Wolf's paws touched pebbles. He'd reached the island.
But as he emerged, a big cow reindeer surged onto the other side of the island and charged at him. Wolf scrambled to avoid her. She threw down her head and lashed out with her head-branches. Wolf leaped. The head-branches missed by a whisker, spraying him with pebbles. He'd made a mistake. That carcass wasn't the mother. This was. Wolf shot past her and jumped into the Wet.
As he reached the safety of the bank, he glanced back. The calf had ducked under its mother's belly to suckle,
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but the mother was still glaring at Wolf: Stay away I
Shaking the Wet from his fur, he scanned the herd for easier prey.
He caught a distant bleat of pain. There. A young buck struggling to climb the bank. Its head-branches looked sharp as fangs: one swipe would gut an unwary wolf.
But there was something wrong with its leg.
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SEVENTEEN
Torak spotted Wolf among the reindeer, then lost him again.
Renn whispered in his ear: "These willows are too thick, I can't get a clean shot."
He nodded. "If we can get down to those rocks by the river..."
Silently, they threaded their way between the man-high trees on the slope. Through the branches, Torak glimpsed reindeer trotting over open ground toward the water. They ran as reindeer do, with muzzles raised and hind legs splayed, white rumps swaying from side to side.
Beside him, Renn had taken off her snow mask. Her
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eyes shone. He knew she was thinking of marrowfat, and baked haunch so succulent that when you bite it, the blood squelches between your teeth and runs down your chin....
Stop it, Torak. You haven't got one yet.
As it was still the rut, bulls kept turning aside to clash antlers, scattering cows and calves as they raced after each other. The biggest bulls had swollen necks and heavy manes from throat to knees; some bore bloody tatters on their tines, where the hide hadn't finished peeling. Torak saw shreds of it fluttering from branches at the edges of the thickets on either side of the gap. The reindeer shied from these, as they did from the turf men who stood with open arms on the hills and banks.
Almost, thought Torak, as if they were herding the prey.
He noticed that the reindeer weren't as plump as they should be. After grazing all summer, they should have had thick pads of fat on their backs, but these didn't. Torak saw a young cow drop to one side and make a pitiful attempt to feed, pawing the ice with her front hooves, before trotting wearily on.
At last, he and Renn made it down the slope to an outcrop of boulders on the riverbank, surrounded by straggling willows. Torak saw reindeer jostling to get into the water. He saw moist pink tongues sliding over yellow teeth. He smelled musk, and heard the clicking
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of tendons as hooves struck icy ground. He nocked an arrow to his bow.
Renn pushed back her hood, fixed her eyes on her target, and took aim.
Wolf bit hard and the buck with the broken leg went limp.
In a frenzy of hunger, Wolf sank his teeth into its belly and loosed a flood of delicious, slithery guts. He gulped them fast, leaving only the pouch that smelled of moss. When the buck's belly was empty and Wolf's nearly full, he started on the haunches, biting off chunks of hot, juicy meat.
The ravens alighted and hopped toward the kill. Wolf growled them away without lifting his muzzle. They stalked off to wait their turn.
The hunger was gone: Wolf couldn't eat any more. He was thirsty. His muzzle and chest fur were sticky. Trotting down the bank, he snapped up the Wet, leaving the kill to the ravens.
As he raised his head from the Wet, he caught the scent of taillesses. He sniffed.
Not his taillesses.
Other.
Renn was about to shoot when her quarry stumbled in the shallows, and fell with a spear quivering in its ribs.
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A spear.
Torak met her startled glance and lowered his bow. Where had that come from?
The spear had dropped the reindeer so cleanly that the others splashed past it, unconcerned. Crouching among the willows, Torak and Renn peered down the bank. Those spears had come from the river....
There. Midstream, in the thick of the herd: a hide canoe. Torak saw a wooden reindeer head at the front, a stubby tail at the back. The craft sat low in the water, manned by hunters he could barely see. He made out four, cunningly disguised: antlers strapped to their heads, faces painted dark brown, with patches of white around eyes and mouth, like reindeer. He saw another canoe downstream. Renn pointed to two more upstream.
Torak glanced at the shreds of antler hide fluttering at the edges of the thicket; at the turf men with open arms. They were there to herd the reindeer toward the river, where the hunters lay in wait, ready to pick them off while they were swimming, and least able to escape.
Renn had grasped it too. "Now we've done it," she breathed. "We've blundered into someone else's hunt!"
Torak saw a hunter in one of the boats taking aim at a white reindeer in the water. Just as his spear drew back, a raven swooped out of nowhere.
"Oh, no," muttered Renn.
Rip had eaten well, and was in the mood for fun.
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Flying low, he barked like a dog. The startled hunter cast his weapon, but missed his quarry's ribs and struck the rump instead. The white reindeer scrambled out of the river and galloped off, trailing the spear.
In an instant, the herd smelled the pain of its wounded sister and panicked. Torak saw white-rimmed eyes and flaring nostrils. Panic became a stampede. Reindeer reared, clambering over one another, churning water. The canoes rocked wildly; Torak saw hunters clinging on. Then he forgot about them as branches snapped behind him and reindeer crashed toward them through the thicket,
"Climb the boulders!" cried Renn.
They fled the willows and Torak boosted her onto the nearest rock, then swung himself up. The herd thundered around them, a torrent of antlers and hooves and powerful, crushing bodies. Renn wasn't high enough--the tine of a rearing bull snagged her hair. She screamed, struggling one-handed to pull free. Torak whipped out his knife and slashed her hair loose. The terrified bull thrashed its head and flailed its hooves, catching him on the shoulder. He fell, rolling sideways as a hoof struck the ground near his face. Renn leaned down and grabbed his arm. The reindeer blundered down the bank.
"You all right?" Renn shouted above the din.
"Yes! You?" yelled Torak.
She nodded grimly. But the back of her scalp was
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bleeding, where a lock of hair had been torn out by the roots.
Suddenly it was all over. The last reindeer cantered down the bank. The hoofbeats faded. The herd was gone.
Renn slid off the boulder, clutching her head. Torak jumped down beside her.
Below them, the hunters were splashing into the shallows, dragging their canoes. Already, some were running into the thicket, jabbing their spears as they sought those who'd ruined their hunt. Torak saw scowls on painted faces, heard voices buzzing like angry wasps. They had a right to be angry. One reindeer down and another wounded--which would mean tracking it, maybe for days, to finish it off. Not much of a catch for such a big clan.
Renn yanked him back behind the boulders. "We need to get away before they see us," she hissed.
"But they're our only chance of finding the Mountain."
"Yes, but right now, they're furious, and in no mood to give us directions!"
The hunter who'd been the victim of Rip's prank was the angriest. "Did you see it?" he shouted. "A demon like a raven! Spoiled my aim, then vanished into thin air!"
Torak was about to call out, but Renn clapped her
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hand over his mouth. "Are you mad?" she whispered.
Torak studied the hunters. Then he took Renn's hand from his mouth, rose to his feet, and stepped out from behind the rocks.
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[Image: Krukoslik.]
EIGHTEEN
Renn saw a big man turn and narrow his eyes. - "Krukoslik!" shouted Torak, tearing off his snow mask and running down the bank.
The painted face split into a grin. "Torak!" Striding forward, the Leader of the Mountain Hare Clan put both fists to his chest in friendship. "You've grown tall! Is that Renn over there? Come down, come down!"
Embarassed at not having recognized him, Renn did as he said, and everyone crowded around. Most were Mountain Hare, but Renn also saw a few rowanbark necklets and swan feathers tied to hoods. All had broad faces and welcoming smiles. Their anger seemed to have
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burned off like mist.
Torak tried to apologize for spoiling the hunt, but Krukoslik waved that away. "There's another crossing place at the next river, more hunters waiting. Come! You look hungry."
Someone had already woken a fire. Krukoslik thanked the fallen reindeer for its body, and wished its spirit a safe journey to the Mountain. Then three men swiftly skinned it. After emptying the stomachs, they swilled one clean and drained the blood into it, piled the innards and stomach contents on the hide, and quartered the carcass. Nothing was wasted, and the snow was barely reddened.
Their deft work reminded Renn of Fin-Kedinn, and she felt a pang of homesickness. She was also shaky from her encounter with the reindeer, and her scalp throbbed. A Rowan woman saw her touching it, and quietly helped her bind on a sorrel poultice, which slightly numbed the pain.
Krukoslik handed Renn and Torak beakers and urged them to drink. The blood was turning stringy as it cooled, and Renn coughed when she gulped it down; but the reindeer's strength quickly became hers, and she felt a bit steadier.
Krukoslik's son Chelko--the young hunter who'd missed his aim--passed them chunks of raw liver: warm and unbelievably delicious. Now Renn felt much better.
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She mumbled a belated thanks to her guardian, as she'd forgotten before.
Krukoslik sat with them, but ate nothing. He'd scrubbed off his paint, revealing a round face that looked permanently flushed, as if by a good fire. Like the rest of his clan, he wore a calf-length tunic of reindeer fur, tied at the waist with a wide scarlet belt. His brown hair was cut short across the brow to reveal his red zigzag clan-tattoo, and his hare-fur cape was also stained red, although it had been turned inside out for the hunt.
His eyes were shrewd, yet kind. When Renn unknowingly flouted the custom of his clan by turning her back on the fire, he gently corrected her. "We don't do that--the fire doesn't like it."
But he was also Clan Leader, used to doing things his way. When Torak asked about the Mountain of Ghosts, he stopped him. "This isn't the place. You will come to our camp, while Chelko tracks the wounded one. Then we'll talk of sacred things."
Torak nodded, and turned to Chelko. "I'm sorry the raven startled you. You should know that he's--sort of our friend."
Chelko blinked. "Your friend?"
"He didn't mean any harm," said Renn. "He's young, he likes tricks."
Chelko scratched his chin and grinned. "And I thought it was a demon."
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"So it's really our fault," said Torak, "that your hunt was spoiled. I'd better help you track the wounded one." Chelko looked pleased. "Good," said Krukoslik. "This is good."
"I'll go with you," said Renn.
But to her surprise, Torak shook his head. "You're still shaken. You should go with Krukoslik."
"I'm fine!" she protested.
"I'll see you at camp," said Torak.
Krukoslik's small eyes darted from one to the other. "Good," he said again. "Torak goes with Chelko, Renn with me. When we're together again and everyone's eaten, you can tell me why you've come."
Renn wasn't looking forward to a long walk to camp, but she needn't have worried. The hunters had kept their dog sleds away from the reindeer, but at a whistle they arrived, driven by the children entrusted to mind them.
The sleds were of antlers lashed with willow withes, the runners coated in frozen mud rubbed smooth. They were smaller than those of the Far North, with just enough room for one person to sit, while the driver stood behind. First, Krukoslik introduced Renn to each of his dogs. He clearly thought they merited the same courtesies as people, which made her like him even more.
They started north, rattling over the icy ground. Krukoslik didn't use a whip; he called commands to his
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lead dog, who did the rest. While he drove, he made Renn tell him the news from the Forest. He frowned and touched his clan-creature skin when she spoke of the moths and the shadow sickness, and he was troubled that Fin-Kedinn had gone off on his own; but he seemed glad that Wolf had come with them, although he asked Renn not to name him out loud.
"We who live in the eye of the Mountain are careful with names. The gray one who is your pack-brother, we call his kind ghost hunter, because they stalk with such skill. And we don't name the prey aloud, either, as they have keen ears, and might hear our hunting plans. We call them the antlered ones."
His face creased with worry. "It's good that you've brought the ghost hunter. For three moons, none of his kind have been seen or heard on the fells--except for a dead one, which some Rowan hunters found in the west. They put food by its muzzle to feed its souls, then left it in peace. We fear the others have fled because"--he lowered his voice--"because of the evil one."
Renn glanced over her shoulder. The jagged peaks were suddenly much nearer.
Krukoslik did not speak again, and they went on in silence. The shadows were darkening to violet as they reached camp. From a distance, it looked tiny, nestled beside a gray lake in the immensity of the fells. As they drew closer, Renn saw many shelters honeycombed with
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golden light: the huge hide tent of the Mountain Hares, the turf domes of the Rowans, and long mounds banked with snow, which Krukoslik said were Swan.
"These are terrible times," he said. "The Mountain clans must stay together. It's our only chance."
The dogs barked as the sleds slewed to a halt, and shafts of gold speared the snow as hunters emerged to greet them. Krukoslik handed Renn a bone blade for brushing the snow from her clothes. Stiff with cold, she followed him inside.
She was greeted by a blast of heat and a wonderful, smoky smell of hot food and people. A large peat fire glowed in a ring of stones. Around it, on reindeer pelts flung over layers of springy birch, men and women sat sewing or grinding spearheads. Steam wafted from cooking-skins. Renn's hunger came back in a rush.
Taking off her outer clothes and hanging them to dry on a cross-beam, she followed Krukoslik around the fire, careful not to turn her back on it. Those she passed nodded to her with wary friendliness, but she felt conspicuous, and wished Torak were here.
Krukoslik settled himself at one end of the shelter. "Nearest the Mountain," he said as she sat beside him. He thanked the fire and the antlered ones for the food, and everyone did the same, while Renn mumbled a prayer to her guardian. Then the eating began.
A woman handed Renn a bowl, and explained that
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the stew was mostly fat: crushed marrow and back fat, tongue, and the fattiest innards.
"Meat is good," said the woman, "but fat's better when you live on the fells."
Renn found the stew strengthening, but the fat stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she had to wash it down with heather tea. After that there was reindeer paunch stuffed with chewed lichen--this she politely declined-- and platters of ribs and chewy, roasted ears. The toddlers had bowls of reindeer-foot jelly, and a mother gave her teething baby a stick of frozen marrow to gnaw. The elders got the reindeer's eyeballs, and nibbled the fat off them before popping them in their mouths and munching them whole.
Krukoslik apologized that there were no berries. "Because of the ice," he said. It was the only time he mentioned it.
When Renn was full, she curled up and lay listening to the sound o
f the fire and the murmur of voices. She was exhausted--she could still feel the movement of the sled bumping over the ice--but for the first time in days, she felt safe. Outside, the fells lay in Eostra's grip. In here, it was almost possible to forget.
Drowsily, she heard the creak of the tent poles, and the snow blowing against the shelter. In the smoky half-darkness, she watched naked toddlers clamber over their elders, who steered them clear of the fire without
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glancing up from their work. The Mountain clans lived with more uncertainty than most; maybe that was why they took such pleasure in the good things.
And yet, Renn saw the hardships they endured. Some were missing an eye from encounters with antlers. Others had lost fingers to frostbite. Krukoslik had said that his people didn't name their children till they reached their eighth summer, in case they fell sick and had to be left to die.
Thinking of that, Renn fell asleep. She woke to shouting and laughter. Torak and Chelko were back.
Chelko beamed as he told everyone how Torak had summoned the ghost hunter, who'd helped them track the wounded reindeer. "I killed it with a single spear-cast. Then some Rowans came by with their sleds and helped us."
The clan looked at Torak with cautious respect, and a woman took a reindeer head outside as a present for Wolf.
Torak spotted Renn and came to sit beside her, bringing with him the clean, cold smell of the night. As he gulped a bowl of stew, he asked if she was feeling better.
"Of course I am," she said tartly.
He warded off an imaginary blow.
Around them, talk sank to a murmur, and children
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snuggled into their sleeping-sacks. The Mages of all three clans came in and began to circle, mouthing spells.
"To keep us safe," murmured one of them to Renn. She wore a necklet of white feathers, and her clan-tattoo was a ring of thirteen red dots on her forehead, for the thirteen moons of every cycle. Her eyes were pale, as if bleached by staring into great distances, and with a swan's thighbone she blew earthblood on the walls, breathing life into images of the guardians. A hare sat up on its hind legs and scanned for danger. A swan glided on wide wings. A tree spread protecting arms. There were spirals, too, and reindeer, and bisonlike creatures with downward-curving horns.
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