Spirit Walker

by Michelle Paver

  older than the others. Torak wondered if she was the leader.

  "You have reached the True Forest," she said. "You may not pass."

  The "True Forest"? In spite of himself, Torak was annoyed. What was wrong with the Forest where he'd grown up?

  "I come as a friend," he said, trying to sound friendly but not quite succeeding. "My name is Torak. I have bone kin in the Deep Forest. Oak Clan and Red Deer by my mother. What clan are you?" The woman drew herself up. "Forest Horse," she said haughtily. "As you would know if you were telling the truth."

  "I am telling the truth," said Torak.

  "Prove it."

  Face flaming, Torak went to his pack and brought out his mother's medicine horn. It was made from the hollowed-out tip of a red deer antler, fitted with a black oak base and stopper. Fin-Kedinn had told him to keep it hidden; but he couldn't think of any other proof. "Here." He held it out.

  The Leader recoiled as if he'd threatened her. "Put it down!" she cried. "We never touch strangers! You might be a ghost or a demon!" "I'm sorry," Torak said hastily. "I'll--put it here."

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  He set it on the ground, and the Leader leaned forward to inspect it. Torak reflected that the Forest Horses seemed to have more in common with their clan-creatures than merely their horsetails. "It is of Red Deer making," declared the Leader.

  A murmur of surprise rippled through her people.

  Taking a step toward Torak, the Leader peered at his face. "You have something of the True Forest in you, despite the evil you did here; but your clan-tattoos are unknown to us. You may not pass." "What?"

  said Torak. "But I have to!"

  "He cannot enter the True Forest!" said one of the clan. "See how he treated the boar!"

  "And the willow tree!" said another. "Look at her lying in the mud! Dying with nothing to ease her pain!

  "How do you ease a tree's pain?" said Torak indignantly.

  Seven pairs of hazel eyes glared at him through their leaf-tattoos.

  "You have used our brother and sister very ill," said the Leader. "That you cannot deny."

  Torak glanced at the shattered tree and the muddy carcass. "Take them," he said.

  "What?" said the Leader, her eyes narrowing.

  "Take the boar and the willow," said Torak.

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  "There's only one of me, but seven of you. You could deal with them much better than I could. And that way, we'd avoid the bad luck."

  The Leader hesitated, as if suspecting a trick. Then she turned to her people. To Torak's surprise, she didn't speak, but made a series of slight, subtle gestures with one hand.

  Immediately, four of them stepped forward, whipped out slender knives of green slate, and descended on the carcass. With astonishing speed and skill they cut it up, then packed it with the hide and innards in wovenbark nets drawn from their packs, and slung them over their shoulders.

  "We will return for our sister," said one, with a nod at the willow and a scornful glance at Torak. "We will lay her to rest." Then he was gone, melting into the Forest with his three companions.

  All trace of the boar had vanished, apart from the tusks, which one of the Forest Horses now set before Torak. "These you must keep," she told him severely, "to mark the great wrong you did to the prey. If you were of the True Forest, you would be forced to wear them forever as a penance." Torak appealed to the Leader. "I know I did wrong, but I didn't mean it."

  "That doesn't matter."

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  He took a deep breath and tried again. "I came here because we need your help. There's a sickness in the Forest--"

  "We know of this," cut in the Leader.

  "You do? Has it struck here too?"

  The Leader raised her chin. "We have no sickness in the True Forest. We guard our borders well. But the trees tell us many things. They tell of the evil that haunts their sisters in the west. They whisper whence it came." Torak thought about that. "It's said that one of your Mages has the cure."

  "We have no cure," said the Leader.

  Torak's jaw dropped. "I know I've angered you," he said carefully, "and I'm sorry. But if your own clan doesn't have the cure, then maybe another--"

  "We have no cure!" insisted the Leader. "There is no cure in the Deep Forest! The people of the Otter spoke too hastily! They are always too hasty, just like their clan-creature!" "Can you really not help at all?" said Torak in disbelief. "Not you or anyone else in the Deep Forest? People are dying."

  "I am grieved," said the Leader, not sounding grieved at all, "but I cannot alter the truth. What you seek is by the Sea."

  Torak stared at her.

  "The Sea?"

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  "You must head west. This is the message of the trees. Head west till you can go no farther. There you shall find what you seek."

  "Why should I believe you?" said Torak. "You're just trying to get rid of me."

  The Leader's green face closed. "The trees never lie. If you had more than a splinter of the True Forest in your souls, you would know this. But you do not--or you would not have done the evil you did here!" "I didn't want to kill the boar," said Torak, "but I had to. It attacked me. Someone had wounded it and left it to go mad."

  The remaining Forest Horses cried out in horror.

  "This is a terrible evil!" said the Leader. "Where is your proof? How could we be unaware of this, when not a twig may snap in our Forest that we do not hear?"

  Torak stooped and picked up the dart he'd dug from the boar's side. Then he remembered the Forest Horses' reluctance to touch a stranger, and put it back on the ground. He was unprepared for their reaction. The Leader snarled, revealing shockingly white teeth between her dark-green lips. "You

  dare

  accuse us?"

  "Of course not!" said Torak. Then he saw what he'd missed before: a clutch of dark wooden darts-- exactly like the one that had wounded the boar-93

  dangling from her belt.

  "Then whom

  do

  you accuse?" demanded the Leader. "Some other Deep Forest clan? Speak quickly, or you die!"

  "I don't know!" cried Torak. "I mean--I've seen it, but I don't know what it is! I only know that I found this dart in the boar's side!"

  To his relief, the Forest Horses lowered their bows.

  "I call it the Follower," he said. "It has a face like yours--no, no, I mean--a face tattooed with leaves, but smaller, like a child, and with claws on its hands and feet."

  The Leader backed away. Her green lips thinned, and beneath the leaf-tattoos her face went pale. "You must leave at once," she said, breathing hard. "If you take one step into the True Forest, I swear by all the trees who gave me birth that you will not live to take another!" Torak met her eyes, and saw the fear in them. "You know what it is, don't you?" he said. "The Follower. You know what it is."

  The Leader did not reply. She made another sign to her people, and they turned and melted into the trees.

  "No!" shouted Torak, running after them. "Tell me what it is! At least tell me that!"

  An arrow whipped past his face.

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  "Tell me what it is!" he yelled.

  Just before she vanished, the

  Leader turned.

  "Tokoroth

  ..." she whispered.

  "What does that mean?" said Torak.

  "TokorotA

  ...."

  The green face faded into the leaves.

  Long after she had gone, the name hung on the air like an evil thought.

  Tokoroth . . .

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  Chapter TWELVE

  A tokoroth?"

  said Renn, nursing her bandaged hand. "What's that?"

  "Not here," snapped Saeunn.

  Without another word she started through the camp. Though she was bent as an old tree battered by storms, she moved with surprising speed, clearing the way with her staff: past the people working at the smoking-racks, past the Guardian Rock, and into the shadow of the gorge. She did not lo
ok around. She simply assumed that Renn would follow.

  Biting back her irritation, Renn did. As she went, people cast her the same wary glances they normally

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  reserved for the Mage. More and more, they regarded her as Saeunn's apprentice. Renn hated that.

  It was three days since the sickness had struck, and in that time, four more Ravens had fallen ill. To stop them harming others or themselves, Fin-Kedinn had taken drastic action, shutting them in a cave on the other side of the river, and setting a constant guard.

  Renn could taste the fear in the air. She could see it in people's eyes. Will I be next? Will you?

  She was horribly afraid that the bite on her hand meant it would be her. She needed to talk to someone; to be told she was wrong. But Saeunn had forbidden her to speak of it.

  In the past, that wouldn't have stopped Renn; she'd been defying Saeunn all her life, and saw no reason to stop now. But everyone to whom she usually told her secrets was gone. Oslak was dead. Vedna had returned to her birth clan, the Willows. Torak had disappeared.

  Torak. It was two days since he'd left, and even thinking about him made her furious. He was no friend of hers. Friends do not run away without a word, leaving only a pebble, a painted pebble.

  To work off her feelings, she'd been hunting every day; and since she was a good hunter, Fin-Kedinn had let her go. It was while she was hunting that she'd got bitten. So in a way, that was Torak's fault too. It had happened that morning. She'd risen at dawn

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  and started through the misty Forest to the hazel thicket on the southeast side of the valley, where she'd set some snares.

  When she'd reached the thicket, she'd thought it was empty. Then, from deep within, had come a rustling of leaves.

  That was when she'd forgotten one of the first rules Fin-Kedinn had ever taught her, and stuck in her hand without looking.

  The pain was terrible. Her scream shook the Forest and sent wood pigeons bursting from the trees.

  Howling, she yanked back her hand--but whatever had bitten her clung on tight. She couldn't see it, the leaves were too dense, and she couldn't shake it off. Pulling out her knife, she plunged in--then jerked back in horror. It wasn't a viper or a weasel, it was a child.

  In a flash she took in a glitter of eyes in a mass of grimy hair, sharp brown teeth sunk deep in her palm.

  She raised her knife to ward it off--and the creature shot her a look of pure malevolence, let go of her hand, and hissed at her-

  hissed like

  an angry wolverine--then fled.

  That was when Thull and Fin-Kedinn had come running, axes at the ready.

  For some reason Renn did not understand, she didn't tell them what had happened, but hid her hand behind her back and concealed how shaken she was by 98

  a show of embarassment. "Stupid of me not

  to

  look first! Lucky it was only a weasel!"

  Thull had been relieved it was nothing worse, and had headed back for camp. Fin-Kedinn had given her a measuring look, which she'd returned in silence. "What

  was

  it?" she said now as the Raven Mage halted twenty paces into the gorge. Uneasily, Renn glanced about. She didn't like the gorge, and seldom ventured in unless she had to.

  Though it was midday, they were in deep shadow. The gorge was always in shadow, its looming sides shutting out all but a sliver of sky. The Widewater didn't like it any more than Renn. Angrily it thundered over a chaos of boulders. Renn shivered. In here, a tokoroth could creep up behind you, and you'd never even hear it. . . .

  "Tokoroth," muttered Saeunn, making her jump.

  "But what does that mean?"

  Saeunn didn't answer. Crouching on a patch of hard red earth by the river's edge, she tented her tunic over her bony knees. Her feet were bare, her toenails brown and hooked.

  Once, Torak had told Renn that Saeunn reminded him of a raven. "An old one, with no kind feelings left." Renn thought she was more like scorched earth: dried up and very, very hard. But Torak was right about the feelings. Renn had known the Raven Mage all her life, 99

  and she'd never seen her smile.

  "Why should I tell you about the tokoroth?" said Saeunn in her rasping croak. "You want to know this, yet you refuse to learn Magecraft." "Because I don't like Magecraft," retorted Renn.

  "But you're good at it. You know things before they happen."

  "I'm good at hunting too, but you--"

  "You lose yourself in the hunt," cut in Saeunn, "to escape your destiny. To escape becoming a Mage."

  Renn took a deep breath and held on to her temper. Arguing with Saeunn was like trying to cut flint with a feather. And it didn't help that there might be some truth in what she said. She resolved to be patient until she'd got what she wanted. "Tell me about the tokoroth," she said.

  "A tokoroth," said Saeunn, "is a child raised alone and in darkness, as a host for a demon."

  As she spoke, the gloom deepened, and a thin rain began to fall, pocking the red earth.

  "A tokoroth," she went on, "knows no good or evil. No right or wrong. It is utterly without mercy, for it has been taught to hate the world. It obeys no one but its creator." She stared at the black, rushing water. "It is one of the most feared creatures in the Forest. I never thought to hear of one in my lifetime." 100

  Renn looked down at her injured hand. Beneath Saeunn's poultice of coltsfoot and cobwebs, the wound throbbed painfully. "You said 'its creator.' What do you mean?" Saeunn's clawlike hand gripped her staff. "The one who captured the child. The one who caught the demon and trapped it in the body of the host." Renn shook her head. "Why have I never heard of this before?"

  "Few now know about tokoroth," said Saeunn, "and even fewer speak of them. Besides," she added with an edge to her voice, "you don't wish to learn Magecraft. Or had you forgotten?" Renn flushed. "How are they created?"

  To her surprise, the corners of the lipless mouth went down in an approving grimace. "You go to the roots of things, that's good. That's what a Mage does." Renn stayed silent.

  Saeunn drew a mark in the earth that Renn couldn't see. "The dark art of creating tokoroth," she said, "was lost long ago. Or so we thought. It seems that someone has learned it afresh." She took away her hand to reveal the three-pronged fork of the Soul-Eaters. Renn had half expected that, but it was a shock to have her suspicion confirmed. "But-

  how

  are they made?" she said, her voice barely audible above the roar of the Widewater.

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  Saeunn rested her chin on her knees and gazed into the water, and Renn followed her gaze--down, down, to the murky bottom of the river. "First," said the Mage, "a child is taken. Maybe it goes missing when its kin turn away for a moment. They search, thinking it has wandered off into the Forest. They never find it. They grieve, believing it lost, or taken by a lynx or a bear."

  Renn nodded. She knew people who'd lost children that way, everyone did, and she always felt a tearing pity for them. She too had lost kin. Her father had been missing for five moons before his body was found. She'd been seven summers old. She remembered the agony of not knowing. "Better for the child," Saeunn said grimly, "if it

  had

  fallen prey to a bear. Better than being taken for a tokoroth."

  Renn frowned. "Why? At least it's still alive."

  "Alive?" One bony hand clenched. "Kept in darkness for moon after moon? No warmth but what will barely keep it alive? No food but rotting bat meat tossed into its own filth? Worst of all, no people. Not till it has forgotten the touch of its mother's hand; forgotten its very name." Renn felt the chill of evil seeping into her bones.

  "Then," said Saeunn, "when it is nothing but an empty husk--only then does its creator summon the

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  demon and trap it in the body of the host."

  "You mean--the child," mumbled Renn. "It is still a child."

  "It is a host," Saeunn said flatly. "Its souls are in thrall to the demon
forever."

  "But--"

  "Why do you doubt this?" said Saeunn.

  "Because it's still a child, maybe it could be rescued--"

  "Fool! Never let kindness get in your way! Now tell me. What

  is

  a demon? Quick! Tell!"

  It was Renn's turn to be fierce. "Everyone knows that. Why do you want me to say it?"

  "Don't argue, girl, do as I say!"

  Renn blew out. "A demon," she said, "comes into being when something dies and its souls are scattered, so that it loses its clan-soul. With only the name-soul and world-soul left, it doesn't have any clan feeling, so it can't know right or wrong. It hates the living." She broke off, remembering the moment last autumn when she'd looked into the eyes of a demon, and seen nothing but hot, churning hatred. "It lives to destroy all living things," she faltered. "Only to destroy."

  The Mage struck the ground with her staff and gave a croak almost like laughter. "Good! Good!" She leaned forward, and Renn saw the thick vein throbbing at her temple. "You've just described a tokoroth. It may 103

  look

  like a child, but do not be deceived! That's only the body. The demon has won. The child's souls are buried too deep ever to escape." Renn hugged herself. "How could anyone do that to a child?"

  Saeunn lifted her shoulders in a shrug, as if the existence of evil were too obvious to need comment.

  "And what is a tokoroth

  for?"

  said Renn. "Why would you want to make one in the first place?"

  "To do your bidding. To slink into shelters. To steal. To maim. To terrify. Why do you think Fin-Kedinn sets a watch every night?"

  Renn gasped. "You mean--you knew it was here?"

  "Since the sickness came. We just didn't know why."

  Renn thought about that. "So--you think the tokoroth is causing it?"

  "The tokoroth does the bidding of its creator."

  "The Soul-Eaters."

  Saeunn nodded. "The tokoroth is causing the sickness at the bidding of its masters--in some way we don't understand."

  Again Renn was silent. Then she said, "I think Torak saw it. Before he left, he tried to warn me. But-- he didn't know what it was." A new thought struck her. "Is there more than one?" "Oh, I think we can be sure of that."

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