Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Page 54

‘No point checking that one,’ said the Bat Mage.

  ‘Though it sounds like she’s hungry again.’

  ‘Oh, leave her!’ cried the other impatiently. ‘Leave the boy, leave them all! I need rest, and so do you! Let’s go!’

  Yes, go! Renn pleaded silently.

  The Bat Mage hesitated. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘After all, they’ve only got to live one more day.’

  Their footsteps receded down the tunnel.

  Renn sagged with relief. With her fingertips she traced the zigzag tattoos on her wrists, and saw again Tanugeak’s round, shrewd face. You’ll be needing them, I think.

  It was some time later, and the eagle was becoming restive again, before Renn dared to move. As she rubbed the feeling back into her legs, she heard someone stir on the other side of the slab.

  ‘You can come out now,’ whispered Torak.

  He still couldn’t believe it was really her.

  ‘Renn?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Thank the Spirit, you’re awake!’ With her hair stained black, she looked eerily unfamiliar. But she was Renn all right: showing her small, sharp teeth in a wobbly smile, and giving him awkward little pats on the chest.

  ‘Renn . . .’ he said again. The dizziness seized him, and he shut his eyes.

  He wanted to tell her everything. About spirit walking in the ice bear, and getting trapped. About hearing Wolf howling – howling inside his head – and breaking free of the bear. Above all, he wanted to tell her how incredible, how wonderful it was that she’d made her way through the darkness, and found him.

  But when he tried, the bitter bile rose in his throat, and all he managed was, ‘I’m – going to be sick.’

  He got on all fours and retched, and she knelt beside him, holding back his hair.

  When it was over, she helped him stagger to his feet. As they moved into the torchlight, she saw his face for the first time. ‘Torak, what happened to you? Your lips are black! There’s blood on your forehead!’

  He flinched from her touch. ‘Don’t, it’s – tainted.’

  ‘What happened?’ she said again.

  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Instead he said, ‘I know where they’ve got Wolf. Let’s go.’

  But as he staggered down the tunnel, she held him back. ‘Wait. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’ She paused. ‘The Soul-Eaters. They’re not only after Wolf. They want to sacrifice you, too!’

  Then she told him a story that turned him sick all over again, about a chant she’d overheard in the forest of stone. ‘It’s a charm that will give them great power, and protect them from the demons.’

  His knees buckled, and he leaned against the wall. ‘The nine hunters. I heard them say it, but I never thought . . .’ With a scowl, he snatched up the torch. ‘Come on. Not much time.’

  Renn looked puzzled. ‘But – isn’t Wolf here, with the others?’

  ‘No. I’ll tell you as we go.’

  His head was clearing fast, and as he led her through the tunnels – trying to remember the scent trails smelt by the bear, and pausing to listen for sounds of pursuit – he told her of the message from across the Sea, which had prompted the Soul-Eaters to keep Wolf separate. Then he told her what he’d witnessed in the caves. The finding of the Door. The Soul-Eaters’ plan for flooding the land with terror. The fire-opal.

  Once again, Renn halted. ‘The fire-opal? They’ve found the fire-opal?’

  He stared at her. ‘You know about it?’

  ‘Well – yes. But not much.’

  ‘Why haven’t you told me?’

  ‘I never thought . . .’ She hesitated. ‘It’s something you hear about in stories, if – if you grow up in a clan.’

  ‘Tell me now.’

  She moved closer, and he felt her breath on his cheek. ‘The fire-opal,’ she whispered, ‘is light from the eye of the Great Auroch. That’s why the demons are drawn to it.’

  He met her gaze, and in the fathomless black he saw two tiny, flickering torches. ‘So whoever wields it,’ he said, ‘controls them.’

  She nodded. ‘As long as it touches neither earth nor stone, the demons are in thrall, and must do the bidding of the bearer.’

  He remembered the crimson glow in the forest of stone. ‘But it was so beautiful.’

  ‘Evil can be beautiful,’ said Renn with startling coldness. ‘Didn’t you know that?’

  He was still trying to take it in. ‘How old is it? When did it –’

  ‘No-one knows.’

  ‘But now it’s found,’ he murmured.

  She licked her lips. ‘Who has it?’

  ‘Eostra, the Eagle Owl Mage. But after they found the Door, she disappeared.’

  They fell silent, listening to the flutter of bats overhead, and a distant trickle of water; wondering what else thronged the dark.

  It was Torak who spoke first. ‘Come on. We’re nearly there.’

  Again, Renn was puzzled. ‘How do you know where to go?’

  He hesitated. ‘I just do.’

  They climbed higher, and eventually reached a dank little cave where a dirty brown stream pooled before disappearing down an echoing hole. A birchbark pail stood beside it, with a wovenbark pouch containing a few scraps of mouldering cod. In a corner they found what appeared to be a pit, covered by a sturdy wattle screen weighted with rocks. Torak’s heart raced. He knew – he knew – that Wolf was in the pit.

  Handing the torch to Renn, he rolled the rocks away, and threw the screen aside.

  Wolf lay in a tiny, filthy hole scarcely bigger than he was. He was painfully thin: the bones of his haunches jutted sharply. From his matted fur rose a stink of rottenness. He lay on his belly with his head on his paws, not moving at all, and for one terrible moment, Torak thought he was dead.

  ‘Wolf!’ he breathed.

  The great silver head twitched – but the amber eyes were dull.

  ‘His muzzle,’ whispered Renn, ‘look at his muzzle!’

  It was bound with a length of rawhide, cruelly tight.

  Rage burned in Torak’s breast. ‘I’ll fix that,’ he said between his teeth. ‘Give me your knife.’

  Jumping into the pit, he cut the binding. ‘Pack-brother,’ he said in a shaky grunt-whine, ‘it’s me!’

  Wolf’s tail didn’t even twitch.

  ‘Torak,’ Renn said uneasily.

  ‘Pack-brother,’ Torak said again, more urgently.

  ‘Torak!’ cried Renn. ‘Get out!’

  Wolf’s lips drew back in a snarl, and he staggered to his feet. The instant before he sprang, Torak grabbed the edge of the pit and heaved himself up – while Renn seized his parka and pulled with all her might. He shot out, and they shoved the screen and the rocks back on top just as Wolf leapt, hitting it with a thud.

  Renn clamped both hands over her mouth.

  Torak stared at her, aghast. ‘He doesn’t know me,’ he said.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Wolf leapt at the strange, half-grown tailless – but the

  Den snapped shut, and he fell back onto the stone.

  The badness in his tail wouldn’t let him rest. He circled until his hind legs shook so much that he had to lie down. His pelt felt hot and tight, and there was a buzzing in his ears. The black fog was hurting his head.

  From above him came the yip-and-yowl of the strange taillesses. He twitched his ears in bewilderment. He knew those voices. Or he thought he did. But although these taillesses sounded familiar, they smelt all wrong. The female smelt of fish-dog and eagle, and the male – who sounded so like Tall Tailless – stank of the bad ones and of the great white bear. Was it Tall Tailless, or wasn’t it? Wolf didn’t know. He couldn’t untangle it in his head.

  And yet, not long ago, he had caught the scent of his pack-brother, he was sure of it. He’d caught it on the overpelt of the Viper-tongued female; and even though she’d wound the hated deerhide about his muzzle, he had howled for his pack-brother, howled for him inside his head. And for a moment – the swiftest
of snaps – he’d heard an answer; and the sound of his pack-brother’s rough, beautiful howls had been like gentle breath whiffling through his fur.

  Then the black fog had closed in again, and the beautiful howls had changed to the dull roar of a bear. I am angry! the bear had roared. Angry! Angry! Like all bears, this one was no good at talking, so it just kept saying the same thing over and over.

  A scraping above him. Light stung his eyes. Then the lump of birch bark dangled before his nose, and came to rest. Listlessly, he lapped up the wet.

  The strange taillesses were peering in at him. He smelt their confusion and fear. Now the half-grown male was leaning down almost within snapping range, giving soft grunt-whines. ‘Pack-brother! It’s me!’

  That voice . . . so familiar. So soothing to Wolf’s aching head, like the feel of cool mud on sore pads.

  But maybe Wolf was in the other Now, the one he went to in his sleeps. Maybe when he woke up, he would be alone again in this stinking Den.

  Or maybe it was another trick of the bad taillesses.

  Again the male was leaning in. Wolf saw the short fur on his head: much shorter than Tall Tailless. But he also saw a beloved, flat face, and bright wolf eyes.

  Confused, Wolf sniffed the furless paw which reached towards him. It smelt a little like Tall Tailless – but was it? Should Wolf lick it? Or snap?

  Wolf gave a warning growl, and Torak withdrew his hand.

  ‘He doesn’t recognize you,’ said Renn.

  Torak’s fists clenched. ‘But he will.’ He stared into the tiny, squalid hole. The Soul-Eaters would pay for this. He didn’t care if it took him the rest of his life, he would hunt them down and make them pay for what they’d done to Wolf.

  ‘How much time do we have?’ said Renn, wrenching him back to the present. ‘Where are the Soul-Eaters?’

  He shook his head. ‘We’re well out of earshot from the forest of stone; and from what Seshru said, they’ll be resting. I don’t think they’ll come up here until – until tomorrow, when they open the Door. But that’s just a guess.’

  Renn nodded grimly. ‘One thing’s for sure. We won’t get far with Wolf like this. He needs food and medicine. Fast.’

  Opening her food pouch, she withdrew a slab of blubber, and dropped it into the pit. Wolf fell on it and gulped it down without even chewing.

  ‘Good that you thought to bring food,’ said Torak.

  ‘I haven’t finished,’ muttered Renn. She pulled up the birchbark bowl on its cord, filled it with small, dark pellets from her food pouch, and lowered it into the pit. Wolf’s black nose twitched. He heaved himself to his feet, and snuffled them up.

  ‘Lingonberries,’ said Renn.

  For the first time in days, Torak grinned. Then his gaze returned to Wolf, and his grin faded. ‘He will get better. Won’t he?’

  He saw her struggling to compose her face in an encouraging smile.

  ‘But – Renn,’ he faltered, ‘it can’t be that bad.’

  Taking the sputtering torch, she held it over the pit. ‘Look at his tail!’

  Wolf gave a fierce growl. Stay away!

  Torak went cold. The tip of Wolf’s bushy silver tail was matted with dried blood; but it wasn’t that which turned him ill with fear. It was the slimy greenish-black flesh which showed through in patches. Flesh which stank of rottenness.

  ‘It’s the blackening sickness,’ said Renn. ‘It’s poisoning him. The worms of sickness are eating him up from inside.’

  ‘But once we get him out into the snow, he’ll be better –’

  ‘No, Torak, no. We’ve got to stop this now, or it’ll be too late.’

  He knew what she meant, but he couldn’t face it. ‘There must be something you can do! After all, you know Magecraft!’

  ‘If there was, don’t you think I’d have done it? Torak, it’s killing him! You know this!’ She met his eyes. ‘There’s only one thing to do. We’ve got to cut it off.’

  ‘You know I’m right,’ Renn said again, but she could see that Torak wasn’t listening.

  Fearfully, she glanced over her shoulder. So far, there had been no sign of the Soul-Eaters.

  She turned back to him. ‘Do you trust me?’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do!’

  ‘Then you must know that I’m telling the truth! Now tell him. Tell Wolf what we have to do to make him better.’

  He hesitated; then, slowly, he lowered himself into the pit, talking quietly in wolf talk.

  Wolf raised his head and gave a warning growl. To Renn’s horror, Torak ignored it. He crouched, keeping his eyes steady but his gaze soft.

  Wolf’s hackles were stiff, his ears flat back.

  Suddenly he lunged, snapping the air a hand’s breadth from Torak’s face. The clash of the great jaws rang through the cave.

  Torak put his head still closer, and snuffled at the black lips.

  Wolf went on growling, staring at Torak with eyes grown dark and threatening.

  Torak drew back, and rose to his feet. ‘He didn’t understand,’ he said dully.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I – I couldn’t find a way to say it; to tell him this will make him better. Because in wolf talk there is no future.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Renn.

  Slowly, she drew the axe from her belt: the axe she had known – with the knowledge which came to her sometimes – that she would need. ‘Take it.’

  Torak didn’t answer. He was staring at the axe.

  ‘We’ll only – cut off the tip,’ she said. ‘About the length of your thumb.’ She swallowed. ‘Torak. You’ve got to. He’s your pack-brother.’

  He took the axe. Weighed it in his hand.

  Wolf raised his head, then slumped onto his side, his flanks heaving.

  Torak braced his legs and raised the axe.

  Renn felt sick. It was the vision of the White Fox elder.

  Slowly, Torak lowered the axe. ‘I can’t,’ he whispered. He glanced up at her, his eyes glistening. ‘I can’t.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Renn let herself down into the pit. There was just enough room for her to stand beside him. She took the axe from his hand.

  Wolf cast her a narrow glance, and drew back his lips to show his fearsome teeth.

  ‘We should bind up his muzzle,’ she breathed.

  ‘No,’ said Torak.

  ‘He’ll bite!’

  ‘No!’ he said fiercely. ‘If I bind his muzzle now, he’ll think I’m no better than the Soul-Eaters! If I don’t – if I trust him not to hurt me – then maybe – maybe – he’ll trust me to let us help him.’

  For a moment they stared at one another. She saw the conviction in his face, and knew his mind was made up.

  ‘I won’t let him bite you,’ he said, placing himself between her and Wolf’s jaws. As he went down on his knees, Wolf raised his head and sniffed his fingers, then lay back again.

  With his left hand, Torak stroked the fluffy fur behind Wolf’s ears, whiffling and grunt-whining under his breath. His right hand passed gently over Wolf’s flank, then over the haunch. When he reached the base of the tail, Wolf’s muzzle wrinkled in a snarl.

  Torak’s hand continued – slowly – down the tail.

  Wolf growled until his whole body shook.

  Torak froze.

  Then his fingers moved a little further, till they’d nearly reached the rottenness at the tip. His hand closed over the tail, holding it down.

  With blinding speed, Wolf lunged – and seized Torak’s other wrist in his jaws.His teeth clamped tight around the bone, denting the skin but not piercing it: poised to crush.

  Renn held her breath. She’d once seen Wolf crack the thighbone of an elk. He could sever Torak’s wrist as easily as snapping a twig.

  Wolf’s great amber eyes fixed on Torak’s: waiting to see what he would do.

  Torak’s face glistened with sweat as he met Wolf’s gaze. ‘Get ready,’ he told Ren
n.

  She rearranged her icy fingers on the axe-hilt.

  Torak never took his eyes from Wolf’s. ‘Do it,’ he said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Wolf’s tail still hurt, but it was a clean hurt, and the badness was gone.

  The black fog was gone too, and with it the last of his doubts. This half-grown male really was Tall Tailless.

  It was the black fog which had made him glare at his pack-brother, and take his forepaw in his jaws. If you harm me, Wolf had told him with his eyes, I bite. But the gaze of Tall Tailless had been steady and true; and suddenly Wolf had remembered the time when he was a cub, and was choking on a duck bone, and Tall Tailless had grabbed his belly and squeezed. Wolf had been so outraged that he’d twisted round to bite, but Tall Tailless had kept squeezing, and the duck bone had shot out of Wolf’s muzzle – and he’d understood. Tall Tailless had been helping him.

  This was why Wolf had let the pack-sister cut his tail with the big stone claw. This was why he hadn’t bitten his pack-brother’s forepaw. Because they were helping him.

  Now it was over, and the pack-sister was leaning against the side of the Den, panting, while Tall Tailless sat with his head in his forepaws, shaking all over.

  Wolf went to sniff the bit of tail which lay upon the stone: the bit of tail which had been Wolf, but was now just a scrap of bad meat, not worth eating. Then he nose-nudged Tall Tailless under the chin to say sorry for glaring at him, and Tall Tailless made an odd gulping noise, and buried his muzzle in Wolf’s scruff.

  After that, things got better. The pack-sister gave Wolf more lingonberries, and delicious slithery chunks of fish-dog fat, and he felt his strength racing back. Tall Tailless sat beside him, scratching his flank, and the pack-sister dipped the bitten end of his tail in a thin mud that smelt of honey and wet ferns. Wolf let her do this, because he knew that she was making him better.

  Putting his muzzle between his paws, he shut his eyes, and gave himself up to the scratching of his pack-brother, and the wonderful cool mud that was chasing away the last of the badness.

  Wolf recovered with a speed that astonished and gratified Renn.