Chronicles of Ancient Darkness

by Michelle Paver

  The trail of the Viper Mage led back into the Forest, then disappeared. More encouragingly, the upper part of the shore was crisscrossed with paw-prints. From the look of it, Wolf had been casting for scents.

  ‘Wolf was with her,’ said Bale. ‘That must be a good sign.’

  ‘Maybe,’ muttered Torak. He scanned the shore.

  Oh, Wolf, where are you?

  He didn’t dare howl, for fear of drawing Seshru. Her presence hung in the air, like the smell of smoke which lingers after a fire.

  ‘But if Renn was here,’ said Bale, ‘where did she go?’

  Head down, Torak traced her trail from the trees at the eastern end of the bay to where it ended. Then he did it again. Same result. The trail ended in the Lake.

  Shutting his mind to the worst, he continued his search.

  Over here, something had scraped through the mud into the shallows. Near it he found an alder sapling, its bark slightly worn in a narrow band, as if by rope. ‘A boat. She found a boat moored to this tree.’

  Bale blew out a long breath. ‘That means she could be anywhere.’ He flexed his shoulders. ‘We need to rest. Start again when it’s light. Otherwise, we’ll make mistakes.’

  I started doing that a while back, thought Torak.

  To get away from the guardian posts, they took the skinboat round a spur of pines and put in at the next bay, then carried the boat a good distance up the wooded slope beyond the shore. Bale shared out a few strips of dried duck meat, and they ate in prickly silence.

  Dawn wasn’t far off, but the Forest was strangely hushed. No frogs, no crickets. And no birds, thought Torak uneasily. Only Rip and Rek, who were making a nuisance of themselves picking at his gear.

  From where he sat, he saw the flicker of campfires on the western shore. He guessed that the Raven Clan would be among them. Fin-Kedinn would have come in search of Renn.

  ‘Torak,’ said Bale, cutting across his thoughts.

  ‘What,’ he replied.

  ‘I know she should’ve told you sooner.’

  Torak set his teeth. For Bale to mention Renn was like ripping off a scab.

  ‘But the fact that her mother is . . . I mean, it doesn’t change that she’s your friend.’

  ‘What changes everything,’ said Torak, ‘is that she didn’t tell me.’ But inside, he was finding that harder and harder to believe.

  ‘To carry such a secret.’ Bale shook his head. ‘What a burden.’

  Torak picked up a stone and threw it at a tree-trunk. He missed. The ravens raised their heads and gave him reproachful stares.

  ‘Although,’ Bale went on, relentless, ‘she’s tough. Brave, too.’

  Torak turned on him. ‘All right! You’ve said what you want, now leave me in peace!’ Snatching up his things, he moved off a few paces, then threw himself down with his back to Bale.

  Wisely, the Seal boy left him alone.

  Torak wasn’t hungry any more, and although he was exhausted, he knew he wouldn’t sleep. To make matters worse, Rip and Rek were being particularly annoying. Rek kept fluttering her wings, pretending to be a fledgling in desperate need of food, and Rip was pecking at his knife-hilt.

  ‘Stop it,’ Torak told him. Of course that didn’t work.

  He tossed Rip a scrap of meat. The raven ignored it and made another attack on the knife.

  ‘Stop it!’ said Torak in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Bale called softly.

  Torak didn’t reply.

  Rip was staring up at him: not asking for food, just staring. His eyes were black as the Beginning, and his raven souls reached out to Torak’s.

  Torak glanced from Rip to the sinew binding on the hilt of his knife, then back to Rip. He turned his head and stared at Bale. He tried to speak, but no sound came.

  The Seal boy saw his expression and came towards him.

  Still without speaking, Torak drew the knife from its sheath and picked feverishly at the binding. It was tight – Fa had renewed it the summer before he was killed – and not even raven beaks had made much impression.

  Without asking for an explanation, Bale handed him his own knife. ‘Cut it,’ he said.

  Once the sinew was cut, it was easier to unpick. Torak’s heart raced as he peeled back the final layer.

  The trees stilled.

  The Lake held its breath.

  Sweat streamed down Torak’s sides as he beheld the thing which had lain concealed for so many summers in the hilt of his father’s knife. He tilted the knife, and out it fell onto his palm, from the hollow which Fa had cut to hold it. As Torak stared at it – at this thing which was no bigger than a robin’s egg, yet possessed the power to enthrall the demons of the Otherworld – the sun crested the ice river and a blazing shaft of light struck deep into the cold red heart of the fire-opal.

  Bale drew in his breath with a hiss. ‘All this time.’

  Torak did not reply. He was twelve summers old again, kneeling beside Fa.

  ‘Torak,’ gasped Fa. ‘I’m dying. I’ll be dead by sunrise.’

  Torak saw the pain convulse his father’s lean brown face. He saw the tiny scarlet veins in the light-grey eyes, and at their centres, the fathomless dark.

  ‘Swap knives,’ Fa told him.

  Torak was aghast. ‘Not your knife! You’ll need it!’

  ‘You’ll need it more.’

  Torak didn’t want to swap knives. That would make it final. But his father was watching him with an intensity that allowed no refusal . . .

  ‘Oh, Fa,’ whispered Torak. He felt the fire-opal burning his palm with a searing cold. He stared into its fiery, pulsing heart.

  Bale’s brown hand covered the stone, shattering the spell. ‘Torak! Cover it up!’

  Torak blinked.

  ‘She’ll see it!’ hissed Bale. ‘Cover it up!’

  Roused from his daze, Torak replaced the fire-opal in its nest, and wound his headband around the hilt to hold it in place. Only when it was safely concealed did they breathe again.

  At last Bale said, ‘How do we destroy it?’

  Torak frowned. How could he think of destroying something so beautiful?

  ‘Torak! How?’

  Of course Bale was right. ‘You’ve got to bury it,’ Torak said in a cracked voice, ‘but only earth or stone will do. And . . . ’ he broke off.

  ‘Yes?’ said Bale.

  ‘It needs a life buried with it. Or it won’t stay dead.’

  They didn’t meet each other’s eyes.

  Torak thought about Renn, and how, in the Far North, she had been ready to give her life so that the fire-opal would be destroyed. He wondered if he would ever find the courage to do that.

  He thought about all the times she’d risked her life to help him.

  Suddenly, Rek gave a loud ‘kek kek’, and both ravens lifted into the sky with a clatter of wings.

  Torak leapt to his feet.

  ‘Listen!’ whispered Bale. ‘There’s something down by the Lake!’

  Straining his ears, Torak caught a faint trickling of water. Then a dragging sound, as if something were crawling out of the Lake – then a squelching, stumbling tread.

  Clutching their knives, they crept through the trees.

  There, twenty paces below them in a shadowy clump of alders, something moved.

  Torak felt Bale grip his arm as the thing lurched to its full height. Weeds dripped from its limbs and its streaming hair.

  Bale turned to Torak, his lips bloodless. ‘What is it?’

  Torak glimpsed the pale arms hanging limp at the creature’s sides. The band of rowanberries on one wrist. He rose to his feet. ‘It’s Renn!’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Renn saw them running towards her, shouting her name. Her knees buckled and she went down. Bale caught her by the shoulders. Torak took her quiver and bow.

  ‘It’s coming!’ she gasped. A spasm of coughing seized her and she sicked up swampy Lake water.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ said Bale.r />
  She tried to reply, but more coughing took hold. No time to tell of that terrible moment when she’d foreseen the disaster which threatened them all; of her frantic dash to warn the clans, while the boat did its best to thwart her: spinning, bucking, finally pitching her overboard. And now Bale was kneeling beside her with no idea of the danger, while Torak was drying her bow with a handful of grass, and avoiding her eyes.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ said Bale.

  ‘Nobody’s safe!’ She clutched his arm. ‘Listen to me! The flood is coming!’

  They stared at her.

  ‘The ice river,’ she panted. ‘All spring it’s been keeping back the meltwater! That’s why the ice wall was so blue, that’s why the Lake is sinking!’ Again she broke off to cough. ‘I kept seeing twins. Two lakes, do you see? This Lake – and the one behind the ice! Seshru stole the sacred clay, she made the Lake sick. And now there’s a storm coming, and the World Spirit’s going to shatter the ice wall! The flood will take us all!’

  She turned to Torak. ‘Whatever you think of me, you’ve got to believe me! You’ve got to warn the Otters! Get them into the hills, or they’ll never stand a chance!’

  Still without meeting her eyes, Torak set down her bow. ‘It’s not just the Otters.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  ‘Campfires on the western shore,’ said Bale. ‘We think it’s the Boar Clan, after Torak. Maybe other clans too.’

  Renn bit her knuckle. ‘The Ravens. Fin-Kedinn will have come to find me. They’ll be drowned.’

  Torak spoke to Bale. ‘We’ll take the skinboat. It’s the quickest way to reach them.’

  Bale nodded. ‘But not all of us, that’d slow it down; besides Renn couldn’t make it.’

  ‘Yes I could!’ cried Renn.

  ‘No you couldn’t,’ said Bale. Then to Torak, ‘This slope’s not too steep, I can get her up to higher ground, we’ll be safe there. You take the boat. You warn them.’

  ‘Me, take your boat? You never let anyone – ’

  ‘Torak,’ cut in Bale, ‘this is your chance to show them you’re not a Soul-Eater!’

  ‘If they don’t shoot him first,’ put in Renn.

  Torak ignored her.

  Within moments Bale had the boat in the water and Torak was ready, but suddenly he leapt out and ran back to Renn. Untying his knife-sheath, he pressed it into her hands. ‘Keep it safe,’ he muttered.

  ‘But it’s yours, you’ll need it!’

  ‘No time to explain. Bale will tell you.’ Over his shoulder he added, ‘She’s after me and the fire-opal, she mustn’t get both!’

  The World Spirit was turning day to dusk as Torak made the skinboat fly across the water. Thunder growled. The air crackled with foreboding. The flood could come at any moment.

  In his mind, he saw the creatures of Forest and Lake fleeing for safety. Elk, deer and horses racing for the ridges; beaver and otter scampering up the slopes as best they could; squirrel and marten seeking refuge in the sturdiest oaks. Even the fish would be hiding at the bottom of the Lake.

  And the wolves? This must be why they’d fled the island, because they’d sensed what was coming. Torak hoped they’d taken the cubs high enough – and that Wolf was with them.

  In the east, the sky was a boiling mass of storm clouds. Soon, lightning would lance the ice river, releasing the awesome fury of the waters behind. Torak pictured the flood engulfing the Lake: devastating islands, washing away the Otter camp and everything in its path.

  The wind strengthened, and still he paddled. He was almost spent when he reached the western shore and put in just south of the Axehandle river. No sign of boats or people. Only the reeds, flattened by the wind.

  Leaving the skinboat on the shore, he slipped into a thicket at the foot of the ridge. The trees moaned, warning him back. For all he knew, the whole slope might be crawling with hunters on the lookout for him, and all he had was his axe. Not much use against arrows and spears.

  Exhausted, he soon had to stop for breath. He was wondering which way to go when something leapt from the junipers and knocked him to the ground.

  At last Wolf had found Tall Tailless!

  In a snap, his sadness at leaving the pack was chased away, and he was covering his pack-brother’s face in snuffle-licks.

  I couldn’t leave you! he told Tall Tailless. I’m back now and I’m never leaving, just like you said!

  But Tall Tailless’ greeting was rushed and urgent, and Wolf caught his mood. He smelt Viper-Tongue on his pack-brother. He sensed great worry and danger. What do I do? he asked.

  Find the ravens, Tall Tailless replied.

  That made Wolf cross. Why them?

  No, said Tall Tailless, not the birds. Wolves that smell of raven. Find the pack leader!

  Now Wolf understood. Giving his pack-brother a nose-nudge to acknowledge this, he raced off through the trees.

  The great denning place of the taillesses wasn’t many lopes away, and he was soon in the bracken at its edge. Stealthily, he padded forwards to find the pack leader.

  The denning place seethed with anger, and Wolf heard much snarling among the boar, wolf, and raven packs. Then he caught the quiet, strong tones of the raven leader. This tailless never yowled loudly. He didn’t need to. He had the respect of all the others.

  Placing his paws with care, Wolf crept closer.

  The dogs were restless, but on the way, Wolf had rolled in a pile of auroch droppings, so he approached un-smelt. When he’d got as far as he could, he crouched down to wait.

  Soon, the raven leader felt his stare and saw him.

  Ah, he was cunning! Like a normal wolf, he grazed Wolf’s glance with his own, then looked away, so the others wouldn’t notice. A little later, he left the denning place: calmly, so as not to awaken suspicions.

  When Wolf knew he was following, he headed off to find Tall Tailless.

  When Torak glimpsed Fin-Kedinn striding through the willowherb, it didn’t occur to him to hide. He rose to his feet and stood in the open. The Raven Leader saw him, and his face lit up. Torak’s heart twisted. He’d missed Fin-Kedinn more than he’d realized.

  ‘Torak!’ Fin-Kedinn gripped his shoulder. He glanced behind him. ‘Come. We’re too close to camp, and Aki’s nosing around after you.’

  With Wolf trotting after them, they moved into a wind-tossed thicket. The Raven Leader’s sharp eyes searched Torak’s face, and took in the scar on his chest. ‘Where’s Renn?’

  ‘Safe with Bale on the north shore. Fin-Kedinn, you’ve got to listen!’ As briefly as he could, he told the Raven Leader of the coming flood. Fin-Kedinn heard it without question or interruption.

  ‘You’ve got to get the clans to higher ground,’ said Torak. ‘Right now! The flood could come at any moment!’

  The Raven Leader’s face was unfathomable as ever, but Torak knew from the glint in his eyes that his thoughts were racing. ‘Everyone’s in camp,’ he said, ‘arguing about the best way to hunt you. That’ll make them easier to move.’

  ‘I’ve got a skinboat,’ said Torak, ‘I’ll find the Otter camp and warn them.’

  ‘No. They’d shoot you before you got the chance.’

  ‘But someone’s got to.’

  ‘I’ll see to it.’

  ‘And the clans?’

  ‘I’ll get them up to the Hogback.’ He jerked his head at the ridge behind them. ‘You get up there too, fast as you can. Try to reach the south side, there’ll be fewer people.’

  Torak nodded. But as he made to go, Fin-Kedinn held him back. ‘Where’s the Viper Mage?’

  ‘I don’t know. On the north cliff, I think.’

  Fin-Kedinn looked grim. ‘She hasn’t finished with you yet. I know her, Torak. Never underestimate her. Never forget that she might be closer than you think!’

  Torak hadn’t told him of the fire-opal and he didn’t now, but as the Raven Leader turned, he said, ‘Fin-Kedinn. You wouldn’t be here – in danger – if it weren’t for me. I’m sorr
y.’

  A shadow crossed the Raven Leader’s face. ‘I cast you out. You’re not the one who should be sorry.’ He touched Torak’s arm. ‘Get as high as you can. Go!’

  The wind screamed in Torak’s ears as he scrambled up the slope, while Wolf raced ahead. The Forest was dark as night, and the trees thrashed and groaned.

  He was halfway up when he had to stop, bent double, chest heaving. Slumped against a pine, he told Wolf to go on without him.

  Wolf hesitated.

  Lightning flared. Thunder crashed directly overhead. Rain pattered on the leaves – and swiftly became a downpour.

  Torak saw Rip and Rek take cover in an oak tree. Yes. Climb the tree. No time for anything else. Maybe the Forest would protect him, too.

  Go! he told Wolf again, and Wolf – sensing what he meant to do – turned and sped to safety.

  In the distance, Torak heard a deeper reverberation behind the thunder: an echoing boom that he’d heard before, in the Far North. The boom of breaking ice.

  He stumbled for the oak – tripped – and fell headlong in the mud. Lightning flickered on a footprint by his hand. Behind him, a branch snapped. He rolled sideways just as Aki’s axe thudded into the root where his head had been.

  ‘Got you at last!’ bellowed the Boar Clan boy. With his good arm he tugged at his axe, which he’d buried in the root.

  ‘Aki, are you mad?’ shouted Torak against the wind. ‘The flood is coming! We’ve got to get into the trees!’

  ‘I said I’d get you and I will!’ yelled Aki.

  More lightning, more thunder. The ice river boomed across the Lake.

  As he struggled to his feet, Torak saw that Aki wasn’t driven by hatred, but by fear of failing his father – and against that there was no reasoning. Leaving him yanking at the axe, Torak raced for the oak and leapt for the lowest branch. Desperation lent him strength, and he was soon ten paces up.

  ‘Aki!’ he shouted. ‘Leave the axe! Climb!’

  Another boom from the ice river – and suddenly Aki let go of the axehandle and ran for the oak. But he was heavier than Torak, he couldn’t reach the lowest branch.

  ‘Grab my hand!’ Torak leaned down as far as he could.

  Not far enough. And Aki couldn’t climb with only one arm.