Viper's Daughter Page 11

  But he couldn’t see Naiginn or Renn because the eagle wasn’t scanning the Sea, it only had eyes for the land.

  Again Torak tried to turn its head seawards – but at that moment the eagle spotted a hare hopping past the skinboat.

  The eagle soared higher, Torak saw a jolting blur of clouds – then he was folding his wings in a dive and hurtling towards his prey. Earth rushed towards him at terrifying speed. He swung his talons to snatch the hare.

  At the same instant Wolf burst from under the boat and the hare fled. The eagle missed, pulling awkwardly out of its dive and shrieking with rage. How dare that wolf go after its prey!

  For a third time Torak yanked the eagle’s head seawards – and at last he succeeded. He saw every fleck of foam on the waves, every tiny shrimp rising from the deep – and far out on the glittering Sea, he saw Naiginn’s skinboat. He saw his streaming hair and the flex of his forearms as he paddled past a fang of black rock. He saw Renn slumped before Naiginn in the bow. Her hair blazed preternaturally red and her eyes were shut, she was terrifyingly pale: not even with the sight of an eagle could Torak tell if she was alive.

  With a screech of rage the eagle wrenched its will from Torak’s and shot after the hare. Torak saw moss flying from its paws as it zigzagged up a creek. It hadn’t seen the eagle, it was fleeing from Wolf, and Wolf’s gaze was alight with blood-hunger: he’d forgotten all about guarding his pack-brother.

  The hare still hadn’t sensed the threat in the sky, but the eagle was too stupid to keep it that way. It swooped from the wrong direction. The hare felt the chill of its shadow and dodged. The eagle missed, swooped again, punching into the hare with both feet, snapping its neck and killing it instantly. Clutching its prey in its talons, the eagle rose triumphantly skywards—

  —or it would have done if something hadn’t yanked it rudely back to earth.

  The eagle gave a furious squawk: what was wrong? Torak was startled to see Wolf gripping the hare’s hindquarters in his jaws. Let go! Torak shouted from the eagle’s marrow.

  But the look in his pack-brother’s eyes told him that Wolf had no intention of letting go.

  Wolf wasn’t letting some stupid bird steal his prey. Grimly he tightened his jaws on the hare’s hindquarters while the eagle screeched and flapped and clung to its head.

  Through a mouthful of hare Wolf gave a muffled snarl as he dragged both eagle and prey over the rocks. The eagle tried to peck, but Wolf was shaking hare and bird from side to side, it couldn’t reach. Thrashing its wings, the bird surged into the Up – and suddenly there was no more ground under Wolf’s paws, he was kicking at nothing, the eagle was lifting him too.

  Still growling, Wolf clawed its feet with his forepaws. The bird bent to peck, and for the flick of a tail they were muzzle to beak and eye to eye. Deep in the eagle’s furious stare, Wolf saw a spark that was not eagle – and suddenly he knew that this not-eagle was Tall Tailless. What was Tall Tailless doing inside a bird?

  Wolf was so astonished he let go of the hare and crashed to earth. The eagle soared into the clouds with its prey.

  Wolf got to his feet and shook himself. His blood-hunger was gone. His hindpaw hurt. The chase had taken him many lopes over the treeless lands – and by the smell of it, a long way from Tall Tailless.

  Tall Tailless.

  Suddenly Wolf remembered that he was supposed to guard his pack-brother.

  Worry gnawed his belly as he limped up a ridge to see where he was. Far across the fells he spotted the rocks where Tall Tailless had made his den. The angry wind had carried away the floating hide, and Wolf saw Tall Tailless curled on his side, fast asleep.

  Then Wolf saw something that made his pelt prickle with dread.

  Prowling towards his slumbering pack-brother was a great white bear.

  Torak fell screaming from the clouds and hit the ground with a thud.

  As always after spirit walking it took him a while to come to, and though his body was unhurt, his souls were badly bruised from the fall.

  He became aware of a murmurous rustling. He knew that sound. It was the voices of trees. But surely the eagle hadn’t carried his spirit all the way back to the Forest?

  The sounds were unmistakeable: whispering willows, chattering birch… He’d missed them terribly, but now he was horrified. Instead of finding out where Naiginn had taken Renn, he’d goaded the wind into blowing his souls south.

  And yet – he was in his body again. He smelt earth, he was lying with his face in cold wet leaves.

  Opening his eyes, he found himself looking down at the Forest from a great height. Between fluffy white clouds he saw tiny green trees. How could this be? Was he still flying?

  His gaze shifted to a pallid mountain of bones – and he understood. The mountain was an eagle pellet, the clouds were tiny catkins. He hadn’t been blown anywhere, he was still in the Far North, lying at the foot of the outcrop – and the Forest was here too.

  It had always been here, but he’d never thought of it as Forest, he’d simply walked unheeding over these springy mats of stunted willow and birch that covered the fells as densely as the Forest where he was born.

  His gaze roamed over miniature hills and valleys covered in trees. Their trunks were no thicker than his finger and they clung flat to the earth amid lichen and moss. Their leaves were smaller than a baby’s fingernails – green, amber and red all on the same bough, with catkins and hairy brown fruit – because here in the Far North the days of sunlight are not long: spring, summer and autumn rushing by in only two moons.

  But they were still trees, and this Forest of the North was as ancient and wise as the Forest of the South. Torak’s eyes ached with unshed tears. All his life the Forest had helped him. It had given him everything he needed to survive, it had never let him down. And it was with him now, its green souls cleansing his spirit like clear water.

  The wind was tugging his hair with icy fingers. Where was the skinboat?

  As he heaved himself to all fours, the outcrop spun wildly and he retched. His souls hadn’t recovered from their fall. He spotted the boat in the distance where the vengeful wind had carried it. He didn’t care: he’d just solved the second part of the riddle.

  To find what you seek, you must cross the Forest in the treeless land. Where he was kneeling now was the ‘Forest in the treeless land’. Crossing it would be easy, all he had to do was make his way to the boat.

  ‘Easy,’ he said.

  But no riddle is easy. That’s why it’s a riddle. As Torak summoned the strength to stand, an ice bear emerged soundlessly from behind the rocks.

  A hunting bear doesn’t snarl or champ its jaws, it comes on in lethal silence. That’s what the ice bear did now.

  It was the huge female with the scarred nose who’d peered at Torak from the clifftop; who’d stared at him as she swam past after fighting the walrus on the beach.

  No sign of her cubs, she must have left them in the hills before stalking this troublesome prey which had eluded her twice before.

  Halting three paces from Torak, she threw up her long neck and slid out her purple-grey tongue to taste his scent. He saw the dark teats in her coarse yellow belly fur, he saw her massive turned-in forepaws with their vicious black claws. She couldn’t be hungry, her muzzle and neck were stained brown with blubber – but she was a hunter, and hunters never pass up an easy kill.

  Still kneeling, Torak grabbed his axe. He knew he wouldn’t have time to use it. If she charged she’d be on him in a heartbeat. She would seize his skull in her jaws and snap his neck with a single shake.

  Lowering her head, she locked eyes with his. He didn’t dare blink. That flat black stare didn’t see a boy, it saw a bloody mess of flesh to drag back to her cubs.

  He tried to think what to do, but his mind had gone as blank as the sky. Inuktiluk had told him how to avoid encountering an ice bear, not what to do if one got this close. Perhaps he hadn’t thought Torak would be stupid enough to let that happen.

  What w
as it Tanugeak had said? If you survive it’ll be by thinking like other creatures.

  Torak knew how hunters thought, he was a hunter too. He knew that ice bears aren’t as clever as wolves, but they don’t need to be, they’re so much stronger. None of this told him what to do.

  Slitting her eyes, the ice bear moved her head up and down. Like all hunters she was wary, she went for the weak and the sick. She wouldn’t attack healthy prey which fought back, she wouldn’t risk breaking a bone or losing an eye. What kind of prey was this?

  Ice bears eat seals, Torak thought suddenly. Seals lie low and still on the ice, just as he was doing now. Lurching to his feet, he made himself as tall and un-seal-like as he could. He brandished his axe, never taking his eyes from the bear’s.

  He opened his mouth to shout – then shut it. If he shouted, would she think he was bluffing? If he kept silent, would she see him as a threat? Each bear is different: some run from a threat, some attack. Which was she? What should he do?

  The bear was sniffing loudly. With a jolt of terror Torak realized he was dressed from head to toe in seal hide. He could see her thinking: It doesn’t act like a seal but it smells like one…

  His mind darted in panic. Was there nothing she feared?

  Suddenly he remembered the dead bear he’d found by the creek with the tusk wounds in its flank. He saw the bull walrus fighting off this very female, lashing out with its tusks. He heard the clack of tusks on rock. If he made that noise…

  No rocks within reach, but he spotted a reindeer antler overgrown with moss. Ripping it free, he bashed it against his axe-handle.

  The ice bear shifted from paw to paw. She knew that sound. This prey didn’t look like a walrus, or smell like one, but it sounded as if it had tusks.

  Again Torak clashed antler on wood, and again.

  The bear’s growls shook the earth beneath him.

  ‘I’m a walrus!’ he bellowed, clacking his ‘tusks’. ‘Go away! I’ll fight!’ If this didn’t work, he was finished.

  The bear peeled back her black lips and hissed. She champed her jaws with a noise like clashing rocks. She took a step back.

  All at once she swung round as if she’d been bitten.

  Wolf flew at her, snapping her rump. With a snarl she went for him. Wolf dodged, darted in to nip her heels. Run! his eyes told Torak.

  But Torak wasn’t about to abandon his pack-brother. Yelling and swinging his axe, he sprang at the bear. She decided that two against one wasn’t worth it and bounded for the hills, showing her big black hind pads.

  Wolf’s apology knocked Torak flat. Sorry I left you! Sorry! Nibble-nuzzling Torak’s chin, he covered his face in rasping licks.

  Torak tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t obey. He was dizzy and sick, his souls still shaken.

  The bear might be gone, but the skinboat was unreachably far away. How could he trudge across that windswept waste when he couldn’t even stand?

  Wolf was gazing at the boat with narrowed eyes. Uff! But he didn’t say it as if he smelt bear. He was puzzled.

  Torak squinted at the skinboat. It had grown legs. It was walking towards him.

  Once when Tall Tailless was injured, Wolf had seen his Breath-that-Walks leave his body. This time Wolf had seen it fly, then crash to earth. Now that the bear was gone, Tall Tailless lay with his muzzle in the moss. His Breath-that-Walks was battered and bruised.

  Guilt sank its teeth into Wolf’s guts. This was his fault. He’d chased that hare instead of protecting his pack-brother. And now the two strange taillesses were coming. Wolf could only see the little female’s legs, as she was carrying the floating hide. The old one smelt of droppings and his eyes were as white as a well-chewed bone: he couldn’t see.

  Wolf growl-barked a warning: Stay away!

  Clutching a stick, the old one halted a few lopes from where Wolf stood over his pack-brother. The half-grown female put down the floating hide and ran to Tall Tailless. Wolf growled louder. The female crouched respectfully low, avoiding his stare. One of her forepaws was twisted. Wolf smelt that she was anxious and at the bottom of her pack – but that she wanted to help Tall Tailless. He moved aside.

  She was clever and quick. In the twitch of a tail she’d made a Den over Tall Tailless and woken a Bright Beast-that-Bites-Hot, then helped the Sightless One inside. Wolf tried to follow, but the Sightless One jabbed him with his stick. Wolf didn’t like this tailless but he felt sorry for him, for he sensed that bitterness lay on his spirit like a stone.

  In the Den the Sightless One began yowling: he too was trying to help Tall Tailless. At least – Wolf thought he was. He decided to keep watch at the mouth of the Den. At the first sniff of trouble he would attack.

  Torak was floating naked in scorching steam. He couldn’t breathe. Something was pressing on his nose and mouth.

  ‘It’s a sweat bath,’ whispered a girl. ‘Breathe through the moss, it’ll stop your lungs burning.’

  As he sucked air, he became aware of thin rippling music that twisted round itself like flame. He caught a stink of dung. Opening his eyes, he saw a tiny spurt of fire on a pebble. It sputtered and sank to a violet glow. The glow blinked out, leaving crimson droplets and smoke that smelt of rotten eggs. Bloodstone.

  The flute broke off and a shaggy old man leant over him. Matted hair, beard crawling with lice, stumps of teeth as brown as peat. Blind, clouded eyes. Clutching the wing of a diverbird in his grimy talons, the old man passed it over Torak’s forehead, then flung it away. The pain in his bruised souls eased. This old man was a Mage.

  ‘Marupai?’ gasped Torak.

  The old man barked at him in Narwal.

  ‘You’re Marupai the Narwal Mage—’

  ‘Not any more. They threw me out when I went blind.’

  ‘But you are Naiginn’s father? Where is he? Where’s he gone!’

  ‘Who are you? Why are you after my son?’

  Torak hesitated.

  ‘Who are you? What name d’you carry?’

  ‘Torak.’

  The old man blew his nose in his hand and wiped it in his beard. ‘I thought you were a demon, I was going to strangle you. Then I touched you and felt eagle. My guide was eagle. But you’re no Mage.’

  ‘I’m a spirit walker.’

  He snorted, unimpressed. ‘Why are you after my son?’

  ‘He’s … helping my mate.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ Seizing a waterskin, Marupai drenched him in freezing water, grabbed his staff and crawled out of the shelter.

  Someone thrust Torak’s clothes into his arms. He recognized the girl with the withered arm from the clan meet. By the time he’d dressed, she’d followed her master outside.

  Torak found them by the stream. Marupai was casting gobbets of blubber as offerings. The girl crouched nearby, watching Wolf snap them up.

  The old man heard Torak approach. ‘Wart says your dog’s eating my offerings.’

  ‘My dog?’ Torak was startled. Then he remembered that Narwals hated wolves. He threw the girl a questioning glance. Was she protecting Wolf? ‘I’m sorry about your offerings,’ he said carefully.

  Marupai grunted. ‘If a dog eats an offering it’s good, means it’s possessed by an ancestor.’ He swayed, and the girl moved to help. ‘I can manage!’ With his staff he struck her a vicious blow on the back.

  Despite the cold he was bare-chested and barefoot. His leggings were filthy sealskin stained yellow at the crotch. He reminded Torak of the Walker, the mad old man who wandered the Forest – but Marupai wasn’t mad. He was bitter and deluded, bent on protecting his son. ‘Tell me the truth,’ he snarled. ‘Why are you after my boy?’

  ‘He and my mate are half-brother and -sister. They had the same mother—’

  ‘That’s a lie! My beautiful one came from the sun! Out of a blaze of light she came to me – me! I was the only mortal man she ever took for her mate!’

  ‘She didn’t come from the sun, she came from the Forest—’

  Marupai lunged
at him with his staff. Wolf grabbed it in his jaws and shook. Torak gave a low grunt-whine and Wolf let go. He went on growling. ‘It’s the truth,’ said Torak.

  ‘The truth!’ sneered the old man. ‘Yes, like that wolf of yours is a dog!’ He hawked and spat. ‘Doesn’t matter why you’re after my son, he’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He left four moons ago. I sent Wart to the clan meet but he wasn’t there. She heard he’d gone north but she missed him among the islands. Fool!’ Again he lashed out, though this time the girl dodged. ‘My finding charms failed,’ he muttered. ‘My spirit guide has deserted me. What use is an eagle who can’t see?’

  Torak was aghast. ‘You mean you’ve no idea where he’s gone?’

  Marupai wasn’t listening. He was clutching his head. ‘Wart, lead me to the shelter. Soon I will seek my death.’

  ‘He won’t sleep long,’ muttered the girl.

  ‘How long?’ Torak paced up and down. The red sun was getting low, and Renn was out there with a demon in human form.

  What if he never saw her again? He pictured himself finding his way back to the Forest. He would go on hunting with the wolves, but without Renn – without his fierce, brave, secretive, complicated Raven – he would never be more than half-alive.

  In the shelter Marupai’s snores stuttered to a halt, then resumed. Marupai was what Torak would become if he lost Renn.

  The girl called Wart was plucking a pair of snow geese by the fire. Torak asked her if she knew where Naiginn had gone.