Chronicles of Ancient Darkness

by Michelle Paver

  The Light had come when he drew near the Dens of the taillesses, and he saw at once that he would have to wait. On the edge of the Fast Wet, a group of floating hides had drawn up. Wolf watched the leader of the Raven pack climbing the bank, and the pack-sister throwing away her sticks and hopping towards him, and the pack leader laughing and swinging her into his forepaws.

  THIRTY-NINE

  ‘How long till we reach the Open Forest?’ asked Torak.

  Fin-Kedinn, rolling up his sleeping-sack, said, ‘We should make it by dusk.’

  ‘At last!’ sighed Renn.

  She tucked a scrap of dried boar in a birch for the guardian, but Rip promptly stole it. Torak tried to make his offering to the Forest raven-proof by stuffing it down a crack in an ash tree. Then Fin-Kedinn told Renn to put the fire back to sleep, and he and Torak carried the gear down to the canoes.

  It was two days since they’d left the Deep Forest camp, and they were taking it slowly, as Fin-Kedinn’s ribs were still mending. The Raven Leader had come alone, the rest of the clan being busy with the salmon run. It was good to be just the three of them.

  Around him, Torak sensed a great healing. Even among the Deep Forest clans, there had been a coming together, sparked by the need to heal the stolen children. Five had been freed from holes dug into the slopes behind the sacred grove. All were stick-thin, their teeth filed to fangs, their minds scoured white as mistletoe berries. But after peering into their eyes, Renn had declared that Thiazzi hadn’t yet trapped demons in their marrow, so they were still children, not tokoroths; and since she had more experience of this than anyone, even Durrain had deferred to her. The last Torak had seen of the Deep Forest clans, they’d been earnestly debating the best rites to aid the recovery.

  The Forest, too, was beginning to overgrow its wounds. It had taken a day to paddle through the burnt lands, but in places, Torak had glimpsed patches of green, and a few hardy deer nibbling shoots. On the shores of Blackwater Lake, he’d seen the sacred mare. She’d whinnied at him, and he’d nickered back. It seemed that she’d forgiven him for riding her.

  And yet, he thought as he stowed the waterskins in the canoes, some hurts would never heal. The Aurochs’ scars would never fade. Gaup was maimed for life. His little girl, who’d been found with the others, was mute. Worst of all, one of the stolen children was lost for good. Demon, Wolf had said as he’d followed its trail, before losing it in the foothills of the Mountains. Torak pictured the tokoroth scuttling over the stones towards Eostra’s lair.

  ‘Better tie down the gear,’ said Fin-Kedinn, making him jump. ‘There’s white water ahead.’

  Torak was surprised; he didn’t remember any rapids. Then he realized that he and Renn had made this part of the journey on foot, and south of the river. It was a relief to know that from now on, Fin-Kedinn was in charge.

  They got under way, gliding past chattering alders and reed-beds alive with warblers. At last, as the light softened to gold, the Jaws of the Deep Forest loomed into view.

  Over his shoulder, Fin-Kedinn asked Torak if he was sorry to be leaving the place where he was born.

  ‘No,’ said Torak, though it saddened him to admit it. ‘I don’t belong here. The Red Deer would’ve let the Oak Mage take over the Forest, rather than fight. And the others . . . They wanted to kill anyone who didn’t follow the Way. Now I think they’d kill anyone who did. How can you trust people like that?’

  Fin-Kedinn watched a swallow catch a fly on the wing. ‘They need certainty, Torak. Like ivy clinging to an oak.’

  ‘What about you? Do you need it?’

  Fin-Kedinn rested his paddle across the boat and turned to face him. ‘When I was young, I travelled to the Far North and hunted with the White Fox Clan. One night, we saw the lights in the sky, and I said, Look, there’s the First Tree. The White Foxes laughed. They said, It’s not a tree, it’s the fires which our dead burn to keep warm. Later, when I was on Lake Axehead, the Otter Clan told me the lights are a great reed-bed which shelters the spirits of their ancestors.’ He paused. ‘Who’s right?’

  Torak shook his head.

  Fin-Kedinn took up his paddle again. ‘There is no certainty, Torak. Sooner or later, if you have the courage, you face that.’

  Torak thought of the Aurochs and the Forest Horses, painting trees. ‘I think some people never face it.’

  ‘That’s true. But not everyone in the Deep Forest is like them. Your mother wasn’t. She had more courage.’

  Torak put his hand to his medicine pouch. He hadn’t yet told Fin-Kedinn what he’d learnt about the horn, but he had told Renn – and being Renn, she’d thought of something he hadn’t. ‘Maybe it’s been helping you all the time. I always wondered why the Soul-Eaters never sensed that you’re a spirit walker. And that humming noise at the sacred grove? Maybe it did bring the World Spirit. Though I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure.’

  No certainty, thought Torak. The idea blew through him like a clean, cold wind.

  As they swept into the shadow of the Jaws, he glanced back. The low sun glowed in the mossy spruce, and it seemed to him that they whispered farewell. He thought of the hidden valley where the Deep Forest clans had taken Thiazzi’s corpse for secret funeral rites. He thought of the sacred grove where the great trees stood as they had stood for thousands of summers, watching the creatures of the Forest live out their brief, embattled lives. Did they care that he had broken his oath? Had they already forgotten?

  It was not even a moon since Bale was killed, and yet it felt like a whole summer. Torak said to Fin-Kedinn, ‘I promised to avenge him. But I couldn’t do it.’

  The Raven Leader turned and met his eyes. ‘You broke your oath to save Renn,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think that if things had been different – if you were the one who’d died, and he’d sworn to avenge you – don’t you think he would have done the same?’

  Torak opened his mouth, then shut it again. Fin-Kedinn was right. Bale would not have hesitated.

  Fin-Kedinn said, ‘You did well, Torak. I think his spirit will be at peace.’

  Torak swallowed. As he watched his foster father deftly plying his paddle, he felt a surge of love for him. He wanted to thank him for lifting such a load from his shoulders; for watching out for him; for being Fin-Kedinn. But the Raven Leader was busy steering their canoe around a submerged log and calling a warning to Renn in the other boat. Then they were out of the Jaws and into the Open Forest, and Renn was grinning and punching the air, and soon Torak was, too.

  That night, as they camped by the Blackwater, Bale came to him for the last time.

  Torak knows that he is dreaming, but he also knows that what’s happening is true. He stands on the pebbly shore of the Bay of Seals, watching Bale carry his skinboat down to the Sea. Bale is strong and whole again, and he balances his skinboat on his shoulder with easy grace. When he reaches the shallows, he sets it on the water, jumps in and takes up his paddle.

  Torak runs down to him, desperate to catch up, but already Bale is flying like a cormorant over the waves, leaving him behind.

  Torak tries to call to him, but only manages a broken whisper. ‘Wait!’

  Out on the shining Sea, Bale brings his craft about.

  ‘May the guardian swim with you!’ cries Torak.

  Bale waves his paddle in a glittering arc, and breaks into a grin. ‘And run with you, kinsman!’ he calls back.

  Then he is off, his golden hair streaming behind him as he heads west, to where the sun is going to sleep in the Sea. ‘Why not?’ said Renn three moons later. ‘You miss him. I do too. So let’s go and find him.’

  Torak didn’t reply. He wore his stubborn look, and she knew it was no use suggesting that he should simply howl for Wolf. He wouldn’t want to risk the disappointment, because these days, Wolf didn’t often howl back. From time to time over the summer, he’d come to them, but although he was as affectionate and playful as ever, and had clearly got over his shock at Torak not being a wolf, at times, Renn sensed
a distance in him, as if he were somewhere else. Torak didn’t talk of it, but she knew that he felt it too, and that in his worst moments, he feared it meant the end of their old closeness.

  So why doesn’t he go and find him? she thought in exasperation. ‘Torak,’ she said out loud. ‘You’re the best tracker in the Forest. So. Track!’

  She had to admit, though, it did feel odd to be tracking Wolf. But then, everything about this summer felt odd. She was still getting used to being a Mage, and although Saeunn remained the Clan Mage, people treated her even more warily than before.

  Her gear, too, was unfamiliar: new medicine horn and pouch (this an unexpected gift from Durrain), new strike-fire, new axe, new knife. New bow. She’d laid the remains of her faithful friend in the Raven bone-ground, and the old Auroch man – who turned out to have known Fin-Kedinn in the past and taught him bow-making – had made her a splendid new one. It was of yew wood felled by the light of the waxing moon, and subtly fitted to her left-handed way of shooting. But she couldn’t get used to it, and today she’d left it in camp; although she was beginning to worry that it might feel left out, so maybe next time she’d bring it along.

  It was the Moon of Green Ashseed, and the willowherb stood shoulder-high. It was so hot that Rip and Rek flew with their beaks open to keep cool. It had been an unusually good summer, with plenty of prey and no-one dangerously ill. If Renn sometimes woke in the night from dreams of eagle owls and tokoroths, she soon went back to sleep.

  She watched Torak stoop to examine a furrow where a wolf had scratched the earth after scent-marking. He sighed. ‘It’s not Wolf.’

  Later, he picked a strand of black wolf hair off a juniper bush.

  ‘Wolf has some black in his fur,’ Renn said hopefully. ‘In his tail and across the shoulders.’

  ‘His hairs are only black at the tips,’ said Torak. ‘Not like this.’

  For a long time after that, he went into what she called his tracking trance, following no sign that she could detect. Then he crouched so abruptly that she nearly fell over him.

  By his knee, she made out the faintest shadow of a paw-print. ‘Is it Wolf?’ she whispered.

  He nodded. His face was tense with hope, and Renn felt sorry for him, and cross with Wolf for not sensing that his pack-brother needed him.

  But as they went on, she forgot her crossness and gathered some green hazelnuts as a present. The previous summer, Wolf had watched her forage in a hazel bush, then done the same, although he’d ignored the ripe ones and only crunched up the green.

  She was thinking of that when a wolf howled in the next valley.

  She stared at Torak. ‘Wolf?’ she mouthed.

  He nodded. ‘He’s asking us to come to him.’ He frowned. ‘But I’ve never heard him make that call before.’

  They reached the rise above the river, and suddenly Wolf was flattening Torak with a huge wolf welcome mixed up with a fervent apology. I’m so happy you’re here! Sorry, sorry, I missed you too! Happy! Sorry!

  Eventually he jumped off Torak and pounced on Renn to say it all over again, leaving Torak free to look about.

  The space around the Den was littered with well-chewed scraps of bone and hide, the earth packed hard by many paws. Torak noticed that Wolf was thinner, probably because he’d had to do so much hunting. He began to smile. ‘I should have guessed,’ he murmured.

  ‘Me too,’ said Renn, pushing Wolf’s nose away. Her eyes were shining, and she looked as happy as Torak felt.

  A magnificent black she-wolf with green amber eyes emerged from the Den and trotted towards them, wagging her tail and sleeking back her ears in a diffident greeting.

  Torak thought, Yes, of course. This is right.

  Turning to Renn, he told her that the she-wolf had been part of the pack he’d befriended the previous summer. Together, they watched her lie down on her belly and sweep the earth with her tail, while Wolf disappeared into the Den.

  ‘I think we should move back a bit,’ said Torak, suddenly unsure how they should behave. He and Renn retreated a polite distance from the Den mouth, and sat cross-legged on the ground.

  They didn’t have long to wait. Wolf backed out, carrying a small, wriggling bundle in his jaws. Lashing his tail, he padded to Torak and set it before him.

  Torak tried to smile, but his heart was too full.

  The cub was about a moon old. It was fat and fluffy and not very steady on its short legs. Its ears were still crumpled, its eyes a slatey, unfocussed blue; but it wobbled eagerly towards Torak, as fearless and inquisitive as its father had been when he was a cub.

  Torak whined softly and held out his hand for the cub to sniff, and it yipped and wagged its stubby tail and tried to eat his thumb. He scooped it up and nuzzled its belly. It batted him with small, neat paws, and snagged his hair with claws as fine as bramble thorns. When he set it down, it scampered back to its father.

  The she-wolf raised her muzzle and whined, and two more cubs emerged from the Den and bounded towards her, mewing and nuzzling her jaws. One was black, with its mother’s greenish eyes, while the other was grey, like Wolf, but with reddish-brown ears. All were trembling with excitement at this amazing new world.

  Rip and Rek flew down, and two of the cubs fled, while their sister began to stalk. The ravens walked about, apparently unaware. They let the cubs prowl almost within reach, then flew off with raucous laughs.

  Torak watched Renn lying on her side and dragging a stick for the cubs to chase, while – unknown to her – the black one sneaked up and gnawed her boots.

  Torak glanced at Wolf, who stood proudly wagging his tail. Thank you, he said in wolf talk. Then to Renn, ‘Do you realize what this means?’

  She grinned. ‘Well, I think it means Wolf has found a mate.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, but it’s more than that. This is the cubs’ first time ever out of the Den. That’s the most important day of all, because it’s when they meet the rest of the pack.’

  With a wave of his hand, he took in Wolf and his mate and the cubs, and Renn and himself. ‘The rest of the pack,’ he said again. ‘That’s us.’

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Torak’s world is the world of six thousand years ago: after the Ice Age, but before the spread of farming to his part of north-west Europe, when the land was one vast Forest.

  The people of Torak’s world looked pretty much like you or me, but their way of life was very different. They didn’t have writing, metals or the wheel, but they didn’t need them. They were superb survivors. They knew all about the animals, trees, plants and rocks of the Forest. When they wanted something, they knew where to find it, or how to make it.

  They lived in small clans, and many of them moved around a lot: some staying in camp for just a few days, like the Wolf Clan; others staying for a whole moon or a season, like the Raven and Willow Clans; while others stayed put all year round, like the Seal Clan. Thus some of the clans have moved since the events in Outcast, as you’ll see from the amended map.

  When I was researching Oath Breaker, I visited a number of the ancient trees with which the UK is so richly endowed. I also spent time in the largest area of primeval lowland forest left in Europe, in the Białowieża National Park in eastern Poland. There I saw the żubroń (a hybrid of cattle and European bison), boar, tarpan (a kind of wild horse), a number of lighting-struck trees, and more species of woodpecker than I’d ever seen. In Białowieża I gained inspiration for the various parts of the Deep Forest and its inhabitants, particularly during my long hikes into the Strictly Protected Area of the Forest. I also got the chance to study two magnificent beaver dams and lodges, which gave me the inspiration for Torak’s hiding place.

  Needless to say, I have also kept up my friendship with the wolves of the UK Wolf Conservation Trust. Watching the cubs grow to young adulthood and talking to their devoted volunteer carers has been a constant source of inspiration and encouragement.

  I want to thank everyone at The UK Wolf Conservation Trust for lettin
g me get close to their wonderful wolves; The Woodland Trust for helping me gain access to some of the ancient trees featured in my research; Mr Derrick Coyle, the Yeoman Ravenmaster of the Tower of London, whose extensive knowledge and experience of the ravens there has been a continual inspiration; the friendly and helpful people of the Authority of the Białowieża National Park and the Natural History and Forestry Museum at Białowieża; the guides of the Biuro Usług Przewodnickich Puszcza Białowieża and the PTTK Biuro Turistyczne, particularly the Rev. Mieczysław Piotrowski, Chief Guide of the PTTK, who – with the gracious permission of the Chief Forester of the Druszki district of the Białowieża National Forest – made it possible for me to see those beaver lodges.

  Finally, and as always, I want to thank my agent, Peter Cox, for his tireless enthusiasm and support; and my truly gifted and altogether wonderful editor and publisher, Fiona Kennedy, for her imagination, commitment and understanding.

  Michelle Paver

  2008

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I want to thank everyone at The UK Wolf Conservation Trust for letting me get close to their wonderful wolves; The Woodland Trust for helping me gain access to some of the ancient trees featured in my research; Mr Derrick Coyle, the Yeoman Ravenmaster of the Tower of London, whose extensive knowledge and experience of the ravens there has been a continual inspiration; the friendly and helpful people of the Authority of the Biłowieża National Park and the Natural History and Forestry Museum at Biłowieża; the guides of the Biuro Usług Przewodnickich Puszcza Biłowieża and the PTTK Biuro Turistyczne, particularly the Rev. Mieczysław Piotrowski, Chief Guide of the PTTK, who – with the gracious permission of the Chief Forester of the Druszki district of the Biłowieża National Forest – made it possible for me to see those beaver lodges.

  Finally, and as always, I want to thank my agent, Peter Cox, for his tireless enthusiasm and support; and my truly gifted and altogether wonderful editor and publisher, Fiona Kennedy, for her imagination, commitment and understanding.