Chronicles of Ancient Darkness

by Michelle Paver

The relief when the jerkin came off was overwhelming. For a while she lay gasping, feeling the sweat chilling her skin, touching the clothes bunched up in front of her. But now she was resting with a purpose. In only her leggings, she was half the size she had been, and could slip through the tunnel like an eel. She could get back to the forest of stone, and find Torak and Wolf.

  She started wriggling backwards, but her leggings snagged on a spur. It didn’t stop her for long, but to her surprise, the buzzing of the bees turned as fierce as hornets. What did that mean? Didn’t they want her to go back?

  Stretching her hand into the darkness before her, she felt cool air stinging her raw fingers. It wasn’t merely the chill of drying sweat, it was a current of cold air. And if it was cold, it must be coming from outside.

  Pushing with her toes, she edged forwards through the tunnel. It sloped steeply up, but now that she had more room to squirm, it was easier, and she could grasp projections jutting from the rocks, and pull herself along.

  Still she hesitated. If she went forwards – wherever that led – it would mean leaving Torak behind. She couldn’t do that. She had to warn him that he was the ninth hunter in the sacrifice.

  And yet – if she went back, she would find herself once again in the cavern of the Soul-Eaters; and even if she could evade them, and somehow find Torak – even if they could rescue Wolf, and make their way through the tunnels to the mouth of the cave – how would they get out, when it was blocked by that great slab which only Thiazzi could move?

  She chewed her lip, wondering what to do.

  Fin-Kedinn often said that when things went wrong, the worst you could do was nothing. ‘Sometimes, Renn, you have to make a choice. Maybe it’s a good one, maybe not. But it’s better than doing nothing.’

  Renn thought for a moment. Then she started wriggling forwards.

  TWENTY-ONE

  In the forest of stone, the Soul-Eaters were making ready for the finding of the Door.

  Nef hobbled about dipping torches in pitch and setting them in place, while her bat flitted overhead. The veins in Thiazzi’s temples bulged as he hauled rocks into a circle about the altar. Seshru fitted three masks with gutskin eyes for seeing into the Otherworld. Of Eostra there was no sign.

  Torak dreaded the return of the Eagle Owl Mage – and yet he needed it, too. He had to be certain that all four Soul-Eaters were here in this cave, before he could slip away and find Wolf. Until then, he had to be the apprentice Soul-Eater: grinding earthblood on a slab, while the blood of the owl stiffened on his forehead.

  After he’d killed it, Nef had put her heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘Well done. You’ve just taken the first step to becoming one of us.’

  No I haven’t, Torak had told her in his head.

  But he knew what Renn would have said. ‘Where will it end, Torak? How far will you go?’

  He remembered an argument he’d had with Fin-Kedinn, when he’d begged the Raven Leader to let him go in search of the Soul-Eaters. In vain.

  ‘Your father tried to fight them,’ Fin-Kedinn had said, ‘and they killed him! What makes you think you’d be any stronger?’

  At the time, Torak had raged against the Raven Leader’s refusal, but now he understood what lay behind it. It wasn’t only the evil of the Soul-Eaters which Fin-Kedinn feared. It was that within Torak himself.

  Once, the Raven Leader had told him the story of the first winter that ever was. ‘The World Spirit fought a terrible battle with the Great Auroch, the most powerful of demons. At last the World Spirit flung the demon burning from the sky; but as it fell, the wind scattered its ashes, and a tiny speck settled in the marrow of every creature on earth. Evil exists in us all, Torak. Some fight it. Some feed it. That’s how it’s always been.’

  Torak thought of that now: a tiny black seed in his marrow, waiting to burst into life.

  ‘Bring me the earthblood,’ said Seshru, startling him.

  ‘Quickly. It’s almost time.’

  He lifted the heavy slab and carried it to the altar.

  How long before he could escape and find Wolf?

  The plan he’d come up with was dangerous – it might even kill him – but it was the only one he could think of. First he had to return to the stinking tunnel where the “offerings” were held; then he had to get as close to the ice bear as he dared, and then -

  ‘Put it there,’ ordered Seshru.

  He did as he was told, and made to withdraw – but her cold hand clasped his wrist.

  ‘Stay. Watch. Learn.’

  He had no choice but to kneel beside her.

  She’d painted the mask with lime, turning it glaring white. Now she dipped her forefinger in a paste of alder juice and earthblood, and reddened the mouth. Her finger worked in slow circles that made Torak dizzy. As he watched, the face began to live. The scarlet lips glistened with spittle. The mane of dead grass rustled and grew.

  ‘Don’t touch,’ whispered the Viper Mage.

  He jerked back with a cry.

  Laughter rippled through the Soul-Eaters. They were playing with him; making him feel one of them for some purpose of their own.

  ‘You want to know why we’re doing this,’ said Nef, guessing the question in his mind.

  ‘Why are we going to open the Door?’ murmured Seshru.

  ‘Why are we going to let out the demons?’

  ‘To rule,’ said Thiazzi, coming to stand beside her. ‘To unite the clans and rule.’

  Torak licked his lips. ‘But – the clans rule themselves.’

  ‘Much good it does them,’ growled Nef. ‘Have you never asked yourself why the World Spirit is so fickle, so unpredictable? Why does it send the prey at some times, but not others? Why does it kill one child with sickness, but spare another? Because the clans don’t live as they should!’

  ‘They have different ways of sacrificing,’ said Thiazzi, ‘of sending their Dead on the Journey. This displeases the World Spirit.’

  ‘There’s no order to it,’ said Nef.

  Thiazzi drew himself up to his full height. ‘We know the true way. We will show them.’

  ‘But to do that,’ said Seshru, fixing Torak with her unfathomable gaze, ‘we must have power. The demons will give it to us.’

  He tried to look away, but her eyes held his. ‘No-one can control demons,’ he said.

  Thiazzi’s laugh echoed through the cave. ‘You’re wrong. If only you knew how wrong!’

  ‘The mistake others made in the past,’ said Seshru, ‘was to overreach themselves. Our brother who is lost summoned an elemental and trapped it in a great bear. Of course he couldn’t control it. It was a magnificent madness.’

  Magnificent? thought Torak. That madness had cost his father his life.

  Nef hobbled towards him. ‘The demons we summon,’ she declared, ‘will be as many as the bats that darken the moon –’

  ‘– as many as the leaves in the Forest,’ boomed the Oak Mage. ‘We will flood the land with terror!’

  ‘And after that . . .’ the Viper Mage stretched out her hands, then drew them towards her, as if grasping an invisible bounty, ‘we will call them back, and the demons will do our bidding, because we – and only we – possess that which forces them to our will.’

  Torak stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  The beautiful mouth curved. ‘Ah. You’ll see.’

  Torak looked from Nef to Seshru to Thiazzi. Their faces were alight with fervour. While he had been plotting to rescue Wolf, they had been hatching a plan to gain dominion over the Forest.

  ‘Soul-Eaters, they call us,’ said Thiazzi. He spat out a crumb of spruce-blood.

  ‘A foolish name,’ said Nef.

  ‘But useful,’ murmured Seshru with her sideways smile, ‘if it keeps them in fear.’

  Torak rose uncertainly to his feet. ‘I – should go,’ he said. ‘I should guard the offerings.’

  ‘From what?’ said Thiazzi, blocking his path. ‘The Eye is shut. Nothing can get in.’

 
‘Or out,’ said Seshru.

  Torak swallowed. ‘One of them might escape.’

  The Viper Mage slid him a mocking glance. ‘He wants to get away from us.’

  ‘I told you he was a coward,’ sneered Thiazzi.

  ‘Here.’ Nef held out a length of shrivelled black root. ‘Take it. Eat.’

  ‘What is it?’ said Torak.

  Seshru licked her lips, showing her little pointed tongue. ‘It’ll send you into a trance.’

  ‘This is part of being a Soul-Eater,’ said Thiazzi. ‘That is what you want. Isn’t it?’

  All three were watching him.

  He took the root and put it in his mouth. It tasted sweet, but with an undertow of rottenness that made him gag.

  They had trapped him. First the owl. Now this. Where would it end? How was he ever going to find Wolf?

  TWENTY-TWO

  There was black fog in Wolf’s head, and it told him that Tall Tailless wasn’t coming to rescue him, not ever ever ever.

  Something had happened. He’d fallen prey to a Fast Wet, or been attacked by the bad taillesses. Otherwise he would have come by now.

  As Wolf paced the tiny stinking Den, he shook his head to get rid of the fog, but only succeeded in bumping his nose on a rock. The Den was far away from all the other creatures, and so small that he could only take a single pace before he had to turn round and go back again. Pace, turn. Pace, turn.

  He ached to run. In his sleeps, he loped up hills and down into valleys; he rolled about in ferns, waggling his paws and growling with delight. Sometimes he leapt so high that he soared into the Up, and snapped at the Bright White Eye. But always when he woke, he was back in the stinking Den.

  He could have howled – if he’d had the spirit to howl. But what was the use? Nobody would hear him except the bad taillesses and the demons.

  Pace, turn. Pace, turn.

  Hunger gnawed at his belly. In the Forest, when he hadn’t made a kill for a long time, hunger sharpened his nose and ears, and put a spring in his lope that sent him flying between the trees. But this hunger was so bad that it didn’t even hurt.

  All the pacing was making him giddy, but he couldn’t stop, even though it got harder with every step. His tail was much, much worse. He’d tried licking it better, but it didn’t taste like himself any more, and it didn’t carry his scent. It smelt like Not-Breath prey that’s lain in the Forest for many Lights and Darks. It tasted bad. The badness was making him sick. He could feel it seeping through him, eating up his strength.

  Pace, turn. Pace, turn.

  He was deep in the guts of the earth, and far from all other creatures. He missed the whimpering of the otter, and the fury of the wolverine; he even missed the stupid snarling of that stupid bear. And yet – he wasn’t alone. His ears rang with the squeaking of bats and the gibber of demons. He could smell them behind the rocks, hear the scrabbling of their claws. There were so many. It was a torment not to be able to attack: to bite and snap and tear, as he was meant to do. Hunting demons was what he was for.

  Pace, turn. Pace, turn.

  It was demons that had put the badness in his tail; it was demons that were blowing black fog through his head. Because of them, he’d begun to see and hear things that weren’t there. Sometimes he saw Tall Tailless crouching beside him. Once he’d heard the high, thin yowl that the female made when she put the grouse bone to her muzzle.

  Now, beneath the bat-squeaks and the scratching of demons, he caught a new sound, a real one. Two taillesses coming closer: one small, one heavier.

  For a moment, hope leapt. Could it be Tall Tailless and the female?

  No. This wasn’t his pack-brother coming to rescue him. It was the bad taillesses: Viper-Tongue and Pale-Pelt.

  Knowing he was too weak to fight, Wolf cowered in the Den. He heard the covering being scraped back, and saw a lump of bark lowered onto the floor. He snapped up the wet. There was just enough to waken thirst, but not enough to send it back to sleep.

  And yet – what was this? Another scent clung to Viper-Tongue’s overpelt. A clean, well-loved scent: the scent of Tall Tailless!

  Wolf’s joy swiftly turned to horror as he realized that this could only mean one thing. The bad taillesses had caught his pack-brother!

  He went wild. Yowling, hurling himself against the Den. He put up his muzzle to howl, but strong paws grabbed his head. He twisted – tried to bite – but he was too weak and they were too strong. Once again the hated tree bark was wound about his muzzle.

  Once again he was unable to howl.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The forest of stone was growing before Torak’s eyes.

  Rocky trunks thrust upwards with splintering cracks. Brittle branches spread with the jerky shudder of broken fingers.

  He shut his eyes, but still he saw it. He wondered if this was the “inner eye” which Renn had told him about: the one you used for Magecraft. He wished savagely that she was with him now.

  The black root was sweet and rotten in his mouth. He could feel it tugging at his souls, although he’d only chewed it for a moment, then hidden it under his tongue. He felt dizzy and sick, but more alert than ever before in his life.

  He watched the Soul-Eaters circling the altar. Like the forest of stone, they had changed beyond recognition. The Bat Mage snarled through a wrinkled muzzle as she spread her leathery wings to shadow the cave. The Oak Mage towered over the stone trees, his gnarled bark crackling as he brandished twin rattles made of teeth and skulls. The Viper Mage glared with dead gutskin eyes through a hissing mane of serpents.

  Only the Eagle Owl Mage remained unchanged, as if rooted in stone.

  Forgotten in the shadows, Torak hung back. Now was the time to slip away: to go in search of Wolf. But the black root held him fast in an invisible web. He couldn’t move.

  Sounds came to him more keenly than ever before. He heard every drip from the stone trees; every bat-squeak, every flicker of wet snake tongues. He knew why, and the knowledge sickened him. The blood of the owl had sharpened his hearing.

  Hating himself for doing nothing, he watched the Viper Mage whirl round and round, thrashing her snake head in dizzying circles. A serpent slithered past his face. He caught its split yellow stare, the black lightning of its tongue.

  Suddenly the Viper Mage moved to the altar, and plunged both hands in a hollowed stone – then drew them out, spattering red. Thrashing, swaying, she glided to the back of the cavern, and planted her palms on the rock.

  The Oak Mage and the Bat Mage bayed in ecstasy.

  Torak gasped.

  As the Viper Mage sprang away, her handprints smoked. The red stain was eating through the skin between this world and the Other.

  At last he understood the meaning of the yellow handprints he’d glimpsed on his way into the caves. They’d been made by someone trying to find the Door.

  And now, behind the serpent hiss and the rattle of tooth on bone – behind the groans of the earth itself – Torak heard a sound that made his knees give, and the back of his neck crawl as if a spider were scuttling across it. A sound to suck the hope from the marrow, and stop the heart with dread: harsh, malevolent, rasping breath.

  Demons. Demons on the other side of the rock, lusting to be let loose.

  In helpless horror he stared at the whirling, chanting Soul-Eaters. What should he do? He had to find Wolf. He had to stop them engulfing the world in terror.

  The Viper Mage was clutching the Walker’s strike-fire and tapping it over the rock, pausing now and then to listen. Faster went the rattles. Faster went the ‘tap-tap-tap’ of the black stone claw.

  Torak’s head swam. He tried to move, but the invisible web had him in its grip.

  ‘Tap-tap-tap.’

  Between the outstretched arms of the Viper Mage, the rock began to move.

  Torak blinked. It had to be just a flicker of torchlight . . .

  No. There it was again: like a hand pushing up beneath taut-stretched hide. Pushing up beneath the rock.
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  This time there was no mistaking it. Behind the rock – in the burning chaos of the Otherworld – the demons were straining to break through. Smooth, blind heads tented and stretched the stone. Cruel mouths gaped and sucked. Savage claws scrabbled. The wall of the cavern was buckling, fragile as a day-old leaf. Not for long could it withstand such terrible, insatiable hunger.

  The Eagle Owl Mage rose and raised one arm, and Torak saw that she held a black oak mace surmounted by a fiery stone.

  The Soul-Eaters paused in their dance. ‘The fire-opal,’ they breathed.

  Bewildered and fascinated, Torak sank to his knees – and the fire-opal filled the cavern with crimson light. It was the blistering heat at the heart of the fiercest ember. It was the clamorous scarlet of fresh blood on snow. It was the blaze of the angriest sunset, and the glare of the Great Auroch in the deep of winter. It was beauty and terror, ecstasy and pain – and the demons wanted it. Their howls shook the cavern as they hurled themselves at the rock, redoubling their onslaught in their frenzy.

  Torak swayed. This was the secret power of the Soul-Eaters. With this they would bend the demons to their will.

  ‘The fire-opal,’ they whispered, as the Eagle Owl Mage held the mace on high, and around her the stone trees thrashed in a soundless wind.

  As Torak watched, the Oak Mage and the Bat Mage gnashed their teeth until black spittle flew, and the Viper Mage planted her smoking palms against the rock – and threw up her head and cried, ‘The Door – is – found!’

  She staggered back, and Torak saw that on the rock she’d completed a great ring of handprints – and inside the ring, the demons were on the point of bursting through.

  At that moment, the Eagle Owl Mage lowered the fire-opal, shrouding it in her robes – and its scarlet light was quenched. The taut-stretched rock sprang back. The howls of the demons sank to a furious panting.

  ‘The Door is found,’ hissed the Viper Mage, and slumped to the ground in a faint.

  The invisible web holding Torak snapped.

  He leapt to his feet and ran.