been a part of the dying. Was change always deaths and endings? Her memory, in a bitter voice, seemed to agree, but another voice, softer but stronger, answered no. That voice was the breathing of her young beside her.

A beginning, she thought, feeling hope rise. Perhaps this time ... a beginning.

Ratha nursed her dream along with her cubs and both flourished and grew. She tried to speak of her idea to Bonechewer, but he was more interested in his young themselves than as founding members of a future clan. Once she allowed him near the cubs, he proved to be an affectionate father as well as a determined provider. At first he approached them carefully and tenderly, dispelling Ratha’s lingering fear. Soon the litter was crawling all over their father as well as their mother. They butted their heads into his belly, sucked on his fur and wrestled with his tail.

Once the cubs’ eyes opened. Ratha could leave them while she went to hunt. Bonechewer stayed in the den with his children while Ratha ran across the marshland, stretching the cramp out of her legs and refreshing herself with the feel of sun and wind. On these expeditions, she planned how she would teach the youngsters how to herd. First, she would find a lone dappleback, perhaps too old or injured to stay with the herd. She would show the cubs how to take care of the little horse; how to keep it from straying; how to graze and water it. Then, perhaps, a dappleback mare with young. Those could be the start of a small herd. Such clever cubs as hers, she thought proudly, would learn the art in no time. They would far surpass their mother and then, when they had cubs of their own....

Each day, Ratha watched the cubs, eager for signs of their abilities. She was especially attentive to her firstborn, a sturdy little female whose aggressiveness toward any moving object within a tail-length of her, including prickly ones, had earned her the name of Thistle-chaser. Bonechewer had bestowed the name upon his rambunctious daughter after repeatedly pulling out the spines that invariably embedded themselves in that tender little nose.

“She doesn’t seem to learn,” Ratha growled, watching Bonechewer soothe the crying cub.

“She will,” he answered, letting his daughter wriggle free and flicking his tail beyond her reach. Defeated, Thistle-chaser scampered off to join her brothers.

Ratha watched the cubs stalk each other and leap into the air after low-flying insects. They were strong, fierce and quick. From the first day they had ventured outside the maternal lair, they had practiced the motions of stalking and pouncing. They seemed to be born hunters. Ratha felt dismay creep in beneath the feeling of pride. Hunting was important, but there were other things equally so, and those things the cubs seemed to ignore. Ratha pushed the uncomfortable feeling away.
They’re young yet. Give them time.
Her inner voice echoed Bonechewer’s words.
You can’t make them grow any faster.
Ratha sighed. What should she expect? She didn’t know. She could only draw upon the memories of her own cubhood. Even those, hazy as they were, seemed at variance with what she saw in her children.

When did I become aware of the world? she often wondered. When did I start to speak? I talk to Thistle-chaser and the others, but not one of them has answered, or has even tried to repeat the sounds I make.

Bonechewer could only counsel patience. “Ratha, you’re too impatient. You’re looking for things that aren’t there yet,” he said, looking at her worried face.

Ratha gazed at Thistle-chaser, cuddling up to her father, licking her nose after another encounter with her namesake. “How old were you when you began to speak?” she asked Bonechewer.

“Older than she is, I’m sure.”

“Don’t you remember?”

“No.” He nuzzled his daughter and looked up at Ratha. “You’ll lose her soon enough, Ratha. Enjoy her as she is now.”

He is right, she thought, but she couldn’t rid herself of the nagging doubt. Ratha watched the two, almost envious of their happiness. Bonechewer didn’t care what Thistle-chaser would do or be. He was content to play with her, cuddle her and make no demands on her until she was older.

Ratha tried to be patient, but her dream made her anxious. Each day, as spring yielded to summer, she looked for signs that the cubs would do more than hunt. She was cheered when Thistle-chaser and the others began to imitate her words and gestures. The first flush of pride faded when Ratha realized that the cubs had no idea what they were doing or that the sounds they made could bring anything more than praise. Ratha was now sure that the cubs’ development was lagging and the knowledge festered like a tick in her skin. To her the summer wind was cold and the gold sunshine pale.

One evening Ratha and Bonechewer went to sit on the crest of the hill above the den. Bonechewer dozed between the long shadows in the last warmth from the setting sun. Ratha lay beside him and tried to sleep, but her misery kept her awake. Far down the hill she could hear lusty yowls as the cubs chased each other through the marsh grass. A piercing howl rose above the clamor. It wavered and broke into a forlorn wail. Bonechewer woke and shook his head sleepily. “I’ll go,” he said as Ratha started to heave herself to her feet. “She’s probably pounced on another thorn ball.”

“Leave her.” Ratha stared at the ground between her paws. An insect crawled up onto a swaying grass blade and clung there waving its antennae. The carapace flashed and shimmered in the rosy sunlight. There was a soft rushing sound; grass brushing past legs.

Ratha snapped her head up. “I said, leave her!”

Puzzled, Bonechewer sat down, curling his tail over his feet. The light turned his fur to burnished copper, which caught highlights as his muscles rippled beneath his coat. Shadow hid the scar on his flank. He looked almost as he had when Ratha had first seen him, but now, seeing his beauty only brought bitterness into her throat.

Thistle-chaser too is beautiful, Ratha thought. Her coat will turn copper when the spots fade ... and her eyes are green like mine. Large bright green eyes ... and nothing behind them.

“Ratha,” Bonechewer said.

“No! Maybe the pain will teach her to think before she jumps. Nothing else will.”

He came back and nuzzled Ratha, but she would not be comforted. The wailing continued far down the hill and there was rage as well as pain in Thistle-chaser’s cry.

“I’ll get her. Wait here.”

Ratha drove her foreclaws into the soil and watched him go. Soon he was back, the cub dangling from his mouth. Ratha could see the strain in his neck muscles; Thistle-chaser was getting too heavy to carry by the scruff. He draped her across his forepaws and turned her pads up one by one until he found the thorn and worked it loose with his teeth. The cub lay on her back, cradled between her father’s paws. She rolled her head back and stared at Ratha. Ratha looked back, trying to find something of herself in those eyes, but what was there reminded her more of the eyes of the Un-Named

Despair washed over her as she realized the full truth. The cubs she had birthed, tended and tried so hard to teach shared nothing of hers except the form of her body. Behind the pert little faces and mischievous eyes lay only the hunter’s instincts.

Ratha ground her teeth together. It was so obvious as to be painful. Couldn’t Bonechewer see?

Her mate had his nose buried in Thistle-chaser’s belly. Four paws flailed around his muzzle as the body wriggled.
“Arr,
you’re a wild one, cub!” he crooned, nuzzling and teasing his daughter. “You’ll be as rude as your mother when you start to talk.”

Ratha suspected his words were meant for her rather than Thistle-chaser. Bonechewer peeked up at her from between Thistle-chaser’s paws, pretending to flinch under the expected cuff. His manner wilted slightly when he met Ratha’s eyes.

“Stop lying to yourself and to me.” Ratha’s voice came from a strange place inside her, cold and remote. “She’ll never talk.” She shot out a paw, caught the back of Thistle-chaser’s head and turned the cub’s face to Bonechewer. For a moment he looked into the beautiful empty eyes. Then he squeezed his own eyes shut and laid his head against Thistle-chaser. Ratha withdrew her paw. She had seen enough.

Gently he soothed the cub, who had begun to whimper. “I was trying to make myself believe ...” he said, not looking at Ratha.

“Why?” Ratha asked, barely able to speak through the misery burning her throat. “Why do our cubs have no light in their eyes? Why won’t their tongues form words? The birth was hard. Did I injure them? Or was it something in me that is not there?” She walked back and forth in front of Bonechewer. Thistle-chaser lay between her father’s paws, looking bewildered.

“No,” Bonechewer said at last. “You are clanborn, Ratha. Had you mated with a male of your own kind, your cubs would have the light in their eyes.”

“But you are of my kind,” she faltered.

“Your cubs’ eyes tell me that I am not.”

“What does it matter that Reshara took an Un-Named male? You eyes are as bright as any in the clan and you have more wit than they. Why would our cubs lack what you have?”

“Such a thing does not make sense,” Bonechewer admitted, looking down at Thistle-chaser. “Even so, I feared that it might be true. I did not listen to my fear.”

Ratha stood stiff-legged, trying to understand what he had told her. Then her rage broke.

“You knew? You knew our cubs might be like this?” she cried. “Did you sire other witless ones as well?”

He cringed, burying his muzzle in Thistle-chaser’s flank. “You were different ... the other female was Un-Named.”

Ratha felt her eyes go to slits. “Well, you have your cubs. I only wish they had been born dead!”

She flung back her head and screamed at the sky. Her dream was shattered. The one she had begun to love she could now only hate with a deep, burning bitterness like the Red Tongue in her belly.

“Ratha!”

She flung herself at him, slashing with teeth and claws. “Why? Why did you do this to me?”

Bonechewer dodged her attack, trying to shield Thistle-chaser and defend himself without hurting Ratha.

She raked his face, shrieking at him, “Why didn’t you kill me in the raid that night? Give me some kindness now. Tear my throat out and leave me for the insects!”

Thistle-chaser scampered around Bonechewer’s legs, delighted with this new game.

“Fight, Un-Named One!” Ratha howled as he backed away from her. His retreat only fed her rage. Hate and bitterness poured into her, filling her until that was all she knew. She struck at Bonechewer again and again, ripping his shoulder and laying his cheek open to the bone. He cowered in the dusk, dripping blood in his tracks. Ratha could hear the breath hissing in his throat. Thistle-chaser stumbled and rolled out from between her father’s legs. Ratha pounced on the cub, biting hard and deep. Thistle-chaser shrieked, red welling onto the spotted fur beneath Ratha’s nose.

A blow knocked her loose from the cub and sent her sprawling down the hillside. Bonechewer was on top of her, eyes blazing, fangs driving toward her throat.

Then he was gone and she was alone with the coming night and her pounding heart. Still dizzy with rage, she leaped up. She shut away the horrified part of her that recoiled at the taste of Thistle-chaser’s blood in her mouth. As if from a great distance, she saw Bonechewer licking the wounded cub. She waited as he sensed her and turned around.

“Kill me,” she said very softly. “I want no more of life.”

His eyes were two coals from the fire of the setting sun, but he stood where he was. Ratha looked past him to Thistle-chaser.

“Why don’t you leave them to starve and mate with someone else,” she taunted. “Perhaps the next time ...”