Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Page 28

  Torak turned to Bale, who seemed to be the leader. ‘I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I never -’

  ‘Deerskin,’ spat Bale, pacing up and down. ‘Reindeer hide. Forest wood. Have you no respect?’

  ‘For what?’ said Torak.

  Detlan’s jaw dropped.

  Asrif tapped his forehead. ‘He’s mad. He must be.’

  Bale narrowed his eyes. ‘No. He knew what he was doing.’ Then to Torak, ‘Bringing your unclean Forest skins right onto the shore! Setting your cowardly traps to snare our skinboats – trailing them in the Sea herself!’

  ‘I was fishing,’ said Torak.

  ‘You broke the law!’ roared Bale. ‘You tainted the Sea with the Forest!’

  Torak took a breath. ‘My name is Torak,’ he said. ‘I’m Wolf Clan. What clan are you?’

  ‘Seal, of course.’ Bale tapped the strip of grey fur on his chest. ‘Don’t you know sealskin when you see it?’

  Torak shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never seen one.’ ‘Never seen a seal?’ said Detlan, aghast.

  Asrif hooted. ‘Told you he was mad!’

  Torak’s face grew hot. ‘I’m Wolf Clan,’ he said again. ‘But I’m also -’

  ‘Is that what this is?’ sneered Asrif. With a piece of driftwood he jabbed at the strip of wolfskin on Torak’s jerkin.

  Bale’s lip curled in scorn. ‘So that’s wolf hide. Looks a poor sort of creature to me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever seen one,’ Torak said heatedly. Then to Asrif, ‘Leave that alone!’ Fa had prepared that skin for him last spring, from the carcass of a lone wolf they’d found in a cave. Since then it had been unpicked and sewn to his winter parka, and now to his summer jerkin. He was dreading the time when it would be worn to shreds.

  Bale flicked Asrif a glance, and the smaller boy shrugged, and threw away the stick.

  ‘I may be Wolf Clan,’ Torak told Bale, ‘but my father’s mother was Seal. So whether you like it or not, we’re bone kin.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ spat Bale. ‘If you were kin, you’d know the law of the Sea.’

  ‘Bale,’ broke in Detlan, ‘we should start back. She’s getting restless.’

  Bale glanced at the Sea. The waves had turned choppy. ‘This is your doing,’ he told Torak. ‘Angering the Sea Mother. Tainting her waters with the Forest.’

  Asrif snickered. ‘Oh, Forest Boy, it’ll be the Rock for you!’

  ‘The Rock,’ Torak said blankly.

  Asrif’s grin widened. ‘A skerry near our island. You know what a skerry is, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s a rock in the Sea,’ put in Detlan, who seemed to be struggling to grasp the depths of Torak’s ignorance.

  ‘They give you a skin of water,’ said Asrif, ‘but no food, then they leave you on the Rock for a whole moon. Sometimes the Sea Mother lets you live; sometimes she washes you off.’ His grin faltered, and in his pale-blue eyes Torak saw fear. ‘Washes you off,’ he repeated, ‘into the jaws of the Hunters.’

  ‘Asrif, that’s enough,’ said Bale. ‘We’ll have to take him with us, and let the Leader decide.’

  ‘No!’ protested Torak.

  Bale wasn’t listening. ‘Asrif, load up the trade goods. Detlan, we need a fire to purify us, especially him. I’m going to repair my boat.’ With that he jumped off the rocks and onto the beach.

  Detlan seemed glad of something to do, and set about gathering armfuls of dried seaweed and driftwood. Soon he had a big fire blazing, giving off plumes of thick grey smoke.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ said Torak.

  ‘Give you a taste of the Sea,’ said Asrif with his weaselly grin.

  ‘You can hardly go near our skinboats stinking of the Forest,’ said Detlan, as if that was too obvious to need pointing out.

  Before Torak could protest, Detlan had stripped him naked and pushed him into the fire.

  He managed to leap clear of the flames – but Asrif was waiting on the other side, and forced him back with his harpoon – back through the acrid, choking smoke.

  Again they pushed him through it until his eyes were streaming and his throat raw. Then they tossed him into the Sea.

  The cold hit him like a punch in the chest, and he swallowed salt water. Kicking with all his might, he struggled to the surface, but couldn’t break the bindings round his wrists.

  Rough hands hauled him out and dragged him coughing onto the rocks. Then they cut the bindings at his wrists and bundled him into a grey hide jerkin and breeches that Asrif fetched from his boat. Torak felt naked without his knife and his clan-creature skin, and he hated having to wear someone else’s clothes. ‘Give me – back – my things!’ he spluttered.

  ‘Lucky for you the Salmon Clan didn’t want to trade,’ snorted Asrif, ‘or you wouldn’t have anything to wear!’

  ‘He’s so skinny!’ said Detlan as he yanked Torak to his feet. ‘Don’t they have enough prey in the Forest?’

  Half-pushing, half-pulling, they led him down to the sand. Swiftly Asrif loaded his canoe at prow and stern with large, lumpy bundles wrapped in hide. A short distance away, Bale crouched by his boat, smearing a patch on its side with what looked like fat from a small hide pouch. His hands moved tenderly, but when he saw Torak, he glowered. ‘Take him with you, Detlan,’ he growled. ‘I don’t want him near my boat.’

  ‘In you go,’ said Detlan, pushing Torak towards his craft. Like Asrif’s, it was laden with bundles – including Torak’s gear – but only at the prow end.

  Torak hesitated. ‘Your friend. Bale. Why is he so angry with me?’

  It was Asrif who answered. ‘One of your fish-hooks snagged his skinboat. It’s as well for you that he can repair it.’

  Torak was puzzled. ‘But it’s only a boat.’

  Asrif and Detlan gaped.

  ‘A skinboat is not just a boat!’ said Detlan. ‘It’s a hunting partner! Don’t ever let Bale hear you say that!’

  Torak swallowed. ‘I didn’t mean to -’

  ‘Just get in,’ muttered Detlan. ‘Sit in the stern, keep your feet on the cross-bar, and don’t move. If you put your foot through the hide, we’ll both go down.’

  The skinboat was so shallow that it rocked with Torak’s every move, and he had to grip the sides to keep from falling out. Detlan, although much heavier, leapt in without a wobble. Torak noticed that he braced his thighs against the sides of the craft for balance.

  Bale led the way, skimming across the waves at amazing speed. With the wind at their backs they sped like seabirds over the water, and when Torak twisted round, he was dismayed to see how quickly the Forest was falling away.

  Soon they reached the islands he’d seen from the shore – but to his alarm, they kept going. ‘But – I thought we were going to your islands!’

  ‘Oh, we are!’ grinned Asrif.

  ‘Then why have we gone past them?’

  Detlan threw back his head and laughed. ‘Not those islands! Much further! A whole day’s rowing!’

  ‘What?’ cried Torak.

  They cleared the last island, and suddenly there was no more land to right or left. There was nothing but Sea.

  Torak clutched the sides and stared down into the murky water. ‘I can’t see the bottom,’ he said.

  ‘Of course you can’t!’ said Detlan. ‘This is the Sea!’ Torak twisted round, and saw the Forest sinking beneath the waves – and with it, all hope of finding the cure.

  Suddenly on the wind he caught the howl of a wolf. It wasn’t just any wolf. It was Wolf.

  Where are you? I am here! Where are you!

  Wildly Torak staggered to his feet. ‘Wolf!’

  ‘Get down!’ bellowed Detlan.

  ‘Too late to go back now!’ mocked Asrif. ‘And don’t even think about jumping in, because then we’d have to shoot you!’

  Too late . . .

  Too late, Torak heard Wolf howling for him, as the Forest disappeared into the Sea.

  ‘Wolf!’ he yelled.

&n
bsp; Wolf had heard his plea – had braved the wrath of the World Spirit to seek his pack-brother – but Torak had put himself utterly beyond his reach.

  SEVENTEEN

  The three skinboats flew over the waves as the sun sank towards the Sea, and hope died in Torak’s heart.

  In his mind he saw Wolf running up and down the shore: howling, unable to comprehend why his pack-brother had forsaken him.

  Torak couldn’t bear it. If only he’d howled a reply. But he’d been too stunned. And by the time it had occurred to him, he was far away, and Wolf’s howls were nothing but memory.

  Bitterly he berated himself for breaking the law of the Sea. If Renn had been with him this would never have happened; the Seals would never have got angry, and he’d be back there now with Wolf.

  A gust of wind drenched him with spray, stinging his eyes and making the wound on his calf smart. He lurched and nearly went overboard.

  ‘Keep still!’ said Detlan over his shoulder. ‘If you fall in, I’m not hauling you out.’

  ‘Hear that, Forest boy?’ shouted Asrif from his skinboat.

  ‘Save your breath, Asrif,’ cried Bale. ‘Still a long way to go.’

  Torak clutched the skinboat with numb fingers. Wherever he turned, he saw nothing but waves. The Sea had swallowed everything. Forest, Mountain, Raven, Wolf. He felt as insignificant as dust on the watery hide of this vast, endlessly heaving creature.

  Peering over the edge, he stared into impenetrable dark. If he fell in, when would he reach the bottom? Or would he keep sinking down and down for ever?

  A bird flew past. At first Torak thought it was a goose, but then he saw that it was black all over, and flying so low that its wingtips almost touched the Sea.

  Some time later, they passed a flock of small, plump seabirds sitting on the water, talking to one another in mysterious, un-bird-like groans. They had black backs and white bellies, and very bright, triangular red and yellow beaks.

  Detlan caught Torak staring at them. ‘Puffins,’ he said crossly, ‘they’re puffins. Don’t you have puffins in the Forest?’

  Torak shook his head. ‘Are they hunter or prey?’

  ‘Both,’ said Detlan. ‘But we never hunt them. Puffins are sacred to the Mages.’ He paused, reluctant to talk, but unable to tolerate Torak’s ignorance. ‘They’re not like other birds,’ he said at last. ‘They’re the only creature that can fly through the air, and dive in the Sea, and burrow under the earth. That’s why they’re sacred. Because they can visit the spirits.’

  Asrif brought his skinboat alongside theirs. ‘I bet there’s nothing like them in your Forest,’ he jeered.

  There wasn’t, but Torak was not about to admit it. He gave Asrif a hostile stare.

  The evening wore on, and still the sun hung low in the sky. Soon it would be Midsummer, the time of the white nights, when the sun didn’t sleep at all.

  Torak would have given a lot to go to sleep. His limbs were cramped, and he kept nodding off, then jolting awake again.

  Then, from far beneath the waves, he heard singing.

  Of one accord, all three Seals stopped paddling.

  Bale whipped off his sun-visor and scanned the waves. Asrif bared his teeth in a grimace. Detlan muttered under his breath and clutched an amulet at his breast.

  Torak leaned over the side, listening.

  Such a remote, lonely song. Long, wavering cries that made ripples in his mind. Echoing groans as bottomless as the deeps. It was as if the Sea herself were singing a lament.

  ‘The Hunters,’ breathed Detlan.

  ‘There,’ Asrif said quietly, pointing to the north-west.

  Bale turned his head, then nodded. ‘They’re after capelin. We must be careful not to disturb them.’

  Torak squinted into the sun, but saw nothing. Then – ten paces away – he made out a large patch of calm water. It reminded him of the smoothness you see where a river flows over a rock just beneath the surface. ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

  ‘A shoal of capelin,’ murmured Detlan over his shoulder. ‘They hide far below, and the Hunters chase them to the surface. That’s why the gulls are coming.’

  As if from nowhere, seabirds appeared, mewing excitedly. But according to Detlan, it was below the surface that the Hunters would make their kill. Torak pictured the terror among the fishes as they crowded together, seeking safety, but unable to get away from the Hunters who came at them from the dark . . .

  But what were the Hunters?

  ‘Watch the water,’ whispered Detlan.

  Torak shaded his eyes with his palm.

  The Sea began to seethe. Bubbles broke the surface. The water turned pale green.

  ‘That’s the capelin rising,’ hissed Detlan. ‘The Hunters are beneath them, and all around. They’ve nowhere to go but up . . .’

  More gulls came, till the sky was a screaming tumult. And now Torak saw a dense mass of fish rising to the surface: slender, twisting bodies packed so tight that they turned the Sea to silver and made the water boil. In their panic some leapt clear of the waves, desperate to escape. But the gulls were waiting for them.

  A fish broke the surface right beside Torak: a silver dart no longer than his hand. A huge bird with a wingspan wider than a skinboat swept down, speared it in one sharp talon, and bore it skywards. Craning his neck, Torak recognised the broad, flicked-up wing-feathers of an eagle.

  A gull flew after it, intent on stealing its prize. The sea-eagle gave a contemptuous twitch of its ash-coloured tail and flew away.

  Down among the gulls, the fight for fish was savage. Torak saw one gull struggling to fly away with a half-swallowed capelin jutting from its gullet, while two more chased it, tugging at the fish’s tail.

  Then he saw something that made him forget the seabirds.

  A black fin broke the surface.

  He gasped.

  The fin was as tall as a man, and moving faster than a skinboat.

  ‘Ah,’ breathed Detlan. ‘The Hunters are come.’

  Torak glanced at the Seals. All three were watching with awe – and in Bale’s case, admiration.

  Another towering fin broke the surface. Then another – this one with a notch bitten out of it just below the tip. It was moving fast and with deadly purpose, circling the capelin.

  So that’s a Hunter, thought Torak. His father had drawn him pictures of whales in the dust, but until now Torak had never grasped how huge they were. With a shiver he realised how vulnerable he was, bobbing about in a skinboat as fragile as an eggshell . . .

  Suddenly he heard a splash – and turned to see a column of spray shooting high into the air. Then a great black tail lifted clear of the water and thrashed down again. More spray flew. The water became a chaos of flying foam and shattered sunlight. And this time when the Hunter with the notched fin turned to circle the capelin, it had a young one swimming beside it, its small fin just keeping up with the big one.

  On and on the Hunters circled – dived – then surfaced again, taking their fill of the prey. Then – suddenly – they vanished.

  Holding his breath, Torak scanned the Sea. They could be anywhere. They could be right beneath the skinboat . . .

  A throaty ‘kwssh!’ behind him – and a jet of spray drenched the boat from prow to stern. And there was the one with the notched fin, so close that Torak could have reached out and touched the enormous blunt-nosed head – black on top and white underneath, with an oval patch of white behind the eye. For a moment the huge jaws gaped, and Torak saw sharp white teeth longer than his middle finger. For a moment a dark, shining eye met his. Then the Hunter arched its gleaming back and dived.

  He braced himself, but it didn’t come again. All that remained of the hunt were the gulls squabbling over scraps, and a glitter of silver fish-scales drifting down through the green water.

  Bale bowed to the Sea where the Hunters had been, then took up his paddle and moved off. The others followed in silence.

  Only after they were well clear of the hunting
ground did Detlan turn to Torak. ‘So now you’ve seen them,’ he said.

  Torak was silent for a moment. ‘They hunt in a pack,’ he said. ‘Like wolves.’

  Detlan scowled. ‘The Hunters are like no Forest creature you’ve ever seen. They’re the fastest creatures in the Sea. And the cleverest. And the deadliest.’ He swallowed. ‘A single Hunter can make a whirlpool that can sink the biggest skinboat. One flick of his tail can snap a man’s backbone like a capelin’s.’

  Torak glanced over his shoulder. ‘Do they hunt people?’

  ‘Not unless we hunt them.’

  ‘And do you?’

  Detlan glared at him. ‘Of course not! The Hunters are sacred to the Sea Mother! Besides,’ he added, ‘they always avenge harm done to their own.’ His heavy face became thoughtful. ‘There’s a story that once, before the Great Wave, a boy from the Cormorant Clan caused the death of a young Hunter. He didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident; the Hunter had become tangled in the boy’s seal net, and he’d harpooned it before he could see what it was.’ He shook his head. ‘The boy was so terrified that he never went out in a skinboat again. All his life – his whole life – he stayed on the shore with the women. But many winters later, when he was an old, old man, he was seized with such a longing to be once more on the Sea that he told his son to take him out in his skinboat.’ Detlan licked his lips. ‘The Hunters were waiting for them. They were never seen again.’

  Torak thought about that. ‘But – he hadn’t meant to kill the young one. Was there no way he could have appeased them?’

  Again Detlan shook his head, and after that they didn’t speak for a long time.

  The wind dropped and they entered a fog bank. Bale and Asrif disappeared. Detlan’s paddle cut noiselessly through the water.

  A barren rock slid by to Torak’s right, with a gull perched on top.

  ‘There,’ said Detlan with a nod. ‘That’s the Rock.’

  Somewhere in the fog, Asrif sniggered. ‘Soon that’ll be you, Forest boy.’

  Torak set his teeth, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing him flinch; but inside, his spirits quailed. The Rock was scarcely bigger than a skinboat, and even at its highest point it was no taller than he was. One big wave would wash him into the Sea. He couldn’t imagine surviving on it for a day, let alone a whole moon.