Spirit Walker (15 page)

A day had passed since he'd spoken to Tenris on the Crag. A whole day of waiting, while the Seal Mage persuaded Islinn not to send him to the Rock, and Midsummer drew nearer, and in the Forest the sickness . . .

"Who's Wolf?" Bale said abruptly.
"What? No one. I don't know what you mean."
Bale wasn't fooled. "You're not even awake and you're telling lies," he said in disgust.
Torak did not reply. The dream lay heavy on him.
Shadow. Hunted.
What did that mean? Was it a warning against the Follower, or something else?
"Get up," said Bale, kicking him in the thigh.
"Why? Are we setting off for the Heights?"
"That's tomorrow. Today I've got to teach you skin-boating."
"You?
Why you?"
"Ask Tenris, it's his idea." From his tone he didn't like it any more than Torak. "Get some daymeal and meet me on the shore. I'll fetch the boats." "But why Bale?" Torak asked the Seal Mage when he found him on the rocks, gathering seaweed. "Why can't it be someone else?" Anyone else, he thought. The Seal Mage gave him a lopsided smile. "And this is the thanks I get for keeping you off the Rock."
"But Bale of all people, he--"
"--happens to be the best at skinboating," said
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Tenris. "Here, hold the basket and watch, you might learn something."
"But--"

"This is kelp," said Tenris, grasping a long stem of leathery brown weed. "If you dry it, it goes hard, like this"--he tapped the hilt of his knife. "If you wash it in sweet water, then soak it in seal oil, you can make rope. Did you see how I cut it? Always leave the holdfast on the rock so that it can grow back. That's important." When Torak stayed stubbornly silent, the Seal Mage paused. "You're going to need Bale," he said. "And you'll need Asrif, too, he's the best at rock climbing. Detlan will go along to lend some muscle."

"All three of them?"
"Torak, you can't do this on your own."

"I know. But I thought you'd be coming. You were the one who found the root before. Why not now?" He liked the Seal Mage. Tenris reminded him of Fin-Kedinn, only kinder and less remote.

 

With a sigh the Seal Mage touched the scarred side of his face. "The fire that did this didn't only burn me on the outside. It scorched my lungs." He tossed the kelp into the basket. "I'd be no use to you on the Heights."

Torak was abashed. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"So am I," Tenris said mildly. "But there's another reason I'm sending them. They're your kin, Torak.
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Whether you like it or not, you need to win their trust."
"I don't care about that," said Torak.

"Well you should." The Mage's voice was gentle, but the undertow of strength was unmistakeable. "Concentrate on Bale. If you win him over, the others will follow. And Torak." His mouth twitched. "It'll help if you're a quick learner."

 

"No, no, no!" cried Bale, paddling closer to Torak's skinboat with infuriating ease. "Brace your legs against the sides--you're tilting, shift your weight--no, not that much, you'll capsize!"

Reaching over, he yanked the skinboat upright. "I
told

you! Don't use the paddle to steady yourself; that's not what it's for! You balance with your hips and your thighs, not your hands. If you're out hunting, you might need to drag a seal aboard, and then you'd need both hands free."

 

"It'd help if it didn't wobble so much," muttered Torak. With its shallow draft and knife-edged hull, his skinboat was in constant danger of capsizing. He felt like a beetle struggling to stay afloat on a twig.

"That's not the boat's fault," said Bale, "it's yours."
"Why does it have to be so shallow?"
"If the sides were any higher, you'd waste your strength fighting the wind. Try again. No! I
told
you!
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Don't slap the water, slice it! You need to be silent, completely silent!"
"I'm trying," said Torak between clenched teeth.
"Try harder," snapped Bale. "Don't you have canoes in the Forest?"

"Of course we do!" Torak thought with longing of the dugouts of the Boars, and the Ravens' dependable deer-hide crafts. "But they're good and solid, and we never-"

 

"Good and solid won't get you far on the Sea," said Bale derisively. "A round-bottomed boat would make bubbles that'd warn the seals you were coming from fifty harpoon throws away; and a hull that couldn't twist would break up in the first heavy swell. No, no,

over
the waves, not through them! You've got to skim the surface like a cormorant. . . ."
A big wave buffeted Torak's prow, drenching him.

On the shore, children laughed. The smallest were playing at skinboats in holes in the sand lined with scraps of seal hide. The bigger ones were splashing about in beginners' crafts. Unlike Torak, they didn't have to worry about rolling over, as their boats were fitted with crossbars that were steadied at either end by gutskin sacks filled with air.

When Bale had threatened Torak with a beginner's boat, he'd been outraged; but now after an exhausting
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day, he was tempted. Bale was an unforgiving teacher, driving him relentlessly. Clearly he was hoping to be able to tell Tenris that Torak was a failure.

It was beginning to look as if he'd get his wish. Torak was soaking wet, and his head was throbbing with sun-dazzle. His thighs and shoulders were screaming for rest, his arms shaking with fatigue. He could hardly hold his paddle, let alone keep his balance.

 

It didn't help that Bale handled his own skinboat superbly. He could bring it about with a flick of his wrist, and stand up in it as easily as if he were on dry land. He wasn't even showing off. He was simply so at home on the water that he didn't need to think about it.

Now, as the wind got up and Torak floundered to stay afloat, the older boy came alongside him, deftly steadying his own craft by sticking one end of his paddle in a cross strap, which left the other blade in the Sea, and both hands free. "You'll have to do better than this," he said as he leaned over and started scooping out the water in Torak's boat with a baler.

"Or what?" said Torak. "You'll leave me behind?"
"Yes, that's what I'm hoping."
"Give me a chance. I've only had a day. You've been doing this since you were what, about six?"
"Five." He glanced at the beginners in the shallows, and a shadow of sadness crossed his face. "My brother started even younger."
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"Just give me a chance," said Torak.

Bale thought for a moment. "Head off over there," he said. "I'll follow. This time, don't think about each stroke. Just keep your eyes on the Sea, and go as fast as you can."

Torak brought his boat about, and started to paddle.
For a while all he managed was his usual floundering, with the skinboat bucking like a hare in springtime and the waves slapping him stingingly in the face.

Then something happened. Almost without noticing, he seemed to find a rhythm with the paddle. The blades cut the water without splashing, and with each stroke he felt the power of the Sea beneath him-

beneath
him, not against him. Faster and faster he went--and suddenly the skinboat gave a surge, and he was skimming over the waves, as fast and free as a seabird. "I've got it!" he cried.
Bale came up beside him, watching with unsmiling concentration.
"Beautiful!" shouted Torak. "It's beautiful!"
Bale nodded slowly. Now he was biting back a grin.
A gust of wind caught Torak's skinboat and spun him around, sending him straight toward the older boy.
"Turn away!" yelled Bale. "Hard! Hard! You're going to ram me!"
Fighting the wind, Torak dug in his paddle--but it
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gave a jerk that nearly pitched him overboard--and when he brought it out of the water, he saw that the blade had snapped clean off. "Watch out!"
shouted Bale as Torak careened toward him.
"I can't turn it!"
Bale dug in his paddle and shot ahead--just in time to avoid a collision--while Torak's boat slewed around and capsized.
His clothes dragged him down, and it was a relief when Bale came about and caught him by the neck of his jerkin.
"What were you
doing?"
he yelled. "You could have sunk us both!"
"It was an accident!" spluttered Torak.
"An accident? You tried to ram me!" Furious, he wrenched Torak's boat upright, then held its prow while Torak scrambled aboard.
"I said it was an accident!" panted Torak. "My paddle broke!"
"That's impossible! They're made of the strongest driftwood--"

"Then what's this?" Torak brandished what remained of his paddle. "If they're so strong, why did mine snap like a piece of kindling?" He fell silent, peering at the broken stem of the paddle. Someone had

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cut it. They'd only cut halfway through, leaving just enough to make it workable, but liable to snap at any time.
"What is it?" said Bale.
Torak's thoughts flew to the Follower. But it could have been anyone: Bale or Asrif or Detlan--or anyone else among the Seals.
Without a word he held out the broken paddle, and Bale took it. He was observant. Swiftly he spotted the cut edge of the stem. "You think I did this," he said. "Well did you?"
"No!"
"But you want me to fail. You said so."
"Because you'll slow us down, or get into trouble, and need rescuing."
"No I won't," said Torak with more conviction than he felt. "Bale, we want the same thing. We want the cure."
"And I'm supposed to believe that my clan is threatened," Bale said sarcastically, "just because you managed to talk your way off the Rock?" Torak stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know what story you told Tenris on the Crag," said Bale, "but I do know that you're a lying little coward who'd do anything to save your skin." He tossed Torak the broken paddle. "Maybe that's why

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you were so ready to believe I could play a trick like this. Because it's the sort of thing you'd do in the Forest."

Bale's insults were ringing in Torak's ears as he made his way wearily back to shore. The older boy had gone on ahead, and carried his boat up to the racks. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing left to say.

You can't do this on your own,
Tenris had said.
You need to win their trust. . . . Concentrate on Bale . . . the others will follow.
He was right, and Torak knew it. He had to prove to Bale that he hadn't tricked anyone.
He had an idea. If he could prove that the Follower was on the island, Bale would have to believe him.
Find the tracks, he told himself. Not even Bale could argue with that.
And it should be possible. Torak might not be any good at skinboating, but he knew how to find a trail.

As he reached the south end of the bay, dusk was coming on--or rather, the brief blue glow that counted for dusk this close to Midsummer. Leaving his skin-boat on the beach, he crossed the stream, and started working his way along the bank. Terns hovered and dived above him, but he ignored them.

It was a good time for tracking: the low light would sharpen the shadows. He was glad, too, that the Seals
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were busy waking the fires for nightmeal, so that nobody saw him come ashore. He didn't feel like explaining what he was doing.
No prints in the soft mud. But there, on the grass: the merest hint where something small--the Follower?--had brushed off the damp as it passed. It was hard to trace--dew trails always are--but Torak used the trick his father had taught him, turning his head to one side and looking at it from the corner of his eye.

After a few false starts, he tracked it to a stretch of limpet-crusted rocks that tilted into the Sea. Beyond the rocks, at the very edge of the bay, stood a clump of birch. To his surprise, the trail didn't lead toward them, but onto the rocks. He found a tiny piece of scuffed lichen, and a scent of rottenness where the Follower had scampered across a pile of dead seaweed.

Finally, in a patch of sand left by a previous tide, he saw it: a perfect, sharp-clawed print. Very fresh. No time for ants or sand midges to blur the edges. Look at this, Bale, he shouted in his head.
A cackle of laughter to his left--and there it was: a small humped figure shrouded in long hair like moldy seaweed.
Torak was too elated to be scared. Here was the proof he needed. If he could catch it, Bale would have to admit defeat.
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The creature turned and scuttled away.
Torak scrambled after it.
The seaweed was slimy under his bare feet, and a voice of caution sounded in his mind. The Follower would like nothing better than if he took a tumble into the Sea.

He reached a cleft in the rocks where the swirling Sea sent up jets of spray. The cleft was too wide to leap, but somehow the Follower had got across. There it was on the other side: eyes gleaming with malice, daring him to jump.

"Oh, no," he panted, "I'm not that stupid!"
The Follower bared its brown teeth in a hiss and sped into the gloom, its claws clicking on the rocks.

Torak raced around the edge of the cleft to where the seaweed was drier and less treacherous. It occurred to him to wonder how a patch of dry seaweed had come to be in the middle of all this wet. . . .

 

Too late. The seaweed gave beneath him and he pitched into the Sea. Torak, you fool! A pitfall! The simplest trap of all!

 

Winded by the cold and covered in seaweed, he kicked to keep himself afloat as he sought a likely place to haul himself out. The swell was heavier than it had appeared from the rocks, but it should be easy enough, and the only harm done would be to his pride. The

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Follower, of course, would be long gone.

Clawing the seaweed off his face, he reached for a handhold. The seaweed was tougher than it looked. He couldn't seem to get it off his face--or push his hands through it to reach the rock.

 

Because it isn't seaweed, he realized in surprise. It's rope made of kelp, knotted kelp, and this is a seal net. You've fallen into a seal net. Which, presumably, was exactly what the Follower had intended.

The swell threw him against the rocks, knocking the breath from his chest. Treading water was becoming difficult, as the net clung to his legs, hampering movement. It seemed to be tied to the rocks at the top, and weighed down with something, maybe a stone, because he had to work to keep his head and shoulders above the water.

How Bale will laugh about this! he thought bitterly. How they'll all laugh when they find me floundering in a net within arrowshot of camp! If he'd had his knife, he could have cut himself free, but the Seals hadn't trusted him with weapons. He'd have to call for help, and endure the inevitable taunts. "Help!" he shouted. "I'm over here! Somebody!"
The wind whistled across the bay. Terns screamed overhead. The Sea slapped noisily against the rocks.
Nobody came. Nobody could hear him.
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Treading water was tiring. And strangely, the waves seemed to have risen: now they reached to just below his chin.
That was when the truth hit him, and he began to be frightened. He was trapped in a seal net, out of earshot of the camp, and the tide was coming in. Fast.
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Chapter TWENTY-TWO
The tide was creeping higher, and Torak had to fight to keep his chin above the waves.