Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin (2 page)

She lifted her head and whickered at her mate’s call.

“I am here, Cuán.”

A large badger boar pushed his way through the underbrush, followed by two of Broc’s sisters.

“What are you doing?”
he asked.

“This two-leg cub was in the fire,”
she said.
“A girl-cub. She is hurt.”

“Leave her,”
said Broc’s older sister.
“She will die in the cold. We would all be better if the two-legs left this forest to us as it should be.”

Broc looked back at the girl-cub.
“This one is different.”

The boar sniffed, wrinkling his snout in distaste as Broc had done.
“Different how?”

“She speaks to us,”
Broc said.
“Listen. I heard her call to me.”

The four badgers became silent, and they could hear a tiny voice calling,
“Do not leave me,”
though no sound was made.

The younger sister backed away.
“How is it that this two-leg speaks as we do?”

“I do not know,”
Broc said.
“But I wish to take her back to our sett. Help me to move her.”

“This is not wise,”
her older sister said.

“I cannot explain,”
Broc said, but she ached in sorrow, remembering her own cubs from last season, taken by wolves when she was away hunting. She had mated again, but would not give birth to new cubs for many moons to come.
“I feel it. We must not leave her. Help me.”

“We cannot drag her to the sett,”
said the boar.
“We will hurt her more and she will die.”
He cautiously approached one of the fallen two-leg males, ignoring the sickening smell of the blood. He pawed at a wooden disc clasped around the two-leg’s arm. It had been pierced by a weapon, but was still intact. The two-leg was dead. Cuán dared to draw nearer until he could use his teeth and claws to part the leather straps holding the disc fast, and then dragged it to Broc.
“We must put her on this, and then we can move her safely through the forest.”

The four badgers crept close enough to grasp the girl-cub by the cloth covering her. The older sister shook her head, wiping her tongue with her paw.
“She tastes like ash.”

They pulled her onto the disc.

“Wait,”
said Broc. She went to another of the fallen two-leg warriors and chewed loose the clasp holding a heavy cloak. She brought the cloak back to the girl-cub and covered her with it.
“She has no fur of her own. We must keep her warm.”

Working together, the four badgers hauled her back to their sett.

CHAPTER 1

The Ghost-child

A
sh prowled the edge of the village, keeping to the shadows, though there was no real need. She wore a dark cloth stolen by Cuán from another village long ago, and her hair was interwoven with twigs and bits of moss so that, if she stood still against a tree, she became nearly invisible. Winter’s hold was loosening, but small pockets of snow remained at the base of the trees. She carefully placed her feet so as to leave no trail and make no noise. She cocked her head as she listened to the two-legs’ speech. It was odd that she could understand it still, though, if she had ever spoken it, it had been long ago, when she was a cub, before the fire. Sometimes, when she was alone, she tried to speak their words, but they felt strange on her tongue. Talking with Broc and the other four-legs was much easier, as she could hear their thoughts and they hers.

“Go around,”
she said now to one of the dogs that accompanied her.

She crept a little closer to where a man and woman sat beside their fire in front of their dwelling, and she let herself be seen.

“What’s that?”

“Where?”

“Over there, just beyond the firelight.”

The man strained his eyes, trying to pierce the veil of darkness beyond their fire. “’Tis just the ghost-child. Can’t talk or hear. Leave her be. She does no harm.”

“Poor thing,” said the woman. “And no one to look after her.”

“We’ve enough babes of our own to care for.” His strong teeth bit into the meat clinging to the bone in his roughened hand.

“I know,” the woman said. “But she looks so hungry.” She took a few tentative steps toward the girl, holding out a hand. “Won’t you come closer?”

But Ash backed away, drawing their attention, just as she’d planned. Behind the people, unnoticed by either of them, the dog crept close enough to grab a bird roasting on a spit over the fire.

“Give her just a wee bit,” the woman said.

Scowling, the man tossed what remained of the bone in the girl’s direction. She snatched it and scampered away into the underbrush.

Ash was neither deaf nor mute, but it served her purposes for humans to think she was. The dog who had stolen the bird came to her, dropping it at her feet.

“Good,”
she said. She gave him the bone with the meat left on it and picked up the bird, still hot and greasy from the fire.

Within a few heartbeats, she was surrounded by the village dogs, who sat or crawled near on their bellies, their noses twitching eagerly in the direction of the meat. She pulled a piece loose and put it in her mouth. It was the first meat she’d had in many days. She ate another couple of mouthfuls, and then tore other bits off, handing them out to the waiting dogs.

Some nights, the dogs fed them, stealing hunks of meat from the fires when the two-legs weren’t paying close enough attention or bringing down a fawn or a rabbit. They always shared with Ash, as she did with them if she was able to scrounge food. She preferred the cooked meat, but food was food. Many days, her only option was to paw through the remnants of the fires while the humans were sleeping or away hunting, looking for something that wasn’t so rotten it would make her sick. Ash could always dig for roots or look for berries in the right seasons, but the dogs couldn’t eat that. She ate a bit more and let the dogs have the rest. She glanced up at the moon as the dogs tugged on what remained of the bird carcass, growling at one another. Broc would be back from her hunting soon.

“Tomorrow,”
she said as she got to her feet.

She limped through the forest, the scarred skin of her right leg stretched so tightly behind the knee that it couldn’t straighten completely. It had been that way for as long as Ash could remember, from the night Broc pulled her from the fire.

“You whimpered and cried like a new-born cub.”
Ash had asked Broc to tell her the story again and again.
“You were no bigger than I am. I licked your wounds and bit away the dead flesh until you began to heal.”

“And what did you feed me?”
Ash asked, though she knew the answer.

“I tried to feed you earthworms, like I feed my cubs,”
Broc said every time.
“But you would not eat them. I did not know what two-leg cubs eat, but you finally ate roots and berries I brought you.”

Ash slowed as she approached the sett, sniffing the night air and listening to make sure no wolves or foxes were near before pushing aside the curtain of moss that hid her entrance. She crawled on her hands and knees down a long tunnel to a larger cavity lined with more moss and leaves.

“Broc? Cuán? Is anyone here?”

There was no reply. They were still hunting. Ash wrapped herself in her cloak, the one Broc had covered her with the night of the fire. Her fingers traced the frayed threads that made a design in the cloak. She knew Broc’s stories of that night, but had no memory of it, or of anything that came before. Absently, she touched the scars that ridged the side of her face. Sometimes, while she slept, she thought she could remember being held by a two-leg woman, being sung to as she had heard them sing around their fires in the village, but when she woke, it was all gone, vanished like smoke.

“Ash?”

“Here,”
she replied.

Within the darkness of the sett, Ash made out the darker shadows of Broc and three nearly grown badger cubs as they waddled through a badger-sized tunnel on the other side of the larger sleeping chamber that had been dug to accommodate Ash as she grew. One of the cubs came to her and deposited a bird egg in her lap.

“For me?”
Ash reached over and scratched the cub behind his ears. He groaned in enjoyment and flipped over so she could reach his belly. She cracked the eggshell open and tipped the contents into her mouth.

“Did you hunt?”
Broc asked as she licked her paw and washed her face.

“Yes. The dogs worked with me and we got meat from the two-legs.”

Broc looked up from her cleaning.
“Were you careful not to be seen?”

“I let them see me,”
Ash said.

Broc sat up taller.
“It is not safe.”

“They call me ghost-child in their speech. They will do me no harm.”

“Two-legs always do harm,”
Broc said.

Ash lay down with her head resting against Broc’s broad, warm body, larger now with the new cubs she would soon give birth to.
“How many winters ago did you find me?”

“You know, little one,”
Broc said, snuffling as she licked Ash’s face.

“Tell us again.”
The cubs crowded near, curling up against Ash as they listened to the story they all knew as well as their own names.

“It was a cold night, eight winters past. Snow was almost upon us…”

Cuán and the others waited until nightfall to crawl out the tunnels and begin their hunting. Broc was nursing three new cubs, their pink skin only just covered by fine, silvery fur. Their eyes were not yet open.

“I will return quickly,”
Ash said. She scraped together the soiled bedding from under the new cubs. The disturbance made them cry and wriggle. She carried the debris up the tunnel and out to dispose of it at some distance from the sett. Working quickly in the dark, she gathered more moss and leaves and brought them back inside. She gently lifted the cubs as Broc settled on the fresh bedding with a contented whicker. Ash placed the mewling cubs where they could get to a nipple.

“Thank you.”

Ash pressed her forehead to Broc’s.
“I will hunt for both of us tonight.”

Once out in the forest, she moved silently, despite her lame leg. She used a stick to dig for wild rutabaga and turnips. She knew the villagers grew these things, but she never took from their crops unless she was desperate. She rubbed the dirt off and munched on one as she dug for more. She gathered up all the earthworms and grubs unearthed by her digging and placed them in a large leaf for carrying. When she had enough, she stood with her prizes gathered in a fold of the cloth she wore. Walking more slowly now, she made her way back toward the sett.

Suddenly, the usual sounds of the night forest – the scuffling noises of mice and voles, the hoots of owls, the squeaks of bats – were drowned by screams. Badger screams. Ash dropped her gathered food and ran as fast as she could in the direction of the screams. Topping a small knoll, she saw four wolves surrounding three badgers. One wolf lunged, teeth bared, and a badger screamed in pain, but all three snarled and bared their teeth as they held off the wolves whose teeth snapped again and again as they tried to get hold of one of the badgers. Ash picked up a large fallen branch and launched herself down the slope, yelling as she did. She swung the branch, catching one wolf in the shoulder and sending it tumbling. Pressing their unexpected advantage, the other badgers advanced, snarling fiercely while Ash continued to swing her stick and yell. The wolves backed away, circled for long heartbeats, and then slunk off into the dark.

Ash dropped her branch and knelt. The injured badger was Cuán, his side covered in warm blood. She gently wrapped her arms around him and picked him up.
“Keep watch. They may return,”
she said to the others as she struggled to stand with his extra weight.