The Tiger and the Wolf (Echoes of the Fall Book 1)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  She said, ‘Tell me about your priesthood,’ feeling the slender serpent shift its coiled grasp about her wrist.

  He opened his mouth to answer, but the wrongness struck her all at once, and she cried out: no words, just a warning. The instant they knew she had sensed them, there were wolves bursting out from cover, weaving between the trees with their jaws half-open, eyes burning her with their yellow gaze.

  And she knew them. No strangers these, who might be fooled or reasoned with. At their head was Akrit Stone River himself. Her father had come for her.

  She Stepped to her own wolf shape instantly and was away, feeling Hesprec shift awkwardly to stay clasped about her. Asmander had his stone-toothed sword out, eyes wide in that dark face, but it was plain the wolves were happy to avoid him and ignore him, if only they could have her.

  She went scuffing and scrambling away between the trees, but the gradient was taking her further downslope any time she was not actively pushing upwards. The Winter Runners knew it, running below her, one or other of them pacing her at every moment, the rest closing the jaws of the trap. They were wolves: as a pack they could run forever. As solitary prey she could not.

  It seemed to her that she had always realized it would end like this. These were just the last moments of a hunt that had begun the moment she had abandoned her home village. If she had only looked far enough behind her, she would surely have spotted the patient form of Stone River loping along her trail.

  But still she ran. Like every hunted thing, she ran until they caught her.

  She had lost track of Stone River, but Amiyen Shatters Oak was pushing towards her from down the slope, inching closer and closer. Then another couple of wolves were almost falling upon her, two young hunters shouldering at each other to be the one who caught her. They lost their purchase on the root-strewn ground, nearly taking her with them. She veered, and then was a tiger, clawing and climbing straight upwards swifter than Amiyen could follow, kicking dirt and mats of dead needles down at the wolf behind her.

  Another of the pack was above her, had overshot her in trying to second-guess her course, but was now turning back. She saw the grey of an old wolf still strong, and her heart shot her through with dread: Kalameshli, surely? Stone River had brought the priest along, and why would he do that, unless the hateful old man had a special vengeance in mind for her?

  They will give me to the Wolf. They will give me to the fire.

  She turned back the way she had come, from tiger back to wolf as soon as she had found a level course, leaving Amiyen and Kalameshli and the rest scrabbling to match her shift in direction.

  Then Smiles Without Teeth was there before her, a huge dun wolf with spittle-strung jaws. He lunged for her and she twisted aside, knowing that she was going to make it, that those teeth would close only on empty air.

  But he Stepped as he lunged, the reach of his teeth suddenly extended by the length of his arm, and his huge hand got the scruff of her neck, and then he had her by the throat.

  She was human again, no fangs, no claws, and he lifted her up with a triumphant grin. Then Hesprec flashed out from her sleeve, toothless jaws gaping right in the Wolf hunter’s face, and he howled and dropped her, losing his footing and sliding away down the slope. She hit the ground on four feet, Hesprec on two.

  ‘Asmander! Here!’ the old man managed, a quavering cry that surely the Champion would never hear, and then he lunged desperately for her, knotting his scaled length about her even as she was off, wolf-shaped again, feeling the net close in on her.

  Seconds later three wolves were nipping at her tail, each pushing at the others for a chance of being the one that brought her down, and she could scent the fierce, hot reek of the pack – not the individuals but the single creature they made when they came together. She dodged and danced between the trees, keeping her few heartbeats of a lead, but one stumble from her would finish it, and they were inexorably bending her path so as to bring her into the jaws of the others.

  Then Asmander was amongst them in the Champion’s shape, striking down with sickle-clawed feet and scattering them, shrieking out his challenge. The wolves bolted in all directions, one of them tumbling over and over down the slope, and Maniye was running, still running. Abruptly there was no other wolf behind her, and she was leaping free, of her own volition and not driven by their storm.

  Two, three breaths the world allowed her, when she thought she was clear of them. Then Stone River pounced from the higher ground, the cunning old hunter who had guessed where the hunt would take her, and had waited, fresh and alert, for her to come to him. He struck her in the side, knocking her from her feet with his weight, and then he had his forepaws on her, pinning her to the ground, his breath hot and stinking in her nose.

  He lunged, jaws gaping, but it was just to set them about her throat, not enough to pierce her wolf hide, but sufficient to jolt her back into her human form.

  Then he was human too, looming, monstrous, one of her childhood’s two tormenting demons. He hauled her up and, when she tried to twist out of his grasp, he slapped her across the side of the face, hard enough to loosen her teeth and blur her vision.

  ‘Now,’ he growled, and Hesprec struck at him desperately, first an open-mouthed lunge at his face, then whipping his body about Akrit Stone River’s throat, a living noose that grew and grew, thickening and tightening as Hesprec Stepped and Stepped through a spectrum of greater and greater serpents, fighting for the strength to overcome this man.

  Then Akrit had a hand about the snake’s head and neck, as he tried to wrench the creature away, and abruptly there was no longer a crushing serpent there, but just a fragile old man with his withered and impotent hands at the Wolf chief’s throat.

  Maniye was a tiger, in that instant, snarling and yowling and ready to defend her friend, but the old priest cried out, ‘Run! You’re their prize, not me!’

  Even then she would not have gone, but another wolf was on her, jaws gouging long grooves in her haunches: Amiyen Shatters Oak had caught up with her. Without thinking, Maniye smacked the newcomer across the snout with a rake of her claws and was a wolf again, already darting away. She left Hesprec behind. She hated herself, but she left him.

  But Shatters Oak would not be thrown off. Pelting through the trees, she felt that she had left the pack behind, perhaps even left Akrit behind, but the hot breath of Shatters Oak was always at her back. Now Maniye found herself remembering the Horse camp: how it had been Shatters Oak and her son there who had tried to kill her.

  She tried for another sudden burst of speed, but she was too tired, and Amiyen was running a little downhill of her, forcing Maniye to spend her strength against the slope.

  I cannot run like this much longer. She was slowing. When she had slowed enough, been worn down enough, Amiyen would strike. That was the Wolf’s way.

  So she turned to fight.

  She was a tiger again when she turned, claws digging for purchase, given a tantalizing glimpse of a clear path beyond Amiyen when the other wolf overshot, but now she had decided to fight, it was a fight she would make of it. Even in this form she was smaller than Amiyen’s wolf, but it was a closer match, and her position upslope had become a weapon.

  She struck, and heard Shatters Oak’s surprised yelp, and then the two of them were tumbling over and over. They bounced off a couple of trees, one that caught Maniye in the ribs, one that bruised Amiyen’s haunches, and then the wolf had scrabbled to her feet, snapping at Maniye’s throat.

  She sprang back, swatting at the wolf’s muzzle as she did so. A moment later she was human again, knife coming out as she fell into a fighting stance. But it had only ever been a dance for her, and Amiyen was as determined to kill her as a woman could be.

  The wolf regarded her with cold, hating eyes, and then Amiyen Stepped as well, pulling an iron hatchet from her belt.

  Shatters Oak attacked straight away, three swift cuts with the axe, left, right, then a vicious hack across Maniye’s midriff that had
her leaping back. She made it a dance though, turning on the ball of her foot and driving back in, cutting down the line of Amiyen’s collarbone, one hand up to catch the axe-wrist.

  The slash fell short when Amiyen twisted aside from it with a surprised snarl, yet she had still drawn a thin line of red close to the other woman’s neck. Catching hold of the axe was harder, though. Amiyen was stronger than she was, stronger than any of the Tiger girls Maniye had trained against. She had been taught all sorts of lessons about using strength against itself, but none of them were in her head right then, and her feet almost slid out from under her.

  Instantly she was a tiger again, and she scored three lines across Amiyen’s leg before the axe came down. Her Step had taken her in close, so the hatchet’s haft slammed hard into her shoulder, and then Amiyen was a wolf with teeth of iron gnawing for purchase at the back of her opponent’s neck.

  Maniye bucked and threw herself aside, feeling those fangs draw blood yet not lock. She writhed out from under her enemy, turning back with a savage snarl, all finesse forgotten, looking for the wolf but finding the woman.

  The axe threatened: she flinched back from it, and Amiyen kicked her beneath the ribs, bowling her over onto her back. The sudden wrenching pain yanked Maniye into her human shape again, gasping for breath that would not come, and Amiyen dropped onto her, a hand at her throat, a knee crunching down on her knife-arm. She was smiling.

  ‘Now I kill you, as you killed my son,’ she crowed triumphantly. ‘And your ghost shall rot in your corpse.’

  Maniye tried to protest that she hadn’t, but Amiyen’s grip was choking off all the words in her throat. With her free hand she fumbled with that clenching grasp, but she might as well have tried to bend iron.

  Then someone was standing behind Amiyen, though by then Maniye could make out none of the details. She heard the voice, though.

  ‘Many Tracks didn’t kill your son. I did.’

  A voice she knew: Broken Axe’s voice.

  Amiyen had gone still, but not relaxed her grip. ‘You? How could it be you . . . ? You were not . . .’ But her eyes had narrowed and she must have been casting her mind back to the Horse camp. In amongst the twisted skein of scents that had knotted the air there, had she scented the spoor of Broken Axe? Surely she had . . . ‘The girl was there. Iramey was on her heels.’

  ‘Because he sought to kill her. And because you did.’

  Silence from Amiyen Shatters Oak.

  Broken Axe stepped round until Maniye could see him. He seemed eminently unhurried.

  ‘Why would you?’ Amiyen said at last. ‘If I told Stone River you had turned on your own—’

  ‘And if I tell him you would have killed his daughter, against his word?’ Broken Axe raised an eyebrow. ‘He will say I was doing his will.’

  Maniye could feel Amiyen growing tenser and tenser, poised to Step, to spring. She tried to warn Broken Axe with her eyes, but he gave no sign of noticing her.

  ‘And now?’ Amiyen’s tone was low and dangerous.

  ‘Now you seek her death again. And you have no sons with you.’ Broken Axe spread his hands wide. ‘But here I am, Iramey’s Bane.’

  Amiyen screamed out her hatred, throwing herself off Maniye and Stepping at the same time, so that her hind claws gouged and tore at the girl as she scrabbled for purchase.

  ‘Go!’ Broken Axe snapped, and then he was a wolf as well, and the two were meeting each other, fang to fang.

  And Maniye followed suit, running once again, wolf nose in the air to warn her of any of her kin who might be close.

  That was how, much later, she found the camp of Venater and Shyri, who had been waiting with less and less patience for someone to tell them what was going on.

  By that time, Maniye was half dead with running, sore-footed, hungry and parched with thirst. By the time she was ready to tell them what had happened, Asmander had arrived too, stalking into the clearing as the Champion, proud and terrible and strange. Only when he Stepped back did he show that he was just about as tired as she was.

  His look at her was accusing, and she hung her head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘The Messenger.’

  ‘There was nothing I could do,’ she told him, and then, noting his expression, ‘He was my friend! I don’t know what he was to you, but he was my friend. My only one!’

  Asmander looked as though he had a lot more to say, but he held it and he held it, and then it let it go, just breathing it all out and leaving behind a man who was calm and in control. ‘We should move on,’ he decided. ‘Your Wolves, they will be sniffing after you with their long noses, yes?’

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ Shyri said, standing up abruptly with a knife in her hand. Maniye Stepped instantly, but without deciding to what. Something within her chose tiger over wolf. Too tired to run, she would fight.

  The three southerners were all ready to make a battle of it too, so she had to Step very swiftly and call them off when she saw it was Broken Axe.

  He regarded them narrowly, taking in the foreigners.

  ‘Your old man, the Snake,’ said Broken Axe. ‘Stone River has him. They will give him to the Wolf.’

  35

  ‘Who is this?’ Asmander demanded, seeing only another Wolf. The air between Broken Axe and the southerners was tense as a strung wire

  ‘Calm,’ Maniye said, drawing their taut gazes onto her. ‘Broken Axe is a Wolf who follows his own path. He keeps many counsels and we need to know what he can tell us.’ She was sensing out the balance of power between the southerners: who cared about Hesprec, and who was spoiling for a fight.

  ‘So speak,’ Asmander said at last. ‘If your people have the Messenger, tell us why they won’t have shed his blood already.’

  ‘They’ll want to do it properly,’ Broken Axe explained. ‘The old man, he was due for the Wolf’s jaws once before. They have no idol here to sear him on, but Takes Iron will do what he can to make it a proper sacrifice, to appease the Wolf. They say that, after what happened at the Stones, the Wolf’s eye is fixed on Stone River right now. He’s being measured. Anything he can do to win favour, he’ll do.’

  ‘Then they must’ve done it by now,’ Maniye argued. ‘A big fire, a few words, what else is there?’ After her time spent amongst the Tigers, all the rituals of the Wolf clans seemed no more than brutal muttering.

  ‘They would have to stop for it,’ Axe explained. ‘Stone River is on the move. They have come too close to the Shining Halls. Tiger scouts have been playing games with them, and they already fought off a Tiger warband – one that was also hunting you, like as not. There was a fight, wounds on both sides. The Tigers slunk back to the Halls to lick their wounds, but this is still Tiger land, and Stone River is making for another camp of his, heading west.’

  ‘How far?’ Maniye demanded.

  ‘Less than two days for a wolf, but the old man is no wolf. With a halter about his neck he’s no snake, either. So they must pull him on a sled, and that slows them. Slows them so that a wolf could catch them.’

  Maniye stared at him. ‘Would you lie to me, Broken Axe?’

  ‘If it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘The right thing to do is to tell you what I have told you.’

  ‘Why?’ Asmander demanded suddenly. ‘Why do you care? Yes, I will do all I can to save the Messenger from your people, but why tell us this, save to trap us? Surely any sacrifice to the Wolf god must be music to you.’

  ‘The Wolf I follow is in here.’ Broken Axe tapped his chest. ‘He wants no sacrifice. He needs no man to die in agony by fire. He wants the clean joy of the hunt, the fresh snow, the wide sky and the moon. He wants a simple life that isn’t stained by other men’s ambition and greed.’

  It was hardly enough to win over Asmander, Maniye thought, but at the man’s words the southerner nodded thoughtfully. ‘If this is true, then we must travel now.’

  ‘We must.’ Broken Axe’s no
d took in Maniye and nobody else. ‘Stepped, we’ll overtake them. Can you run with the Wolf?’

  ‘How will I find out save by trying?’ Asmander replied. ‘You two,’ he turned to his southern companions, ‘track us, and make what pace you can.’

  Shyri, at least, looked rebellious at that, and who knew what pace she could keep up, but the life of Hesprec was apparently not something she was willing to exert herself for.

  They Stepped then: Broken Axe, Maniye and the southern Champion. Two wolves and a stalking lizard creature left the camp, heading west.

  During that first stretch it was plain that Asmander could not only keep up, but could have sprinted far faster than they if he wanted. He was constantly having to rein himself in, cocking his head back towards them and scratching at the ground while they caught up. Then Broken Axe was human again and signalling a halt, though they had covered almost no distance. They were on the same slopes where the Winter Runners had attacked previously, and there was a stench in Maniye’s nose: a personal scent, familiar and yet somehow changed.

  ‘Why’ve we stopped?’ Asmander demanded. ‘You’re going to camp here for the night?’

  ‘I must retrieve something, that is all.’ Broken Axe searched about, Stepping into and out of his wolf shape, until he had found the right place. Then he reached up with human hands and hauled himself into a tree, coming down again with something bulky draped over his shoulder.

  Maniye, who had remained a wolf through all of this, knew it for a pelt. Some part of her was desperate for this to be the last remnant of Amiyen Shatters Oak, but it was not. The scent was familiar, but she could not immediately put a name to it.

  ‘Dirhath,’ Broken Axe supplied, and she remembered: a young hunter, scarcely more than a boy, strutting and unsure but desperate to win the approval of his elders. He had not yet won himself a hunter’s name. Now he never would.

  ‘He was caught by the Tigers, separated from the pack. They killed him, and his spirit is flown.’