Chronicles of Ancient Darkness
Chapter 145 : By now, Torak was giddy with hunger. All that awaited him at camp was his share of the

By now, Torak was giddy with hunger. All that awaited him at camp was his share of the hazelnuts. The sky was a deep, cold blue, strewn with stars. The moon was not yet up, but he made out the fanged blackness of the Mountains and above them, faint and far, the red star of winter. The eye of the Great Auroch.

When the red eye is highest, Fa had said as he lay dying, the demons are strongest.

The Eagle Owl Mage and her minions were vivid in Torak's mind; but Fa's face was a blur. With a shock, Torak realized that he'd become a different person since his father had died. Maybe Fa wouldn't even recognize him. Maybe that was why his spirit had fled from him at the Raven camp.

'Fa,' he said into the dark. 'It's me. Torak. Where are you? How do I find you?'

The only answer was the hiss of windblown snow.

Huddled in her sleeping-sack, Renn listened to the whispering snow.

She was hungry and tired, but she knew she wouldn't sleep. The finding charm had been worse than a failure. A wall of ice had slammed shut in her mind. Turn back, commanded the Eagle Owl Mage. None can hinder Eostra.

Renn had been left dazed, clutching her pounding head. She felt so bad that when Torak returned, she had to ask him to sprinkle the earthblood around their snow hole. It wasn't a line of power, only a Mage could do that, but it was better than nothing. And maybe the turf man would help keep the tokoroths away.

Curled on her side, Renn watched the sky through the slit in the snow hole, and tried to work out Eostra's purpose.

The Eagle Owl Mage wanted Torak's spirit walking power, that much was clear. But how did she mean to take it? And when?

Torak crawled into the shelter, and Renn heard him take off his boots, pat them down for a pillow, and get into his sleeping-sack. He asked if she felt better, and she said no, and he said he was sorry. A few moments later, his breathing changed. Like a wolf, he had the knack of falling asleep in an instant.

Around middle-night, the half-eaten moon rose, and Renn asked it for help. She'd always felt close to the moon. She was sorry when the sky bear ate it, and she took strength from the fact that it always came back.

The moon.

Renn started awake. Why didn't I see it before? I've been ignoring the moon!

In several days, it would be the dark of the moon. And this moon was special: Souls' Night, when the World Spirit turns from a stag-headed man to a woman with red willow hair. A dangerous time, when ghosts are abroad, seeking the clans they have lost. When the dead get closest to the living.

Souls' Night.

This was what Eostra was waiting for. With a clutch of dread, Renn saw how it fitted with what she and Saeunn had foreseen. The Listener shall die . . .

Until now, she had pushed that to the back of her mind. But soon, Torak would have to be told.

Sitting up, she saw that he was deeply asleep, frowning in his dreams. These days, he slept as if he didn't want to wake up.

It isn't fair, thought Renn. Why does he have to be the Listener? Why does he have to be different?

Turning on his side, Torak burrowed into his sleeping-sack, his hair falling over his face.

I'll tell him soon, Renn decided. But not yet.

Besides. A dark night on the fells was a bad time to talk of prophesies; and that line of earthblood around the camp was fragile. There was no knowing what might be listening.

FIFTEEN.

Fin-Kedinn watched the pine marten dart up the tree. Then he moved on, careful and silent. The one he sought might be listening.

For days he had searched the places where his quarry used to hunt long ago. On the fringes of the Deep Forest, the Lynx Clan had heard rumours; the Bat Clan had found traces which had brought him south again, to this gully. And all the time, Torak and Renn were out there alone against the might of Eostra.

In the gully, nothing stirred. A while ago, these rocks would have echoed with the chatter of water, but the ice storm had silenced the stream with a blast of freezing breath. Now each ripple would last the whole winter. That wave cresting the boulder must wait till spring to fall.

Fin-Kedinn reached a fork in the trail. One path wound west, the other east, deeper into the hills. There were no tracks. He had to rely on the Forest to guide him, and on what he knew of the one he sought.

He took a few paces up the first trail. A woodp.e.c.k.e.r alighted on a pine trunk, c.o.c.ked its scarlet head, and peered at him. Kik! Kik! Then it flew away.

He heard a distant clicking as a squirrel scampered from branch to branch. Further along, he found a small pile of droppings on a tree stump: twisted, musky smelling. Pine marten, perhaps the one he'd just seen.

Too many inhabitants on this trail. It probably wasn't the one.

Retracing his steps, he started up the other trail. Around him, spruce trees were frozen white cones. Under one, an auroch had cracked the ice with its hoof to get at a clump of willowherb.

In itself, this told Fin-Kedinn little, but among the remains of the willowherb, he found an exposed pine root which had been only partly stripped of bark. On it lay a brittle brown hair. He guessed that after the auroch had left, a red deer had come along and nibbled the bark; but it hadn't had the chance to eat it all. Its tracks were deep and splayed as it fled up the trail. Something had frightened it.

Not a bear; they were asleep for the winter. Lynx? Wolf? Fin-Kedinn didn't think so. He'd seen no yellow scent-markings in the snow, no claw-marks on trees. Perhaps, he thought, a lone hunter had caused the deer to flee.

Dusk was falling. Soon the first early stars would appear, although the half-eaten moon would not rise until middle-night. Fin-Kedinn hadn't gone far when he paused to listen. In the distance, a jay's warning call. A moment later, the dry swish of wings as it flew overhead, saw him, and gave another rattling kshaach!

It had been higher up the ridge when it uttered its first cry; Fin-Kedinn guessed that whatever it had spotted was near the top. He knew these hills. Ahead lay a rocky overhang: a good place to hide and keep an eye on what approached. And if he was wrong, he could shelter there for the night.

As he climbed, he caught a whiff of woodsmoke.

He heard the crack of a branch. Or was it the crackle of a fire?

Moving behind a holly tree, he scanned his surroundings.

Ah. Clever. Nowhere near the overhang, but down in that dell, thirty paces off the trail. The fire was hidden behind a boulder, and cast only the faintest glow. Fin-Kedinn hadn't expected less. The one he sought knew how to hide.

Quietly, he descended into the dell.

In the gloom, he made out a shadow that wasn't a rock. It sat hunched over the remains of a small deer, with an axe to hand.

Fin-Kedinn loosened his knife in its sheath and took a step closer. Stopped. Went on again.

The shadow rose, s.n.a.t.c.hed the axe, and swung at him.

Fin-Kedinn gripped the axe-arm by the wrist.

Face to face, they strained against each other.

Abruptly, the tension went out of the axe-arm.

Fin-Kedinn relaxed his hold. 'Time to make amends, old friend.'

SIXTEEN.

The fish-hooks came up empty, and a wolverine had raided the snares in the night.

'So no daymeal,' said Torak, flinging down the lines.

Renn blinked at the empty hooks. 'We'll have to eat lichen.'

He threw her a doubtful look. 'Can people eat that?'

'I think so.' But she didn't sound too sure.

Torak helped her sc.r.a.pe a few handfuls from under the ice, and they put them to soak in her waterskin. While she fed the fire, he went foraging. After a long, cold search, all he'd managed were a few crowberries and some frost-bitten sorrel.

Renn added them to the cooking-skin, where the lichen had stewed to a dark, slimy sludge.

'Are you sure people can eat this?' said Torak after the first mouthful.

'The Mountain clans do. If times are bad.'

'They'd have to be bad. Very bad.'

'Maybe Wolf will have better luck. We could share some of his.'

Torak didn't relish the idea of scavenging one of Wolf's kills, but Renn was right. It had been two days since their last ptarmigan. It was now vital to find the reindeer: not only to find the Mountain clans, but to eat.

By mid-morning, they reached a river which, surprisingly, was still awake. It rushed noisily between stony hills crowned with three more of the strange turf men. Its shallows were free of ice. Torak and Renn grubbed up clumps of brilliant green horsetails, and munched the swollen root-buds raw.

As he straightened up, Torak's head whirled. The horsetails had done little to a.s.suage his hunger. His belly was beginning to hurt.

Renn slumped on a rock and took off her mask. Her eyes were ringed with blue shadows. 'You'd think there'd be fish in it,' she said. 'But I haven't seen any.'

They glanced at each other. How long could they carry on?

'When we find the reindeer,' said Torak, 'I'm going to eat a whole one. Starting at the neck and working my way down. I'll kill another one for you.'

She smiled wanly.

He squatted to refill his waterskin. 'What river is this, anyway?'

'I don't know and I don't care. If I don't get meat soon, I'll eat my medicine pouch.'

But Torak had stopped listening. Whipping off his mitten, he plucked something from the water.

'What is it?' said Renn.

He showed her: a light-brown hair, as long as his thumb.

Reindeer.

'They must be upstream,' said Renn.

They listened. The river was too loud.

Its banks were boulder-strewn and impa.s.sable. They'd have to make a lengthy detour around the hills, or climb them. They decided to climb. It would be quicker, and give them a better view of whatever lay on the other side.

Climbing proved harder than they expected. Torak was appalled at how weak he'd become. Black spots swam before his eyes, and every step was an effort. Beside him, Renn's breath came in gasps.

Wolf appeared above them, pausing beside a turf man before racing down to Torak. His fur was fluffed up with excitement. Reindeer! Hurry! We hunt!

Torak translated for Renn.

Behind her snow mask, her eyes gleamed. 'Let's go.'

Swiftly, Torak told his pack-brother in wolf talk that he must hunt without them, as he'd have a better chance of making a kill. Wolf didn't argue, and disappeared over the hill.

The thrill of the hunt gave Torak and Renn new strength. As they neared the top of the hill, they dropped to the ground and belly-crawled. Reindeer have keen senses. If there were any on the other side, it was vital not to spook them.

Slipping his bow from his shoulder, Torak took an arrow from his quiver. Renn had already done so. She'd also tied back her red hair and tucked it inside her hood, so the prey wouldn't see. Catching his eye, she touched her clan-creature feathers and gave him her familiar, sharp-toothed grin.

The wind chilled Torak's face. Good. It was blowing his scent away from the prey.

Stealthily, he crawled forwards. He crested the ridge. He caught his breath.

Below him the hill fell away to the glittering sweep of the river. Another river flowed across it: a river of reindeer. Clouds of frosty breath hazed golden in the sun from thousands of muzzles. The air rang with the bleating of calves and the grunts of their mothers; the nasal hoots of rutting bucks. And beneath it all, like the beating of a great heart, the steady drumming of thousands of hooves.

Torak had only ever seen small groups of reindeer in the Forest. Awestruck, he watched the herd flowing slowly, purposefully, endlessly across the river. The hill where he lay dropped steeply through a thicket of willows to a flat expanse of gravelly riverbank, then rose again to another hill, also thick with willows. He guessed that the gap in between was one of the reindeers' ancient crossing places. Fin-Kedinn had once told him that the herds have followed the trails of their ancestors for thousands of winters.

He saw how they converged in a dense press of bodies as they pa.s.sed through the gap. He saw the lifted heads and jostling antlers of swimming reindeer, the quick heave as they climbed the banks and scattered on the other side. He knew that this river of life would be trailed by many hunters: eagles, wolves, ravens, wolverines, people.

But where were the people?

He spotted Rip and Rek flying high, turning their heads from side to side as they searched for carca.s.ses. He saw a buck rise on its hind legs and run a few paces to warn the others of danger, then thud to earth and charge a wolverine, who bounded away. And there in the distance was Wolf, a grey shadow at the edge of the herd, seeking an abandoned calf, or a reindeer too sick or injured to put up a fight.

But no people. Just three more turf men on the hill opposite, standing with antler arms outstretched.

Renn whispered in his ear. 'We're out of arrowshot. We've got to get downhill, into the thicket.'