Authors: Michelle Paver,Geoff Taylor
Tags: #Good and evil, #Death, #Animals, #Wolves & Coyotes, #Juvenile Fiction, #Philosophy, #Prehistoric peoples, #Battles, #Fiction, #Voyages and travels, #Good & Evil, #Prehistory, #Adventure fiction, #Historical, #Fantasy & Magic, #Demoniac possession, #Friendship, #Murder, #Enemies
They headed uphill, and soon reached a small glade where the evening sun glowed in drifts of yellow hawkbit. There was no birdsong. The glade was eerily quiet. In 135
the middle, Renn saw a tangle of bleached bones: the skeletons of two red deer stags.
As Durrain led them back to camp, Torak hung back, and Renn fell into step beside him. "Are you all right?" she said. "Fine." She touched his hand. "I know you hoped for more from them."
"Me too." "How can you not fight Soul-Eaters? If nobody fought 137 them, they'd take over the Forest." "Although," she said, mimicking Durrain's lofty tones, "who are
we
to question the ways of the Red Deer?"
He grinned. "Especially not you, you ignorant Raven."
She jabbed her elbow in his ribs and he yelped, earning a disapproving glance from Durrain.
As they neared the camp, Torak said in a low voice, "But they have told us something important."
Renn nodded. "We need to find the sacred grove."
Dusk was falling, and most of the Red Deer had gone into the shelter. Durrain was waiting for them. "We pray till dawn," she announced. "You will pray with us." Renn tried to look obedient, and Torak bowed, although he had no intention of praying. He wasn't going to be distracted any longer.
A woman emerged from an adjoining trail, spotted Durrain, and dithered, as if wondering where to hide.
Durrain heaved a sigh. "Where have you been?"
"I--I took an offering to the horses," stammered the woman.
"You should have told me first."
"Yes, Mage," the woman said humbly.
Torak caught Renn's eye.
The horses.
To give him a chance to tackle the woman, she asked Durrain to explain how the Red Deer went into a trance. The Mage gave her a look and took her into the shelter. 138
To set her at ease, he asked whom she mourned.
"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 go
in
!"
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.
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."
Durrain's gaze raked the throng.
He froze.
"Hear us," echoed the others.
"End the strife between the clans. Bring the stag-headed Spirit back to your sacred valleys."
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
He reached 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.
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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.
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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.
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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