His fist closed over the strand of hair. He would go back and find her. He wouldmakeher come with him. Vengeance must wait a little longer. Jumping into the dugout, he turned it around and started downriver.
This time, the ravens flew with him.
Now Wolf was confused as well as worried. What was Tall Tailless doing?
Ever since the Bright Beast had eaten the Forest, Wolf had followed, and not understood. He'd prowled about the great Dens of the taillesses and watched them snarl at each other, then tear the strips of hide from their heads. Then they'd dragged in his pack-brother, and Wolf had been about to leap to his aid when Tall Tailless had snarled atthem.That terrible, snarling blood-hunger ... it was not-wolf. Wolf didn't understand it. It frightened him.
Then he'd followed Tall Tailless and the pack-sister to the Fast Wet, wheretheyhad snarled at each other, and then-Tall Tailless had abandoned her.A wolf does not abandon his pack-sister. Was Tall Tailless sick? Was his mind broken?
After that, Wolf had kept to the Dark as he'd followed
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his pack-brother up-Wet. Tall Tailless had called, but Wolf hadn't gone to him. Wolfhatedhiding from his pack-brother, but he knew--with the certainty which came to him at times--that he could not go to him. Although he didn't yet know why.
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THIRTY
There must have been a storm in the Mountains, because the Blackwater bore Torak swiftly back to the Deep Forest camp.
Masking the dugout with leafy branches, he lay flat, trusting the reeds to conceal him. He was lucky. Everyone was hard at work, painting trees. He saw women, men, and children laboriously smearing on earthblood.
What madness, he wondered, made them blindly follow orders? Couldn't they see that Thiazzi was stealing their freedom, like a fox raiding a carcass? When the camp had drifted out of sight, he took up his paddle. The afternoon wore on. The west wind
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carried the stink of the wasteland. And still he found no sign of Renn.
As he rounded a bend, he saw that the north bank was muddied, as if by dugouts. The boats were gone, but something flashed on a willow branch. A lock of dark-red hair.
Landing the dugout, Torak made his way warily up the bank.
A swathe of men's tracks led into the Forest. Among them he found Renn's. She'd been recaptured. Why had they brought her here?
Forcing himself to concentrate, he realized that the men had returned a short while later and paddled away. Had they taken Renn with them? He didn't think so.
Farther in, he found another strand of her hair, tied to a twig. Then another. The tightness inside him unclenched a little. She must have been all right if she'd been able to do that. And she'd wanted him to follow.
Drawing his knife, he headed into the Forest.
Dusk was falling when he reached a small shelter in the lee of a fallen spruce. He saw slender scarlet ropes strung from trees, and auroch horns carved with sacred spirals. He guessed this was the prayer shelter of the Auroch Mage. But it had the peculiar stillness of an abandoned camp.
The doorway was barred by two crossed branches: one oak, one yew. Filled with misgiving, Torak stepped over
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them and went inside. The fire was dead white embers, crumbly as bones, but something lay across it. His belly turned over. It was the remains of Renn's bow.
In disbelief he took up the black, broken pieces of yew on which she had lavished so much care. He remembered a day last summer when he'd found her grinding hazelnuts to oil it. The sun had blazed in her red hair, and he'd wondered what it would feel like to wind it around his wrist. She'd turned and met his eyes, and his face had flamed. Wolf had nosed past him after the hazelnuts, and Renn had batted his muzzle away, "No, Wolf, not for you!" But she'd soon relented and given him a handful.
Kneeling in the embers, Torak gripped the remains of the bow. He smelled ash, and the tang of spruce. By his knee, he saw a tiny amber pellet. He picked it up. Yes, spruce-blood. Beside it, a handprint. The hand of a large man. Missing two fingers.
Everything fell into place, and Torak spiraled down, down from a great height. Thiazzi was the Auroch Mage. Thiazzi was the Forest Horse Mage. They were one and the same.
And Thiazzi had Renn.
Lurching to his feet, Torak stumbled from the shelter. Moonlight washed the clearing in icy blue. He thought of Renn being forced to watch Thiazzi snap her bow in 231
two. How the Soul-Eater must have enjoyed that. And he'd wanted Torak to know it. He'd left the bow as a sign, with his three-fingered handprint.Thiazzi did this.
It was Thiazzi, not Renn, who had left those strands of her hair on the trail: leading Torak here, making sure that he took the bait. And those crossed branches ... proclaiming where he'd taken her.
The sacred grove, where corpses dangled from the oak.
Torak staggered to a tree and retched. This was his fault. In his hunger for vengeance, he had delivered Renn into the power of the Oak Mage. Tall Tailless was only a pounce away, but Wolf couldn't go to him. Something was keeping them apart, like a great Fast Wet rushing between them.
Tall Tailless had been holding the pack-sister's Long-Claw-that-Flies in his forepaws, and now he put it carefully in the tree. Wolf sensed his fear, and underneath it, his terrible blood-urge.
It was the blood-urge which stopped Wolf going to him.I have to kill the Bitten One,Tall Tailless had once told Wolf.Not because he is prey or in a fight over ranges, but because he killed the pale-pelted tailless.
But why?This was not what a wolf does. This--this was not-wolf.
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Worry clawed at Wolf's belly. He savaged a branch. He ran in circles.
Tall Tailless had heard him. He stooped and whined.Come to me, pack-brother. I need you!
Wolf whimpered. He backed away.
He remembered the time in the Great Cold when he'd found the white wolves, and had tried to tell their leader about Tall Tailless.He has no tail,Wolf had said,and he walks on his hind legs, but he is ...
Then he is not-wolf, the lead wolf had sternly replied. Wolf had known the leader was wrong, but he hadn't dared protest. But now. Tall Tailless rose on his hind legs and came toward Wolf, his face puzzled.Why won't you come to me?His face ...
From the beginning, Wolf had loved his pack-brother's flat, furless face; but as he stood in the Dark, staring up at it, he saw how different it was from that of a wolf. The eyes of Tall Tailless didn't throw back the light of the Bright White Eye, as the eyes of wolves do.
Not like a wolf. It crashed upon Wolf with the force of a falling tree, the knowledge that had been stalking him for many Lights and Darks. Tall Tailless was not-wolf. A pain such as Wolf had never known bit deep into his heart. Not even when he was a cub on the Mountain 233 and missing Tall Tailless terribly, not even then had he felt such pain. Tall Tailless was not-wolf. Not wolf.
Tall Tailless was nor wolf. 234
THIRTY-ONE
I thought you knew, said Torak in wolf talk. Wolf backed away, his amber eyes clouded with misery.
Oh, Wolf. I thought you knew.
Whimpering, Wolf turned tail and fled.
Torak ran after him, crashing through the trees. It was hopeless. Lurching to a halt, he doubled up, gasping for breath. Around him, whitebeams unfurled their silver leaves to cup the light of the full moon. He howled. Wolf did not howl back. Torak's howl sank to a sob. Wolf was gone. Gone forever?
The trees stirred in the wind, whispering, Hurry,
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hurry.Already Thiazzi might have reached the sacred grove. He might have woken another fire and sunk a stake into its heart. He might be dragging Renn toward it....
Torak ran past the shelter, back to where he'd left the dugout. He jumped in and headed upstream, stabbing the river as if it were Thiazzi. He was in an endless tunnel of dark trees and hopeless thoughts. Because of him, Wolf was in misery. Because of him, Renn was in the power of the Oak Mage.
The Blackwater wa
s implacable. His muscles burned. He deserved it.
Through the trees, he glimpsed the glow of the Deep Forest camp. But the river was barred. A wovenbark net stretched from bank to bank.
Jamming in his paddle, Torak drove the dugout back. When he was out of sight, he put in at a clump of alders and scrambled up the bank. He couldn't go any farther by river; he'd have to go on foot. He'd never reach the sacred grove in time.
Suddenly, he froze. Through the soles of his boots, he caught a faint tremor in the earth.
He sank to his knees and placed both palms on the ground. Had he really felt it? Was it heading toward him?
Maybe, after all, therewasa way.
***
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Wolf felt the earth shudder beneath his paws, but still he loped. He smelled that he was heading toward the Bright Beast-bitten lands. He didn't care. At last thirst scratched his throat and he had to stop. He found a little Still Wet and snapped some up. Then he raised his muzzle and howled his misery to the Forest. Tall Tailless was not wolf.
Tall Tailless was not Wolf's pack-brother.
Wolf no longerhada pack-brother.
Wolf was alone.
The shuddering beneath his pads grew stronger. Listlessly, Wolf recognized it as the pounding of many hooves.
To get out of the way, he trotted up a rise, from where he watched the horses gallop past. Their rich smell swirled about his nose, but he was too miserable to be tempted, or to wonder what was making them run.
When they'd gone, he slunk down to the little Still Wet again.
The earth around it had been chewed up by the horses' hooves, and it clung to his paws in cold, soggy lumps. He didn't care. He wondered if Tall Tailless would hear the horses in time to get out of the way. Tall Tailless, who could hardly hear or smell at all, and who no longer had a pack-brother to warn him.
As Wolf stood with drooping tail at the edge of the Still Wet, he saw the wolf who lives in the Wet gazing up
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at him. This was a very odd wolf, who had no scent. That had frightened Wolf when he was a cub, but he'd soon learned that the odd wolf meant no harm, and always drew back when he did.
Right now, the wolf in the Wet looked almost as miserable as Wolf felt. To cheer him up, Wolf gave a faint wag of his tail, and the wolf in the Wet wagged his tail too. Then a very strange thing happened.Anotherwolf appeared in the Wet, standing beside the first one. Only this wolf was black.
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THIRTY-TWO
Darkfur stood very still, waiting to see what Wolf would do.
Wolf, too, kept very still. His claws dug into the mud. His pelt tingled with excitement.
Darkfur twitched her tail.
Wolf lifted his muzzle and sniffed.
Slowly, Darkfur raised her foreleg and pawed his shoulder.
They touched noses.
Wolf seized her scruff in his jaws. She lashed her tail and whined, showing him her belly. He released her, and now they were rolling and tumbling in a muddy 239
blur of fur and fangs. In and out of the Wet they chased each other, Wolf making fast little greeting snaps at her flanks, Darkfur whimpering with delight and snapping him back. She leaped high, her black pelt glittering with Wet, then twisted around and body-slammed him, and he chased her over the rise and down again, snuffing her fierce, strong scent, the most beautiful scent he'd ever smelled.
Now she was pawing some leaves off the Wet and they were snapping it up, then slumping together for a rest. Panting, she told him how she'd missed him, so she'd left the pack to find him. After many Lights and Darks and much sniffing and listening, she'd howled for him and thought he'd howled back, but then the Bright Beast had eaten all the scents.
Wolf shut his eyes and heard the soft wind ruffling her fur. He felt surprised and happy and sad.
Darkfur was clever, and quick to sense what he was feeling.Why are you sad?she asked.Where is the one who has no tail?
Wolf jumped up and shook himself.He is not wolf. He is not my pack-brother.
Darkfur twitched one ear in puzzlement.But we played together. He was your pack-brother. This can't be.
Wolf trotted back and forth. He found an interesting stick and dropped it before her as a present.
Darkfur ignored it. She rose and nose-nudged his
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shoulder.Do you remember when the cubs tried to eat his overpelt and you stopped them PAnd I gave him a fish-head?
The pain was so bad that Wolf whined. Of course he remembered that shining day when he and Tall Tailless had been part of the Mountain pack, when they had swum together and been happy.
Darkfur rubbed her rump against his shoulder and nuzzled his scruff.I've been chasing horses. There's a juicy little foal. I nearly caught it but its mother kicked. Let's hunt!
Wolf turned his muzzle into the wind, and the horse scent flowed over his nose. The herd must have halted as soon as Darkfur stopped chasing. It wasn't far off. Darkfur bounded into the trees, wagging her tail.Come!Then she was loping after the horses, a sleek black wolf flying through the nettles. Hunger woke up in Wolf's belly. He forgot his pain and raced after her.
Torak felt the tremor of hooves through the earth. The horses were heading his way. Something must have panicked them, maybe a lynx or a bear. Good, he thought. The faster the better.
Now he could hear them. As they came closer, he caught huffing and blowing and the breaking of branches. He moved off the trail, flattening himself against a beech tree.
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Moments later, the lead mare burst into view. Her head was up, her tail flying. She sped past and the herd raced after her, a glossy black river of straining necks and powerful haunches.
As soon as they'd passed, Torak gave a piercing whinny.
He heard the slap of horseflesh on horseflesh as they skittered into one another, then an answering whinny.
Torak stepped onto the trail and waited.
Bracken stirred. He heard a snort. A stamp. A sleek black head pushed through.
The lead mare halted twenty paces away from him. Her flanks were heaving, her nostrils flared.
He nickered to reassure her.
She tossed her head.
In a low, gentle tone, he began to talk. "You've smelled me before, remember? I helped a foal back to the herd. You know I mean no harm." Her ears swiveled to catch his voice, but her head stayed nervously high, and she swung her hindquarters around toward him.Stay back. I kick! Slowly he walked toward her, talking, not taking his gaze from her, but not alarming her with a direct stare.
Steam rose from her flanks. Her great dark eyes were wide, but no longer rimmed with white. For an instant, Torak met her gaze, and a current of knowledge flowed between them. His souls had hidden in her marrow. He
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had known what it was to be horse. And she knew that he knew.
"I know," he said, moving nearer. "I know."
She sidestepped and swished her tail. No man had ever gotten this close.
He felt the heat from her flanks. He bent and sniffed her nostrils, as he'd seen horses do in greeting, and she let him, her grassy breath warming his face. Placing his hand lightly on her shoulder, he pinched his thumb and fingers together and scratched the sweaty pelt, mimicking the nibble-greetings of a horse.
A shiver rippled from her withers to her tail, and she gave a snorty blow of pleasure.
"I'm your friend," he told her. "You know that, don't you:
Still finger-nibbling, he worked his way up her neck, and she turned her head and gently nipped his shoulder, returning the greeting.
His hand moved down to her withers, and he grasped a handful of mane.
Then he did what no one in all the clans had ever done before.
He vaulted onto her back.
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THIRTY-THREE
The mare gave an outraged squeal and did her best to buck Torak off. He clung to her mane and hooked his legs in front of her belly. She reared--maybethatwould r
id her of this infuriating burden--but he flung himself forward and gripped with his thighs. She launched into a gallop, nearly wrenching his arms from their sockets. He slithered about on her broad, slippery back, just managing to stay on. She made for a low-hanging branch. He ducked. Twigs scraped his back. He stayed low in case she tried that again. 244
They crashed through thickets, and the herd-- panicked by her panic--crashed after them. Between the trees, Torak glimpsed the river. The mare was heading upstream toward the valley where she felt safe.
Her hide was rough against his cheek, and as he smelled her horsey sweat and heard her breath sawing in her chest, he felt a pang of guilt. She was his friend and he'd frightened her. Too bad. Nothing mattered except saving Renn.
Without warning, the mare's forequarters rose, her withers smashing into his cheekbone, and for a moment they were flying over a fallen tree. Then the mare thudded to earth, bashing his cheek again.
Seeing spots, he scrambled upright as they sped into the glare of firelight, into the heart of the Deep Forest camp. Trampling pails and cooking-skins, they galloped between the scarlet trees, while around them people scattered, snatching up children and gaping at Torak.
Over his shoulder he shouted, "Your Mage is a Soul-Eater in disguise! Come to the sacred grove and see for yourselves!" Then the camp was behind them and they were racing uphill toward the ridge.
Only then did Torak realize that no one had shot at him. No arrows, no poisoned darts. They dared not risk harming the sacred herd. His medicine pouch banged against his thigh, and without knowing why, he thanked his mother's spirit for keeping him safe.
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Another fallen tree rushed toward him, and he threw himself against the mare's neck just before she jumped. Mud splattered his face as she landed in a bog, sinking up to her hocks. She struggled to free herself, and he leaned forward to help her. Her hindquarters gave a tremendous heave and they were out, flushing grouse from the rushes in a gobbling flurry.
The moon was sinking, the shadows leaching from the Forest as they hurtled toward the Windriver. Torak saw that they were farther east than the trail he'd taken before; this way was steeper, more overgrown. The wily mare knew a shortcut to her valley.
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