‘But it was my fault! How do I bear it?’
To that she had no answer.
‘Fin-Kedinn’s right!’ he cried. ‘The Seals can’t avenge Bale, that’s for me to do!’
‘Don’t keep naming him – ’
‘Vengeance is mine!’ he shouted. Drawing his knife and taking his medicine horn from its pouch, he raised them to the sky. ‘I swear to you, Bale. I swear to you on this knife and this horn and on my three souls – I will hunt the Oak Mage and I will kill him. I will avenge you!’
FOUR
Wolf stands in the Bright Soft Cold at the foot of the Mountain, gazing up at Darkfur.
She is many lopes above him, gazing down. He catches her scent, he hears the wind whispering through her beautiful black fur. He lashes his tail and whines.
Darkfur wags her tail and whines back. But this is the Thunderer’s Mountain. Wolf can’t go up, and she can’t come down.
All through the Long Cold he has missed her, even when he was hunting with Tall Tailless and the pack-sister, or playing hunt-the-lemming; especially then, because Darkfur is so good at it. Of all the wolves in the Mountain pack, Wolf misses her the most. They are one breath, one bone. He feels this in his fur.
Darkfur goes down on her forepaws and barks. Come! The hunt is good, the pack is strong!
Wolf’s tail droops.
Her bark becomes impatient.
I cannot! he tells her.
With a leap, she is bounding down the Mountain. The Bright Soft Cold flies from her paws as she races towards him, and Wolf’s heart flies with it. Joyfully he lopes towards her, running so fast that he . . .
Wolf woke up.
He was out of the Now that he went to in his sleeps, and back in the other now, lying at the edge of the Great Wet. Alone. He missed Darkfur. He missed Tall Tailless and the pack-sister. He even missed the ravens, a bit. Why did Tall Tailless leave him and go off in the floating hides?
Wolf hated it here. The sharp earth bit his pads, and the fish-birds attacked if he got too close to their nests. For a while, he’d explored the Dens of the taillesses along the Great Wet, and the Fast Wet that ran into it, but now he was bored.
The taillesses didn’t hunt, they just stood around yipping and yowling and staring at stones. They seemed to think that some stones mattered more than others, although they all smelt the same to Wolf; and when the taillesses gave each other stones, they quarrelled. When a normal wolf gives a present – a bone or an interesting stick – he does it because he likes the other wolf, not because he’s cross.
The Dark came, and the taillesses settled down for their endless sleep. Wolf heaved himself up and went to nose around the Dens. Scornfully evading the dogs, he ate some fishes hanging from sticks, and a delicious hunk of fish-dog fat. Then he found an overpaw outside a Den and ate that too. When the Light came, he trotted into the Forest, trod down some bracken to make a comfortable sleeping-patch, and had a nap.
The smell woke him instantly.
His claws tightened. His hackles rose. He knew that smell. It made him remember bad things. It made the tip of his tail hurt.
The scent trail was strong, and it led up-Wet. With a growl, Wolf leapt to his feet and raced after it.
‘I told you,’ said the Sea-eagle hunter, tying up a bundle of roe buck antlers. ‘I saw a big man coming ashore. That’s it.’
‘Where did he go?’ said Torak. He was relentless. Renn, cradling a cup of hot birch-blood in her hands, wondered how much more the Sea-eagle would take.
‘I don’t know!’ snapped the hunter. ‘I was busy, I wanted to trade!’
‘I think he went upriver,’ said the hunter’s mate.
‘Upriver,’ repeated Torak.
‘That could mean anywhere,’ said Renn. But already Torak was heading for the Raven camp and the deerhide canoes.
It was the second night after Bale’s funeral rites, and after an exhausting crossing, they’d reached the trading meet on the coast. Fog shrouded the camps along the shore and the mouth of the Elk River. Willow, Sea-eagle, Kelp, Raven, Cormorant, Viper: all had come to barter horn and antler for seal hide and flint Sea eggs. Fin-Kedinn had gone to return their borrowed skinboats to the Whale Clan, and the ravens were roosting in a pine tree. There was no sign of Wolf.
Renn ran to catch up with Torak, who was shouldering through the throng, earning irritable glances, which he ignored. ‘Torak, wait!’ Glancing round to make sure they weren’t overhead, she said in a low voice, ‘Have you thought that this could be a trap? The Soul-Eaters have set traps for you before.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Torak.
‘But think! Somewhere out there are Thiazzi and Eostra: the two remaining Soul-Eaters, and the most powerful of all.’
‘I don’t care! He killed my kinsman. I’m going to kill him. And don’t tell me to get some sleep and we’ll start in the morning.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ she replied, nettled. ‘I was going to say I’ll fetch some supplies.’
‘No time. He’s already got two days’ lead.’
‘And it’ll be more,’ she retorted, ‘if we have to keep stopping to hunt!’
When she reached the shelter she shared with Saeunn, the sight of its familiar, lumpy reindeer hides brought her to a halt. Less than a moon ago, she’d left it and run down to the skinboats, eager to have Fin-Kedinn and Torak to herself, and to see Bale again.
She shut her eyes. In disbelief, she had stared at his broken body. The blind blue gaze. The grey sludge on the rocks. Those are his thoughts, she’d told herself. His thoughts soaking into the lichen.
Night and day, she saw it. She didn’t know if Torak did too, because if he talked at all, it was about finding Thiazzi. He didn’t seem to have anything left for grief.
Fog trickled down her neck, and she shivered. She was tired and stiff from the crossing, and hollow with grief, and lonely. She hadn’t known she could be so lonely among people she loved.
Around her, hunters appeared and disappeared in the murk. She thought of Thiazzi gloating over the fire-opal. A man who took pleasure in others’ pain. Who lived only to rule.
The Raven Mage huddled in her corner beneath a musty elk pelt. Over the winter, she had shrunk in upon herself till she reminded Renn of an empty waterskin. She rarely hobbled further than the midden, and when the clan moved camp, they carried her on a litter. Renn wondered what kept that shrivelled heart beating, and for how much longer. Already, Saeunn’s breath carried a whiff of the Raven bone-grounds.
Trying not to wake her, Renn gathered her gear and crammed supplies into auroch-gut bags. Baked hazelnuts, smoked horse meat, meal of pounded silverweed root; dried lingonberries for Wolf.
The elk pelt stirred.
Renn’s heart sank.
The speckled pate emerged from the fur, and the flinty eyes of the Raven Mage regarded her. ‘So,’ said Saeunn in a voice like the rattle of dead leaves. ‘You’re leaving. You must know where he’s gone.’
‘No,’ said Renn. Saeunn could always place her talon on a weakness.
‘But the Forest is vast . . . You must have tried to see where he went.’
She meant Magecraft. Renn’s hands tightened on the gutskin. ‘No,’ she muttered.
‘Why?’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘But you have the skill.’
‘No. I don’t.’ Suddenly, she was close to tears. ‘I’m supposed to see the future,’ she said bitterly, ‘but I couldn’t foresee his death. What’s the good of being a Mage if I couldn’t foresee that?’
‘You might be able to do Magecraft,’ rasped Saeunn, ‘but you’re not yet a Mage.’
Renn blinked.
‘You’ll know it when you are. Though perhaps your tongue will know before you do.’
Riddles, thought Renn savagely. Why always riddles?
‘Yes, riddles,’ said Saeunn with a wheeze that was almost a laugh. ‘Riddles for you to solve!’ She paused to catch her breath. ‘I’ve been casting the
bones.’
Torak appeared in the doorway and threw Renn an impatient glance.
She motioned him to silence. ‘What did you see?’ she asked Saeunn.
The Mage licked her gums with a tongue as grey as mould. ‘A scarlet tree. An ash-haired hunter burning inside. Demons. Scrabbling under scorched stones.’
‘Did you see where Thiazzi went?’ Torak said brusquely.
‘Oh, yes . . . I saw.’
Fin-Kedinn appeared beside Torak, his face grim. ‘He’s heading for the Deep Forest.’
‘The Deep Forest,’ echoed Saeunn. ‘Yes . . . ’
‘A group of Boar just arrived,’ said Fin-Kedinn. ‘They came down the Widewater. At the ford, they saw a big man in a dugout, heading up the Blackwater.’
Torak nodded. ‘He’s Oak Clan, that’s Deep Forest. Of course, that’s where he’ll go.’
‘We’ll take two canoes,’ said Fin-Kedinn. ‘I’ve told the clan they’re to stay here while we head upriver.’
‘We?’ Torak said sharply.
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Fin-Kedinn.
‘So am I,’ said Renn, but they ignored her.
‘Why?’ Torak asked Fin-Kedinn. With a pang, Renn saw that he didn’t want them. He wanted to do this on his own.
‘I know the Deep Forest,’ said Fin-Kedinn. ‘You don’t.’
‘No!’ Saeunn was fierce. ‘Fin-Kedinn. You must not go!’
They stared at her.
‘One thing more the bones revealed, and this is certain. Fin-Kedinn, you will not reach the Deep Forest.’
Renn’s heart clenched. ‘Then – we’ll go without him. Just Torak and me.’
But her uncle wore the expression she dreaded: the one which told her there was no point in arguing. ‘No, Renn,’ he said with terrifying calm. ‘You can’t do this without me.’
‘Yes we can,’ she insisted.
Fin-Kedinn sighed. ‘You know there’s been trouble between the Aurochs and the Forest Horses since last summer. They won’t let in outsiders. But they know me – ’
‘No!’ cried Renn. ‘Saeunn means it. She’s never wrong.’
The Raven Mage shook her head and gave another rattling sigh. ‘Ah, Fin-Kedinn . . . ’
‘Torak, tell him!’ pleaded Renn. ‘Tell him we can do it without him.’
But Torak picked up a bag of supplies and avoided her eyes. ‘Come on,’ he muttered, ‘we’re losing time.’
Fin-Kedinn took the other bag from her hands. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
FIVE
Wolf raced after the scent trail.
Around him the Forest was waking from its long sleep, and the prey was thin from scraping away the Bright Soft Cold to get at its food. Wolf startled an elk nibbling a sycamore’s juicy hide. A herd of reindeer sensed he wasn’t hunting them, and raised their heads to watch him pass.
The hated scent streamed over his nose. Many Lights and Darks ago, the bad tailless had trapped him in a tiny stone Den and bound his muzzle so that he couldn’t howl. The bad tailless had starved him and stamped on his tail, and when Wolf yelped in pain, he’d laughed. Then he’d attacked Wolf’s pack-brother. Wolf had leapt at the bad tailless, clamping his jaws on one hairy forepaw, crunching bones and rich, juicy flesh.
Wolf loped faster. He didn’t know why he sought the Bitten One – wolves do not hunt taillesses, not even bad ones – but he knew that he had to follow.
The scent thickened. Through the voices of wind and birch and bird, Wolf heard the tailless stirring the Wet with a stick. He smelt that the tailless had no dog.
Then he saw him.
The Bitten One was sliding up-Wet on the trunk of an oak. Wolf caught the glint of a great stone claw at his flank. He caught the smell of pine-blood and reindeer hide, and of the strange, terrible Bright Beast-that-Bites-Cold.
Terror seized Wolf in its jaws. The Bitten One sat fearless, relishing his strength. He was very, very strong. Not even the Bright Beast-that-Bites-Hot dared attack him. Wolf knew this because he’d seen the tailless thrust his forepaw right into the muzzle of the Bright Beast – and take it out unbitten.
From many lopes away came the high, thin howl of the bird bone that Tall Tailless and the pack-sister used for calling him.
Wolf didn’t know what to do. He longed to go to them; but that would mean turning back.
The bird bone went on calling.
The Bitten One went on sliding up-Wet.
Wolf didn’t know what to do.
‘You let him get away!’ shouted Torak, so angry that he forgot to talk wolf. ‘He was right there and you let him get away!’
Wolf tucked his tail between his legs and shot behind Fin-Kedinn, who was on his knees, waking a fire.
‘Torak, stop it!’ cried Renn.
‘But he was so close!’
‘I know, but it’s not his fault. It was me!’
He turned on her.
‘I called Wolf,’ she told him. ‘It’s my fault he let Thiazzi get away.’ She opened her palm, and he saw the little grouse-bone whistle he’d given her two summers before.
‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘I was worried about him. And you – you didn’t seem to care.’
That made him even angrier. ‘Of course I care! How could I not care about Wolf?’
Behind Fin-Kedinn, Wolf dropped his ears and doubtfully wagged his tail.
Remorse broke over Torak. What was wrong with him?
Wolf had bounded so joyfully into camp, proudly telling Torak how he’d left the trail of the Bitten One as soon as he’d heard his call. He’d been bewildered when Torak lost his temper. He had no idea what he’d done wrong.
Torak sank to his knees and grunt-whined. Wolf raced towards him. Torak buried his face in his scruff. Sorry. Wolf licked his ear. I know.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ murmured Torak.
Fin-Kedinn, who’d ignored his outburst, told him to go and fetch water. Renn simply glared.
Torak grabbed the waterskin and ran to the shallows.
They’d spent the night and next morning heading up the Elk River, pausing only for brief rests, and were now close to the rapids where the Widewater and the Blackwater crashed together. Twice they’d met hunters who’d seen a big man heading upstream.
He’s getting away, thought Torak. Slumping onto a log, he glowered at the river.
It was a blustery day and the Forest was at odds with itself. An abandoned elk bellowed mournfully. In the dead reeds on the other side, two hares battered each other with their forepaws.
Torak caught the scent of woodsmoke and an appetizing sizzle of flatcakes. He was hungry, but he couldn’t join the others. He felt cut off from them, as if he were trapped behind a wall: unseen, but tough as midwinter ice. Saeunn’s prophesy about his foster father haunted him. What if Renn was right, and Thiazzi was setting a trap? What if he, Torak, were leading Fin-Kedinn to his death?
And yet – he had no choice but to go on.
Wolf padded down the bank and dropped a stick at Torak’s feet as a present.
Torak picked it up and turned it in his fingers.
You’re sad, said Wolf with a twitch of one ear. Why?
The pale-pelt who smells of fish-dog, Torak said in wolf talk. Not-Breath. Killed by the Bitten One.
Wolf rubbed his flank against Torak’s shoulder, and Torak leaned against him, feeling his solid, furry warmth.
You hunt the Bitten One, said Wolf.
Yes, said Torak.
Because he is bad?
- because he killed my pack-brother.
Wolf watched a damselfly skim the water. And when the Bitten One is Not-Breath- does the pale-pelt breathe again?
No, said Torak.
Wolf tilted his head and looked at Torak, his amber eyes puzzled. Then – why?
Because, Torak wanted to tell him, I have to avenge Bale. But he didn’t know how to say that in wolf talk, and even if he could, he didn’t think Wolf would understand. Maybe wolves didn’t seek revenge
.
Side by side, they sat watching the midges darting over the brown water. Torak caught the flicker of a trout, and followed it deeper.
He’d always known there were differences between him and Wolf; but Wolf couldn’t seem to grasp that. At times it made Wolf frustrated, especially when Torak couldn’t do everything a real wolf could. Thinking of this made Torak sad, and vaguely uneasy.
He looked round to find that Wolf had gone, and clouds had darkened the sky. Someone stood in the reeds on the other side of the river, staring at him.
It was Bale.
Water ran soundlessly from his jerkin. Seaweed clotted his streaming hair. His face had a greenish underwater pallor, and his eyes were dark as bruises. Angry. Accusing.
Torak tried to cry out. He couldn’t. His tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Bale raised one dripping arm and pointed at him. His lips moved. No sound came, but his meaning was clear. Your fault.
‘Torak?’
The spell broke. Torak jerked round.
‘I’ve been calling you!’ said Renn, standing behind him, looking cross.
Bale was gone. Across the river, dead reeds creaked in the breeze.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Renn.
‘N-nothing,’ he faltered.
‘Nothing? You’re as grey as ash.’
He shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her.
She gave a small, hurt shrug. ‘Well. I saved you a flatcake.’ She held it out, wrapped in a dock leaf to keep warm. ‘You can eat it as we go.’
From the canoe, Renn watched Wolf running between the trees: now lifting his muzzle to catch the scent, now snuffling in the brush.
Too many times, he’d found the places where the Oak Mage had stopped to eat or camp. Thiazzi seemed in no hurry to reach the Deep Forest, and this worried Renn, although she hadn’t mentioned it to the others. Fin-Kedinn was preoccupied, while Torak . . .
She wished he would turn and talk to her. He sat in front, his back straight and unyielding as he searched the banks for signs of Thiazzi.
Angrily, she dug in her paddle. He didn’t care about anything except finding the Oak Mage. He didn’t even care that Fin-Kedinn was in danger.
Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Page 83