Oath Breaker

by Michelle Paver; Geoff Taylor

  "M-my child," she mumbled. "We should go in."

  "And you make offerings to the horses? In their valley?"

  "The Windriver, yes." She gestured behind her, then clapped her hand to her mouth. "We should goin!"

  Simmering with excitement, Torak left his axe and bow where he could find them and followed her in. It was almost too easy.

  Inside, it was as dim as the Forest at Midsummer. From the crossbeams, thousands of nettle fibers hung to dry; they brushed his face like long green hair. Men and women sat on opposite sides with Durrain in the middle, cradling a pair of deer-hoof rattles. There was no fire. The only warmth was the dank heat of breath.

  Torak made out Renn, who gave him a conspiratorial smile. He felt guilty, because she wasn't coming with him. He couldn't have said why; he just knew that when he confronted Thiazzi, she mustn't be there to see it.

  Making his way to the men's side, he found a place in front of one of the doorways.

  The last Red Deer crawled in and set a bowl and a platter before Durrain. She lifted the bowl and drank.

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  "Rain from the tracks of the tree-headed guardian," she intoned. "Drink the wisdom of the Forest." She handed the bowl on.

  From the platter she took a piece of flatcake. "Bark of the ever-watchful pine. Eat the wisdom of the Forest."

  When it was Torak's turn, he hid the flatcake up his sleeve and only pretended to sip from the bowl. Surreptitiously, he put out his hand and felt cool air beneath the hide flap.

  Durrain's gaze raked the throng.

  He froze.

  Durrain began shaking the rattles in a steady, cantering rhythm. "Forest," she chanted, "you see all. You know all. Not a swallow falls, not a bat breathes, but you know it. Hear us."

  "Hear us," echoed the others.

  "End the strife between the clans. Bring the stag-headed Spirit back to your sacred valleys."

  On and on went the chanting and the galloping hooves, and still Durrain watched her people. Middle-night came and went. Torak had almost given up hope when, without breaking rhythm, she cast her hood over her face--and the others did the same.

  As the Red Deer chanted themselves deeper into the trance, Torak backed closer to the flap. The men flanking him were lost in their wovenstem darkness. They didn't see him escape.

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  Grabbing his weapons, he headed up the trail.

  He hadn't gone far when Rip and Rek swooped and gave him a welcoming caw.Where have you been?

  Wolf appeared like a gray shadow and ran at his side.Bitten One. Not far.

  The half-eaten moon was setting; dawn was not far off. Torak quickened his pace. The thrill of the chase fizzed in his blood. He felt swift and invincible, a hunter closing on his prey. This was meant to be.

  The boy escapes. This was meant to be. For three days and nights the Chosen One has watched the unbelievers, as the Master willed. The girl drains the power from a curse stick as easily as pouring water from a pail. The boy summons ravens from the sky and speaks with the great gray wolf--and his spirit walks.

  The boy believes he is cunning, tracking the Master to the sacred grove. No one tracks the Master. The Master summons, and others obey. Even the fire obeys the Master.

  The will of the Master must be done.

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  SIXTEEN

  Dawn had broken, and neither the Red Deer nor Renn came after him. Torak almost wished they would. Soon, nothing would stand between him and his vengeance. As the day wore on, he followed the trail up the Windriver, although this swift brown torrent bore scant resemblance to the mighty river it would become in the Open Forest.

  Wolf padded at his side with drooping tail and lowered head. Even the ravens had stopped swooping after butterflies. The thrill of the hunt had given way to apprehension.

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  The valley narrowed to a gorge, and the river became a rushing stream. A dry south wind had been blowing all day, but now it dropped to a whisper. Torak felt a tingling in his spine. They were entering the foothills of the High Mountains.

  Wolf sniffed a clod of earth that had been kicked up by a horse's hoof. Torak stooped for a long black tail hair. Above him, the new leaves of beech and birch glowed a brilliant green. Blackthorn blossom glittered like snow. The air was fresh with the scent of spruce, and alive with birdsong: chaffinch, warbler, thrush, wren. Even the speedwell on the trail was a preternatural blue, like flowers in a dream. He had reached the valley of the horses.

  Wolf raised his head.Do we go on?

  I must, Torak told him.Not you. Dangerous. If you must, I must. They walked on in the flickering shade.

  The trail, Torak noticed, had been trodden by many hooves and paws, but no boots. The prey showed no fear of him, and he guessed that here, people were forbidden to hunt. A black woodpecker hopped backward along a branch, probing for ants. It was so close that Torak glimpsed its long gray tongue. A roe buck munched deadnettle. He could have touched its coarse brown fur. He came upon a boar snuffling for roots; she watched him pass without raising her snout.

  143 The valley narrowed to a gorge, and birch gave way to mossy spruce. The breeze died. The birds fell silent. Torak's footfalls sounded loud. He touched his shoulder, where his clan-creature skin used to be. A knot of dread tightened under his heart.

  Ever since Bale's death, his whole purpose had been to find Thiazzi. He hadn't thought about what came after. He did now. He had to kill the strongest man in the Forest.

  He had to kill a man.

  Perhaps this was why he'd left Renn behind: because he didn't want her to see him do it. But he missed her.

  A murmur of wings behind him and he turned, hoping it was Rip and Rek. It was a sparrowhawk on a stump, plucking the breast of a headless thrush. Maybe, thought Torak, the ravens have gone because they know what I'm going to do.

  But Wolf was still with him. He was gazing at Torak, and his amber eyes held the pure, steady light of the guide.Do not go on.

  I must,Torak replied.

  This is bad.

  I know. I must.

  The sun sank lower and the trees closed in. The river disappeared, but Torak heard it echoing underground. Finally, its voice fell to nothing. A stone clattered behind him. When it came to rest,

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  the stillness surged back like something alive.

  The trail rounded a bend and the Mountains reared before him, startlingly close. The valley walls leaned in, shutting out the dying light. Ahead, the tallest holly trees he'd ever seen warded him back. Beyond them, he knew, lay the sacred grove: the heart of the Forest.

  Some places hold an echo of events; others possess their own spirit. Torak sensed the spirit of this place as a soundless humming in his bones. From his pouch, he drew his mother's medicine horn. He shook earthblood into his palm and daubed some on his cheeks and brow. The horn seemed to vibrate, like the humming in his marrow.

  Wolf nosed his hand. His ears were flat against his skull. He was no longer the guide. He was Torak's pack-brother, and frightened.

  Torak knelt and blew gently on his muzzle, feeling the tickle of his whiskers and breathing his sweet, clean smell. He couldn't let Wolf come any farther. It was too dangerous. Fie had to do this alone. Hating the confusion he would cause, he told Wolf to go.

  Wolf refused.

  Torak repeated the command.

  Wolf ran in a circle.You must not hunt the Bitten One!

  Go,Torak replied.

  Wolf pawed his knee.Danger! Uff!

  Torak hardened his heart.Go!

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  Wolf gave an anxious whimper and raced off into the Forest.

  So now you're alone, thought Torak. He felt the chill of the night seeping out of the earth. He rose and walked into the dark beneath the trees.

  As Wolf raced up the slope, worry and fear fought within him. This was a terrible place. The holly trees whispered warnings he didn't understand. They were very old, and they didn't want him here.

  He rea
ched a ridge above the whispering trees and skittered to a halt. The breeze carried a tangle of scents to his nose. He smelled the Bright Beast-that-Bites-Hot, and the Bitten One, and a whiff of demon. He smelled his pack-brother's fear and his blood-hunger. This was not the hunger of the hunt; it was deeper, fiercer. It was not-wolf. Wolf didn't understand it, but he feared it. And he feared for Tall Tailless, because he felt in his fur that if Tall Tailless attacked the Bitten One, he would be killed.

  The Bitten One was stronger than a bear. Not even the Bright Beast dared attack him. What could one wolf do?

  Wolf trotted up and down the ridge, mewing in distress. He felt a faint shudder in the earth. He swiveled his ears. Loping to the top of the ridge, he leaped onto a log. He caught the rich scent of the huge prey that is like auroch--but not.

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  He smelled that a herd of these not-aurochs was feeding in the next valley. They were enormous creatures, but timid, although they could be extremely bad-tempered and hated being chased, as Wolf had learned the previous Dark.

  He raced off to find them. The holly trees smelled of dust and spiders. Their vigilance pressed upon Torak, drawing the breath from his lungs as the wind draws smoke from a shelter.

  Eventually, the hollies thinned, and between their straight black trunks he saw the red glimmer of a fire. He drew his knife. As he went closer, he heard the crackle of flames. He caught the stink of charred flesh.

  He reached the last tree and edged behind it. The holly's bark felt cold as slate beneath his palm.

  The sacred grove was washed in blue moonlight, and shadowed by the broken shoulders of the Mountains. A circle of raked embers smoldered on stony ground. Beyond it, hazed by smoke, two enormous trees stood side by side, their upper branches intertwining like hands.

  The Great Oak pushed skyward in eternal struggle. Its mighty trunk was furrowed like an ice river, and in the uncertain light, Torak saw gnarled bark faces glaring at him. No leaves softened the oak's twig fingers: its buds had been gnawed by demons. But from some branches

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  hung small, lumpy shapes. Torak couldn't see what they were. He dreaded finding out.

  The Great Yew was ancient beyond imagining. Torak knew, because he had walked in its deep green souls. Its twisted limbs were weathered to a driftwood silver, but underneath, the golden sapwood pulsed. Its ever-wakeful boughs had survived fire and flood, lightning and drought. Its roots were harder than stone, and held down the Mountains. The Great Yew feared nothing, not even demons.

  From nowhere, a gust of wind cleared the smoke and breathed life into the fire. Torak saw that a stake had been driven into its heart, and from this hung a slender, blackened carcass.

  Torak felt sick. Now he understood what dangled from the Great Oak. Carcasses. Too small to be human, too charred to be recognizable. To murder a hunter. He remembered the Soul-Eaters' dreadful sacrifices in the caves of the Far North. He remembered Fin-Kedinn telling of the bad times long ago, when the clans had killed hunters, including people.

  This, he thought, is evil. He could feel it in the air: a rotten, choking sickness, palsying the heart of the Forest.

  His hand on his knife-hilt was slippery with sweat.

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  There was no turning back. He had to leave the shelter of the holly trees and find Thiazzi.

  He was about to take the first step when one of the rocks beyond the fire rose, spread its arms, and became a man.

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  SEVENTEEN

  The Mage rose from the very roots of the sacred grove. He wore a mantle of flowing horsehide and a long, graven mask crested with a mane of horsetails. Painted eyes glared scarlet, and the gaping mouth was fringed with black feathers that shuddered at every breath.

  Spirit breath,Renn had told Torak once.A mask is a spirit's face. When you put on a mask, you become that spirit. The feathers show that the spirit lives. Mask and mantle declared him to be the Forest Horse Mage, but upon his breast he wore a wreath of acorns and mistletoe, the tokens of his true clan, and from it hung a small, heavy pouch. The fire-opal.

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  Behind the holly tree, Torak clumsily sheathed his knife. It would be useless against such power. He unslung his bow and fumbled in his quiver for an arrow. His heart was pounding so hard that it hurt. He felt like a mouse about to attack an auroch.

  Standing before the fire, the Mage began to pant, forcing the air from his chest in harsh exhalations:ugh-- ugh--ugh.He stepped closer to the fire. He steppedintoit. Through the shimmering heat, Torak watched his naked feet tread the living embers. Not possible, he thought.

  Panting faster-ugh ugh ugh--the Mage snatched the carcass from the stake and walked back to solid ground.

  Torak's head reeled. If not even fire could harm him ... He couldn't do this. He couldn't do it.

  He watched the Mage raise a fallen spruce tree as if it were a twig, and set it against the trunk of the Great Oak. The spruce was notched to make a ladder. The Mage ascended and hung the carcass from a bough. Descending, he took a sack from among the roots of the Great Oak and drew out a hawk. Torak's belly turned over. The hawk was alive. It fluttered wildly as the Mage tied it by one leg to a stake.

  Again the Mage began those harsh, panting breaths. But this time, as he raised the stake, his mantle fell away from his forearms, and Torak saw his three-fingered hand

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  and his Oak Clan tattoo. The skin was scored with angry scabs. Torak thought of Bale, clawing his attacker as he fought for life. His souls hardened. It was time to fulfill his oath.

  Wiping his palms on his leggings, he nocked the arrow to his bow. He would move away from the tree, into full view. He would shout the challenge, give Thiazzi a chance to seize his weapons. And then ...

  The Soul-Eater carried his fluttering burden into the fire, planted the stake, and walked away. Torak couldn't bear it. He took aim and let fly. The hawk hung dead, the arrow quivering in its breast.

  Slowly, the Mage took off his mask and placed it on the ground. He turned, and Torak saw him at last. The russet mane, the thicket of beard. The face as hard as suncracked earth. The pitiless green eyes.

  "So, Spirit Walker. You obeyed my summons." Torak stepped out from behind the tree. "Take up your weapons, Thiazzi. You killed my kinsman. Now I'm going to kill you." 152

  EIGHTEEN

  Torak faced Thiazzi across ten paces of drifting smoke. "You won't get away from me this time," he said, nocking another arrow to his bow. The Oak Mage threw back his head and laughed. "I, get away fromyou?You're here because I want you here!" Flicking his mantle behind his shoulders, he brandished a whip in one hand, an axe in the other. The lash was coiled like a viper. The axe was the largest Torak had ever seen.

  "I wondered who dared follow me from the islands," said Thiazzi, slicing the air with deft twists of his wrist, "so I sent my minion to find out. Since you entered my 153

  Forest, I've known every step you've taken, every breath you've drawn. Now it ends."

  "You won't find it that easy," said Torak, edging sideways around the fire. "I could have killed you in the Far North. Remember?"

  The whip cracked, wrenching Torak's bow from his hand. "My power is greater than yours!" spat Thiazzi, tossing the bow into the flames. "See, even the fire obeys me!" Smoke wafted across Torak's sight. When it cleared, Thiazzi stood no more than two paces from him.

  "But since the World Spirit has delivered you into my hands," the Oak Mage went on, "I shall add your power to my own."

  Wrenching his axe from his belt, Torak put the fire between them once more. "How can the World Spirit be on your side? Killing hunters? How can that please the Spirit?"

  "To offer a hunter to the fire is to give it the noblest death of all. It is the Way."

  Again the whip cracked, Torak dodged, and the rawhide struck stone. "It's not the clans' way," he panted, "and it's not your Forest."

  "I am the Master!" boomed Thiazzi. "I have taken the Deep Forest for my own!" Foam flew f
rom his lips, and his green eyes glittered.

  As Torak stared at him, everything fell into place.

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  "The war between the clans. You started it. You set them against each other."

  Yellow teeth flashed in the russet beard.

  "You planted the curse sticks," said Torak, moving backward, nearly losing his footing. "You murdered the Forest Horse Mage and blamed it on the Aurochs. You made them fight."

  "They wanted to fight. Theyneededto fight!"

  The whip bit Torak's wrist, and with a cry he dropped his axe. He lunged for it, but Thiazzi was faster, snatching it and throwing it on the fire. "The clans are weak"he snarled. "They've forgotten the True Way, butIwill unite them. That's why the World Spirit gave this land to me: to root out differences, to return the clans to the Way! No more clan guardians, no more clan Mages. One way. One Forest. One Leader!"

  Dashing the sweat from his eyes, Torak pulled his knife from its sheath.

  Again, Thiazzi's yellow grin flashed. "Icannotbe hurt!" He pointed to the mistletoe at his breast. "The deathless heart of the oak shields me from harm! I am invincible!" Torak's knife trembled in his hand.

  "But come," taunted the Oak Mage, "try your luck. Let's see if you can break me. Or shall I break you, as easily as I broke your mother and your father?" 155

  The red mist descended. Torak saw him through a haze of blood.

  "... as I broke your kinsman," boasted the Oak Mage. "As I threw him over the Crag and spattered his brains across the rocks ..."

  Torak roared and launched himself at Thiazzi.

  Wolf stalked the not-aurochs upwind, which he would never normally do. But this time, hewantedthem to smell him.

  A cow caught his scent and swung around. Wolf lowered his head to tell her he was hunting. The cow gave a nervous snort and pawed the earth. Wolf came on. She charged. Wolf dodged her nimbly and ran off to worry a bull. The bull rounded on him. Wolf leaped clear of his horns by a whisker and bounded away. He was enjoying this.

  Now the whole herd was anxious. It stopped munching willowherb and started lumbering up the slope. Wolf prowled behind a cluster of young cows who were huffing and showing the whites of their eyes. He chose the edgiest and snapped at her fetlock. The cow squealed, jerked up her tail, and fled. Panicked, the rest of the herd followed.