The Tiger and the Wolf (Echoes of the Fall Book 1)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  ‘Yes.’ But she could barely stand. Terror shot through her: not at the thought of being caught but at being unable to trust or master her own body. Every muscle within her was trembling, and the more the fear mounted, the more the strength ebbed from her limbs.

  Without a word, Broken Axe had swept her up and in a moment she was clinging to his back, arms clasped before his throat and her legs about his waist. He spared no more effort on words, but began trudging on between the trees. She could read his mind though: a burdened man on human feet could never outpace wolves or tigers. There was no escape that way.

  She wanted to tell him to leave her – his life was surely forfeit if he was caught, just as hers was. But strength to make such sacrifices was gone from her along with the rest. She just huddled into him, feeling his muscles shift beneath her.

  They found the deer soon after: not the tribe but their mute brothers. Spring had come to the Crown of the World enough for the first bucks to be out gorging, and the hollow they found was one of their feeding grounds. At the intrusion, the half-dozen beasts fled, white tails flashing in the sun, and Broken Axe set her down.

  ‘We need a new plan,’ he told her. ‘This place is thick with deer-scent. If I leave you here, can you hide yourself? Can you Step?’

  She reached tentatively for the souls within her, then flinched away. Her expression was all the answer he needed.

  ‘I will find help.’

  ‘Loud Thunder?’ She knew herself how far it was still to his cabin.

  For a moment, Broken Axe didn’t answer, and she realized that it was because he had no better answer. Even he was beyond the edge of his inventiveness.

  ‘I will wait.’ She was stronger now than she had been. If the Tiger or her father caught up with her, then she would find out whether she could run or not. ‘Broken Axe . . .’

  But she had no words to follow his name, and he understood. A moment later there was that pale wolf with the dark shoulders again, before he was off into the forest. She found shelter for herself amidst the roots of a tree, and husbanded her strength.

  37

  She heard wolves calling as she crouched there – not close, but not as far away as she would have wished. The Tiger she did not hear, nor expected to. Slowly her two souls slunk back to her, their power seeping grudgingly back into her limbs. She did not try to Step, in case playing favourites with them might trigger another rebellion. Denied their animal senses, she felt blind. There could be enemies all around and she could not scent them.

  But then Broken Axe was back, far sooner than he should have been – and not alone. She leapt up, knowing instantly that he could not have found Loud Thunder in such a short span. Her body was flooded with the need to fight or flee.

  He had found other allies, though. He had come with the southerners.

  ‘They were on my trail,’ he told her. ‘The girl here, she tracks like a wolf.’

  The Plains woman made a scoffing sound at that.

  ‘Can you run?’ Axe asked. It seemed to be the question that her life revolved around.

  She did not know the answer, but she replied, ‘I can.’

  ‘Make for Loud Thunder’s home,’ he told her. ‘I will run ahead to alert him. Perhaps the Bear will give us guest rights.’

  And Asmander enquired, ‘Where is the Messenger?’ It was a yawning moment before she realized who he meant.

  Saying the words opened up the wounds again. ‘He is dead.’

  The Champion stared at her.

  ‘I took him from the Winter Runners,’ she said in a whisper. ‘But he was hurt, and then the cold . . . I’m sorry.’ She was not quite sure of the relationship between Hesprec and this man. They had not been old friends from before, but the black youth had shown the old priest immediate and unquestioning respect. She was very aware of how little she knew any of these southerners.

  The news had struck Asmander like a hammer. ‘A Messenger of the Serpent, dead?’ he got out. Maniye wanted to remind him that Hesprec had been old. She had wanted to say how he had seemed at peace. The words would not come, though, and she doubted that they would have helped.

  ‘We must . . .’ Broken Axe started, but Asmander wandered off a few steps, unsteady on his legs. Maniye looked at the other two. The southern girl was grimacing, a spectator to someone else’s awkwardness, but when she met Maniye’s gaze she just shrugged. The other man, the big one with the long hair, seemed blithely unconcerned.

  Broken Axe approached Asmander. ‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘Where does this leave you?’ His clenched fists alone showed how aware he was of the valuable time lost.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the Champion said, and then, ‘It leaves me with my duty.’ He did not sound glad about that. ‘Why can the girl not run with you?’

  Broken Axe frowned. ‘It is her souls.’

  For a second, Asmander just stared at him blankly before understanding dawned. ‘One must be cut away. The Messenger could have done that.’

  ‘I could do it,’ Broken Axe said tersely. ‘But first she needs to choose.’

  ‘Why not Wolf?’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ Axe asked sharply.

  ‘She grew up a Wolf, did she not? And you are a Wolf – there is no Tiger here. She respects you.’

  The hunter scowled. ‘Normally this is easy. Normally there is one soul that speaks of home, and one that speaks of the other. But Many Tracks . . . the jaws of the Wolf, the claws of the Tiger, each is as unkind as the last.’ He took a deep breath, glancing over at Maniye. ‘Southerner, where do you stand now?’

  A flurry of conflicting thoughts passed across Asmander’s dark face, but they were written in the fashion of his River Nation, and Maniye could read none of them. ‘Don’t ask me this,’ he replied hollowly.

  ‘I ask you to do what you believe is right,’ Broken Axe said simply. ‘I would value your help, if you will offer it.’

  Asmander’s expression was eaten up by something that Maniye could not quite discern.

  His big friend made a derisive noise. ‘Wolf, this is no business of ours. Keep your girl and your tigers, and your piss-cold north.’

  Broken Axe nodded once. ‘I understand,’ he said, but then Asmander held a hand up.

  ‘We will go with her,’ he declared, to the obvious surprise of his fellows. Why? Maniye wondered. Just because of Hesprec? Does he owe me that much purely because Hesprec valued me?

  ‘Thank you.’ Broken Axe clapped his hand on Asmander’s shoulder, making the southerner shy away from him. ‘She will show you the way, and I will be with you, with help, as soon as I can bring it.’

  ‘But will they help?’ Maniye asked. ‘The Bear, will they even care?’ She felt far too fragile to have so much of the world concerned about her fate. The weight of it was crushing.

  Broken Axe’s face showed that he had no such certainty, but a moment later he was back on four feet and dashing away, vanishing into the trees in a moment.

  ‘What’s she good for, anyway?’ Venater demanded. ‘Right now the only use for her that I can see is as lunch when our food runs out.’

  ‘Enough.’ Asmander kept his eyes on the girl ahead, because she didn’t seem at all as sure of where she was going as she had claimed. She hadn’t Stepped either, trusting neither of her souls. He guessed that mere human senses were inadequate to the task of navigation.

  ‘Enough?’ growled the old pirate behind him. ‘The First Son of Asman has a duty to his father, and yet here he is up in the cold north, helping orphans.’

  ‘She’s not—’

  ‘I don’t care. Her parentage is like those knots your Snake priests tie, that nobody can undo. So why’s it our problem?’ All of this certainly loud enough for Maniye to hear.

  ‘It’s your problem because the First Son of Asman told Broken Axe we would do this,’ Asmander snapped back at him. ‘I am your only problem, Venater.’

  ‘You’ve got one thing right, then.’ The man spat disgustedly. When his vo
ice was stilled, Asmander found that he missed it. Snarling with Venater had at least kept his mind busy and not asking itself the same question. Why are you really doing this? Going near that question was like touching a raw wound.

  Broken Axe will be back soon, he reassured himself. Then I will not have to make the choice of what to do.

  They were making poor time, at the girl’s plodding pace. Unless she trusts herself to Step, a three-legged wolf could catch us.

  Shyri was bored. She sauntered past Asmander on four feet, hackles high, and then Stepped right next to Maniye, making the girl start.

  ‘So,’ she said, chewing at a piece of gristle, ‘Broken Axe . . .’

  ‘What of him?’ Maniye mumbled.

  ‘You and he,’ the Laughing Man girl continued, ‘he’s your mate?’

  ‘No!’ Maniye told her.

  ‘No – or not yet?’ Abruptly Shyri was in front of her, walking backwards directly ahead of the girl, putting that grin in her face. ‘Maybe I’ll make him mine.’ She shot Asmander a look. ‘Strong man, doesn’t talk too much . . . I’ll bet he’d fight, too, but not too much. Men like that, they like being broken—’

  ‘Enough!’ Asmander got out.

  She stared at him with exaggeratedly owlish eyes. ‘Have I shocked the Champion with my talk?’

  ‘Aim your barbs somewhere else.’

  She smirked and slunk aside, letting Maniye stumble on. ‘You are Broken Axe’s Champion now, are you?’

  ‘And you are very brave to mock a man who isn’t here,’ he told her sharply, and caught a look of genuine hurt on her face for just a moment before she covered it. ‘Broken Axe is a man who says he will do a thing, and then does it. Not for gold or meat or favours, but because it must be done.’ He surprised himself with those words: before they came out, he had not realized how much the other man had impressed him. If the Wolf only had Champions . . .

  Shyri’s face darkened, and no doubt she had a spectacular put-down ready on her tongue, but then Venater snarled, and a moment later he had coursed past them and into the trees, his low-slung shape glittering black with scales. Asmander Stepped to the Champion immediately, baring black stone teeth, and Shyri was a hyena. Only Maniye remained on human feet, clutching her bronze knife.

  They heard the surprised yelp of something – Asmander didn’t know the animals of this land well enough to guess – but Venater came slouching back to them soon enough. When he Stepped back, his face was frustrated.

  ‘Just one,’ he reported. ‘One, and fled.’

  ‘One what?’ Asmander demanded. ‘The Wolf?’

  ‘Cat,’ Venater said. ‘Stripes. The other one.’

  ‘And gone to fetch his friends,’ Shyri pointed out, ‘since you let him get away.’

  Venater gave her a sour look. ‘Maybe I wanted them to come and put an end to this stupid thing we’re doing.’

  ‘Girl, can you Step?’ Asmander demanded.

  Maniye wouldn’t meet his eyes. For a moment he thought she would at least try, arms clutched about herself and teeth bared. Then she was shaking her head, and shaking all over.

  ‘Then we’d better keep going. We run, and hope Broken Axe is coming back for us.’

  Then it was just the hard march onwards, their pursuers devouring the distance towards them as inexorably as the sun kept sinking towards the horizon. That morning she had said her last words to Hesprec. The evening would bring the Tiger.

  Maniye tried to keep her gaze focused before her, but the corners of her eyes betrayed her. The woods seemed full of fire-striped forms; the deepening dusk made tigers out of every shadow.

  And she was slowing all of them.

  I must trust to my souls.

  If she fell now . . . but if not now, then a mile later. Unless she Stepped.

  She reached inside of herself. She felt as though she was looking into one of those pits her father’s people dug to keep prisoners in. At its base, the lean forms of her souls paced round and round, cramped by their captivity, snapping and snarling at each other and at her.

  Obey me, or I die. But perhaps they wanted her dead – to part company with each other and fly free of her corpse.

  Then, from how far away she could not say, she heard a wolf give voice, high and lonely, at the moon. The Winter Runners or just mute brothers? At the sound, the wolf within her leapt for freedom, and she Stepped, or tried to Step, only the tiger began fighting her, clawing at her insides. She stumbled and fell, briefly sleek and grey-furred, then bruising her human bones again.

  She heard Venater curse her furiously, then Asmander had yanked her upright on her human feet.

  ‘Go,’ he said, but at the same time Shyri announced, ‘They’re here.’

  A tiger leapt up before them, springing from the gathering dark to stand proud atop a rock. Another crouched on a tree trunk, while the spaces between the trees rustled with the passage of their bodies. How many? She could not know.

  For a moment the Tigers were coming for them, but then Shyri had dropped to four feet, and Asmander was the Champion without warning, exploding into his terrible, alien shape right beside her so that she fell back from him – all the claws and scales and jagged teeth of him. Only Venater had retained his human form, a short-bladed club in one hand. He looked fearsome enough in any shape. Maniye saw the lead Tiger abruptly turn its aborted lunge into a casual pacing. The Shadow Eaters were clearly not so sure how the souls of these foreigners would taste.

  And then Aritchaka was standing right before them, resplendent in her bronze mail and her feather-crested helm. Maniye caught her eyes for a heartbeat, and saw regret there, but not enough to stop her leading the hunt.

  ‘You have a thing of ours,’ she called out, and her warband padded all around them, never still, never clearly seen.

  Asmander was human again, toothed sword slanted over one shoulder. ‘She says you mean to kill her,’ he observed.

  ‘She is claimed by the Tiger.’

  ‘Life too short to go over everyone who’s claimed her,’ Venater grunted. They all ignored him.

  The Tiger priestess took a careful step forward. ‘Foreigner, do not make us paint our hands with your blood.’ She sounded genuinely solicitous. ‘We have no grievance with your people.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Venater nodded.

  Maniye felt the world beginning to tilt against her once more, to nobody’s surprise. In the handful of heartbeats when there was still talking, not fighting, she reached inside herself again, facing the tortured eyes of the two beasts trapped within her.

  Wolf, carry me, or I will cut you away. With my last breath I shall go gladly to the Tiger’s mouth, as one of his own.

  She sensed the snarl of canine teeth at that, the pain and the resentment.

  Shyri had Stepped back now, if only because, if there was talking, she wanted her fair share. ‘Well, longmouth? Who speaks within you now? Your Champion? Your father? The Axe one? The Serpent?’ She was watching the shifting circle of the Tigers close in on them imperceptibly.

  Tiger, let me ride the Wolf or I will cut you away. If Aritchaka catches me, it shall be a wolf soul the Tiger feasts on. Was that even a threat? But she heard the yowling in her ears, the hiss of displeasure.

  ‘We fight,’ Asmander declared flatly. He did not seem very happy about it. ‘We keep her from the Tiger.’

  ‘But why?’ Shyri asked, but then the ground shook, and something like a mountain cut loose from the ground had thundered out of the trees, bellowing its defiance; and dancing about its feet was a pale wolf with dark shoulders. Loud Thunder and Broken Axe had arrived.

  The Tiger scattered, but in the next moment they were attacking, springing out from the darkness. One tried to leap on Loud Thunder’s haunches but he spun on the spot to face her, roaring, so that the Tiger almost fell over her own feet trying to get out of the way. Instead she met Venater, who did his level best to skin her alive with that short stone blade of his.

  Then there was another, a man o
f the Tiger, leaping up on four feet to land before Maniye on two, a studded club cocked back to strike. She skipped aside from the blow, knife angled ready for the Tiger dance, the fighting style of his priesthood. The sight of it gave him pause: the men did not learn that dance but they feared it. Then Shyri had jumped him from behind and torn a ragged mouthful from his shoulder.

  The clearing was alive with leaping shadows. She heard the screech of Asmander’s Champion as it pounced into the midst of the Tiger, scattering them, chasing them here and there. Loud Thunder was holding two or three off, the Tigers’ claws and knives not even managing to penetrate his hide.

  Broken Axe went rushing past her, pausing to snarl at her through bloodied fangs, and she knew it was time. She confronted the two beasts within her, reminded them of her dire threats, and Stepped.

  For a moment they were rebellious, writhing stubbornly in her grip, but then she had forced her will on them, her blood hot with the violence of the moment. Stepping, she followed after Broken Axe, her nose telling her instantly that the sharp, alien scent of Asmander was on her other side as they dashed into the treeline. Behind her she heard the weird heckling cry of Shyri, that hunting call of a distant land cackling out of the darkness.

  Almost immediately the reek of tiger was strong and close in her nose. She veered away, unseeing but hearing the sudden rush of it as it tried to ambush her. A moment later the dark shape bolted out behind her, raking at her flanks but falling short, hissing a challenge.

  A thing from nightmare dropped onto the tiger, leaping so high that it seemed to fall out of the branches above. Asmander’s curved claws ripped in, but Maniye heard the splintering of ribs simply under the force of his landing.

  Then the Tiger were on their trail in earnest. The woods seemed full of them: with brief ember-bright glimpses of their striped bodies, their moon-gleaming eyes. The fear that hammered within her was the Wolf’s generations-old terror of the Shadow Eaters who came to devour their souls.