Embers spat. A grey owl swept past on its way to hunt.
Raising his head, Torak watched the lights of the First Tree fade as dawn approached. He thought of Narik and Narrander, and his father and mother; and of the brilliant, flawed Mages who had become the Soul-Eaters. So much suffering. And for what?
‘It’s over, Torak,’ Fin-Kedinn said softly.
‘I know. But I thought – I thought I’d feel better.’
‘It takes time.’
‘How long?’
The Raven Leader spread his hands. ‘After your mother died, it took many winters for my spirit to heal.’
‘What brought you back?’
‘Caring for my clan. Looking after Renn.’
Her name hung between them in the frosty air.
Torak got up and walked away, then returned. ‘I know she has to stay. And maybe the Walker’s right, maybe I will always be a wanderer. But I can’t . . . I don’t want to lose her.’
He needed Fin-Kedinn to make things better; but the Raven Leader’s face was hard as he sheathed his knife. ‘I’ll take the prey back to camp,’ he said brusquely. ‘You put the fire to sleep and see to the fishing lines on the river.’
Renn had forgotten to take any food with her, so by dawn she was hungry and bad-tempered. She hadn’t found Torak, though she’d seen plenty of wolf tracks; and she felt awful about Dark.
The Mountain clans had only tolerated him because he was with Torak, and they’d made him sleep in a separate shelter at the edge of their camp. The Raven Clan, too, had been wary at first, though they’d changed when they’d seen Ark; a boy with a white raven deserved respect. Dark himself had taken instantly to the Forest, and adored being among people. But yesterday, Renn had found him anxiously fingering the small slate musk-ox he’d brought from his cave. She’d reminded him that Fin-Kedinn had said he could stay as long as he liked, and he’d nodded politely; but she could see that he didn’t really believe it, and dreaded being told to leave.
And you were nasty to him, she berated herself as she plodded towards camp. Very clever, Renn. Just what he needs.
Torak was on the river, hacking open ice holes with an antler pick and drawing in the lines. A pile of whitefish lay beside him, rapidly freezing, and Rip and Rek were walking about, pretending they weren’t interested.
Torak glanced at Renn as she approached, then resumed his work.
Unlike her, he still wore his Mountain Hare tunic, drawn in at the waist by the belt Krukoslik had given him as a parting gift: a broad band of buckskin, sewn with many rows of reindeer teeth. Renn thought he looked good, but unlike anyone in the Open Forest. She asked him if he didn’t mind appearing so different from everyone else.
‘Why should I?’ he said with a shrug. ‘It’s what I am.’
She picked up the antler and scratched the ice. ‘Don’t you even care?’
‘What’s the point? I can’t change it.’
For a moment, he truly seemed a stranger to her: a tall young man in outlandish furs, with an outcast tattoo on his forehead and unsettling light-grey eyes. She thought, Fin-Kedinn’s right, he is apart. He always will be.
Out loud, she said, ‘I need you to promise something.’
He threw her a wary look. ‘What?’
She’d intended to ask him not to leave the clan, but instead she blurted out, ‘Don’t ever spirit walk in me.’
‘What?’ He flushed the colour of beechnuts. ‘But – I’d never . . . I mean, why would I? I already know what you think.’
Renn stared at him. ‘You – know what I think?’
He swallowed. ‘. . . Yes. In a way.’
She flung down the antler and stalked off.
‘Renn . . .’
The snowball hit him full in the face.
‘There!’ she shouted. ‘You didn’t know I’d do that, did you?’
Torak was blinking and spitting out snow. His expression turned thoughtful. Renn decided she’d better run.
As she sped up the bank, she heard him coming after her. She ducked. His snowball missed her and hit Dark, who’d come to investigate the shouting.
Dark was astonished. ‘Wh-at . . .’
‘It’s a game!’ panted Renn as she raced past, yelping as Torak’s next missile struck her hard on the shoulder.
Dark caught on fast, and soon the air was thick with snowballs. Renn’s aim was good, Dark’s was better. Torak’s was the worst, but he made up for it by relentless firing. The ravens’ excited caws brought the wolves bounding out of the Forest. Wolf made great twisting leaps and snapped snowballs in mid-air; Darkfur got spattered all over, as she was such an easy target; and Pebble raced about, barking and getting under everyone’s feet. Eventually, Torak and Renn ganged up on Dark and pelted him until he laughed so much he fell over. Gasping and clutching their sides, Torak and Renn collapsed beside him, Wolf and Darkfur crashed into them, and Pebble climbed on top.
They lay gazing up at the sky, munching some hazel cakes Dark had brought with him, and tossing crumbs to the ravens. Then a cloud drifted over the sun, and it was suddenly cold.
Pebble wandered off and got entangled in a fishing line. Dark went to help him, followed by Wolf and his mate.
Renn flipped onto her belly and looked at Torak. ‘If you’re going to leave,’ she said quickly, ‘get it over with.’
Torak sat up. ‘Renn . . .’
‘Well?’
He frowned. ‘Renn.’
She got to her feet and walked away.
The wolves went to hunt in the Forest, and the others returned to camp: bedraggled, covered in snow, and having forgotten the whitefish on the ice.
Fin-Kedinn glanced from Torak to Renn, then told Torak to go and fetch the fish, and Renn to find Durrain, who was asking for her. ‘Dark, stay with me,’ he said curtly. ‘I need to talk to you.’
Oh, no, thought Renn. She saw Torak hanging back, worried for his friend.
‘I’ll fetch my gear,’ said Dark in a defeated voice.
‘Why?’ Fin-Kedinn said sharply. ‘Are you leaving?’
‘Um. But I thought . . .’
‘Do you want to leave?’
Dark shook his head.
‘Then stay.’
‘D-do you mean for good?’
‘You belong with us. Yes?’
Shyly, Dark nodded.
‘Well, then stay.’ Without waiting for a response, Fin-Kedinn turned on his heel and walked off.
Stunned, Dark watched him go. Torak grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. Renn wondered why her uncle wasn’t smiling.
That night, she woke to see him sitting hunched by the fire. Unusually for Fin-Kedinn, he wasn’t doing anything; he was simply staring into the flames.
In the Forest, the wolves howled. Renn made out Wolf’s strong, happy song, and Darkfur’s musical howls, and Pebble’s ever-improving yowl.
She watched Fin-Kedinn turn his head to listen. His expression was sad: as if the wolves were telling him something he didn’t want to hear.
After a while, he sat straighter, and squared his shoulders.
And nodded once.
FORTY-TWO
The Dark was gathering under the trees as Wolf trotted through the Bright Soft Cold to wait for his pack-brother.
He reached the hill above the great Den of the taillesses, and jumped on a log to catch the smells. He watched some of the raven-smelling pack emerge from the Forest with piles of branches in their forepaws. The white raven lit onto the top of the Den, and the kind tailless with the pale head-fur came out and called it down.
The black ravens flew past Wolf and greeted him with soft gro-gro’s. As he was in a good mood, he acknowledged them with a lift of his muzzle. He’d brought down a roe buck, and his belly was full. When he’d left Darkfur and the cub, they’d been comfortably gnawing bones.
A loud crunching in the Bright Soft Cold told Wolf that his pack-brother was coming. So noisy, thought Wolf affectionately.
To make sure that T
all Tailless saw him, he left the trees and stood in the open, swinging his tail. Tall Tailless’ greeting was subdued. He sat on the log and stared at nothing, and Wolf sat beside him. Poor Tall Tailless. Still confused about what he should do.
They were silent for a while. Then Tall Tailless said, Your Breath-that-Walks. I saw it on the Mountain. It shines very bright.
At least, that was what Wolf thought he said. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
You are wise, Tall Tailless went on. You always help. Help me now. Should I stay with the raven pack? Or leave?
Wolf put his head on his pack-brother’s knee, and met his gaze. And told him.
Next morning, Torak was tying his sleeping-sack roll when Dark appeared at the door of the shelter. They exchanged glances, and Torak saw with relief that he didn’t have to explain to his friend.
‘I’ll miss you,’ said Dark.
Torak tried to smile. ‘My father used to say that the best thing in life is moving on to the next campsite.’ He paused. ‘Of course, that’s a Wolf Clan saying, and I’m not Wolf Clan.’
‘Well. I’m not Raven Clan. They don’t seem to mind.’
‘Do you know that some people are already calling you the White Raven?’
Dark smiled. Recently, he had gained a new assurance. Torak thought it suited him.
‘What will you do?’ said Dark.
‘Oh . . . hunt. See parts of the Forest I’ve never seen before. Be with Wolf and Darkfur and Pebble.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I’m tired, Dark. I want to be at peace among trees.’
Dark nodded. ‘Renn says that too much has happened to you; and not enough to me.’
Torak looked down at his sleeping-sack and thought, Trust Renn to understand. Scowling, he yanked the last knot tight.
‘Here,’ said Dark, holding out his palm. ‘You haven’t got an amulet, so I made you one.’
It was a small stone wolf on a thong: beautifully carved in grey slate, its eyes half-closed as it lifted its tiny muzzle to howl. ‘I’ve scratched the Forest mark on his belly,’ said Dark, ‘and I reddened it with alder blood. That’s quite important. The red is for fire and the Mountains, and friendship. You should renew it from time to time. The alder blood, I mean.’
Torak took the amulet and put it round his neck. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I will.’
He found Fin-Kedinn sitting by the river, mending fishing nets. The Raven Leader stopped working and watched him approach. ‘I wish you didn’t have to leave,’ he said quietly.
‘So do I. But my pack-brother reminded me of something. That a wolf cannot be of two packs.’
Fin-Kedinn nodded thoughtfully. ‘You know, when you were small, and your father sought out the ancient one at the clan meet by the Sea, he said to her, Although my son isn’t Wolf Clan, I think he is truly wolf. I finally understand what he meant.’
Torak’s throat worked. ‘Fin-Kedinn. I don’t – I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done.’
The Raven Leader frowned. ‘Don’t thank me. Just remember, Torak. Wherever you go, you’ll find friends among the clans. And I hope . . . I hope some day you’ll come back.’
‘I will. I will see you again. I promise. My foster father.’
Fin-Kedinn rose to his feet. His blue eyes glittered as he put his hand on the back of Torak’s neck. They touched foreheads. ‘Goodbye, my son,’ said the Raven Leader. ‘May your guardian run with you.’
Torak left him and walked blindly out of camp.
It was a calm, sunny day in the Willow Grouse Moon, and although spring had not yet come, the Forest was beginning to stir. A woodpecker drummed in the distance. A tough little bullfinch perched in an ash tree, cracking seeds in its bill. A white hare sat on its hind legs to nibble frost-blackened haws.
Torak hadn’t gone far when Wolf appeared and trotted beside him. His fur was spangled with snow, and his amber eyes were bright. Torak asked him where was the pack-sister, and Wolf led him halfway up the side of the valley.
Renn sat on a rock in a patch of sun, re-stringing her bow. Darkfur lay beside her, running her jaws over a bramble branch to clean them, while Rip and Rek perched in a tree, throwing pine cones at Pebble.
Darkfur and the cub came bounding over to greet them. Renn didn’t even turn her head. Her hood was thrown back, and her red hair flamed. Torak paused to fix the image in his memory.
‘I came to say goodbye,’ he said at last.
She glanced at him, then went back to her bow. ‘To whom?’
‘Renn. I can’t stay. And you can’t leave.’
‘And if I could, you’d want to spare me the choice.’
He did not reply.
Renn stood up and faced him, very pale and composed. ‘It’s not your choice to make. It’s mine.’
Something in the way she said it made his heart skip a beat. ‘But . . . you’re going to be the Clan Mage.’
‘No. That will be Dark.’
Dark.
‘Fin-Kedinn saw it before anyone,’ said Renn with a break in her voice. ‘That’s why he got Durrain to stay. Not for me, but for Dark. She says he has amazing skill. And he wants it, he really does.’ Two spots of colour had appeared on her cheeks. ‘Fin-Kedinn saw it all. He . . .’ She swallowed. ‘He gave me the choice.’
It was then that Torak saw the rest of her gear piled behind the rock.
‘Torak,’ Renn said sternly. ‘You’ve tried to leave me behind before. This is the last time. Do you want me to come with you or not?’
Torak tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He nodded.
‘Say it,’ commanded Renn.
‘. . . Yes. Yes I want you to come with me.’
She began to smile.
‘Yes!’ he shouted, lifting her in his arms and swinging her round so that her red hair flew, while the ravens burst into the air in a flurry of wings, and the wolves lashed their tails and howled.
Down in the valley, Fin-Kedinn heard them, rose to his feet, and raised his staff in farewell.
Torak and Renn jumped onto the rock so that Fin-Kedinn could see them, and waved their bows above their heads.
Then they grabbed Renn’s gear and headed off into the morning, with the wolves trotting behind them, and the ravens sky-dancing overhead.
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 around them. 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 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 Boar Clans; while others stayed put all year round, like the Seal Clan. Thus some of the clans have moved since the events in Oath Breaker, as you’ll see from the slightly amended map.
When I was researching Ghost Hunter, I visited Finnish Lapland in midwinter. There, in the Urkho Kekkonen National Park (part of the Saariselkä Wilderness), I snow-shoed for miles, following the trail of an elk, and watched reindeer happily pawing the snow off lichen in temperatures of -18°C.
I also spent time in the Dovrefjell highlands in Norway, where, on many solo hikes, I got the feel of the fells, and experienced that strange, haunting feeling of being alone in the mountains. On several occasions I observed musk-oxen, which resemble extremely shaggy bison, but are in fact related to sheep. I gathered scraps of their incredibly warm wool, which they’d left behind snagged on branches; and I often had to alter the course of my hikes when a herd of musk-oxen blocked my path. I also climbed the slopes of Mount Snøhetta (2286m). Its sudden fogs, eerie crags and treacherous boulder-field gave me much inspiration for t
he Mountain of Ghosts.
Finally, I have, of course, kept up my friendship with the wolves of the UK Wolf Conservation Trust, who continue to inspire me. It’s been a privilege to spend time with wolves whom I first knew as cubs, and who are now happy, healthy, boisterous young adults, thanks to their devoted carers.
I’d like to thank everyone at The UK Wolf Conservation Trust for letting me befriend the wolves; Mr Derrick Coyle, the (now retired) 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 district of Ivalo in Finland; Ellen and Knut Nyhus of the Kongsvold Fjeldstue, Dovrefjell, particularly for getting me across the army firing range to the foot of Snøhetta, thus enabling me to climb it (almost) to the top.
I want to thank everyone at my publishers, The Orion Publishing Group, for their whole-hearted support of these books right from the start. I’m also extremely grateful to Geoff Taylor for creating the gorgeous chapter illustrations and evocative endpaper maps; and to John Fordham for capturing the essence of each story in his beautiful and distinctive cover designs.
As always, my thanks go to my agent, Peter Cox, for encouraging the idea from the very beginning, and for supporting it so tirelessly and skilfully throughout.
Lastly, my special thanks to Fiona Kennedy, who has encouraged me in the writing of these books with such boundless imagination, talent, patience, commitment and understanding. I could not ask for a better publisher and editor.
Michelle Paver
2009
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to thank everyone at The UK Wolf Conservation Trust for letting me befriend the wolves; Mr Derrick Coyle, the (now retired) 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 district of Ivalo in Finland; Ellen and Knut Nyhus of the Kongsvold Fjeldstue, Dovrefjell, particularly for getting me across the army firing range to the foot of Snøhetta, thus enabling me to climb it (almost) to the top.
Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Page 115
