Ghost Hunter (15 page)

Scowling, she retraced her steps. Stupid to have gone such a distance from camp, she'd only needed to get

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downstream and out of sight. The Swans had warned her to mark her trail if she went off on her own. "Easy to get lost in the Mountains, especially for a girl from the Forest." She hadn't thought it necessary. Now it looked like she was going to prove them right.

She wasn't frightened. It wasn't completely dark, and camp had to be close. It was just that Torak would tease her, and she'd rather not give him the chance.

Hurrying out of the gully, she slipped on a patch of black ice and nearly fell. She decided to give him the chance. "Torak!" she called.

No reply.

"Come on, Torak, this isn't funny! I need to know where you are!"

No answer. Only the stealthy hiss of wind. The brooding watchfulness of stones.

Uneasily, Renn remembered that the Swans had pitched camp by the noisy river. Torak wouldn't be able to hear her.

And like a fool, she hadn't told anyone where she was going.

Another howl shattered the stillness. Much closer than before.

The hairs on her arms stood up. She listened to the echoes die.

An answering howl, ending in two short barks. A signal. She ran, scrambling over mounds of loose scree.

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This had to be the way back. Dead end.

Stumbling, she headed out. Her mittens slipped off her hands and flapped on their strings like trapped birds. Her breath sounded panicky and loud.

Darkness closed in. She halted to listen.

No howls; no terse, signaling barks. That was worse. Whatever hunted her was coming on in silence, as hunters do.

She ran into a wall of rock. Craning her neck, she saw the glitter of stars. She felt the red glare of the Great Auroch. Horror washed over her. What had Eostra created?

A trickle of pebbles.

Straining to pierce the blackness, she made out sheer slopes on either side. She was back in the gully. Around her, shadow shapes shifted and came together.

High above, something detached itself from the dark. Renn sensed rather than saw it raise its head and snuff the air.

She fled, leaping over rocks, careening off boulders. The stones watched her go.

Her foot jammed in a crack and she fell, pain exploding in her ankle. She couldn't run, couldn't put weight on it.

Behind her, she heard the click of claws.

Hide. It's your only chance.

She groped, found a gap, and crawled in, dragging her

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injured foot. She scrabbled for something to block the hole. She couldn't find anything bigger than her fist.

She'd have to leave her hiding-place. She couldn't.
She could not do it.

Pebbles rattled as the creature raced down the gully.

Crawling out, Renn fumbled for a rock. Found one, too heavy to lift; half-rolled, half-dragged it toward the hiding-place. The creature was so close, she heard its sawing breath.

One mitten on its string snagged under the rock. Sobbing with terror, she yanked it free, squeezed into the hole, hauled the rock after her, pulling it
tight,
shutting herself in.

Something smashed against it. The force shuddered through her. She clung to the rock, her only defense. She felt a gap where it didn't fit. Three fingers wide. It felt like a ravine.

Outside, silence.

Sweat poured down her spine.

Through the gap, breath scorched her fingers. Whimpering, she withdrew her hands as far as she dared.

A growl reverberated through the rocks. Renn screwed her eyes shut. The growl subsided to panting breath.

Now came the scratching of powerful claws. The creature was digging her out.

She smelled its stink. She sensed its limitless hunger

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to destroy. It would drag her screaming from the hole. It would sink in its fangs and rip out her throat as she lay twitching, still alive.

She couldn't breathe. But she would rather suffocate than face what was outside.

As she pressed deeper into the hole, her knife jutted against her hip. Awkwardly, she drew it from its sheath. When the creature came for her, she might be able to ram the blade into its jaws. She might make a brave death, even if there was no one to see it.

Abruptly, the digging ceased.

Renn opened her eyes.

She heard a wet smack of jaws, as if the creature had jerked up its head. Then the whisper of pads on stone, receding fast.

Could it really be moving away?

Renn bit down on her lower lip. Stay here. It's a feint. It's got to be.

It wasn't. The creature was gone.

Renn was still cowering in her hiding-place when she heard voices, and Torak calling her name.

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[Image: The grouse-bone whistle.]

TWENTY-THREE

"I can't say for sure what it was," said Renn as they helped her into the shelter, "but I think ..." She winced as her injured foot touched the ground.

"I saw a shadow like a huge dog," said Torak. "Then it was gone. As if someone had summoned it."

"I didn't hear anyone calling," said Juksakai. "You wouldn't," said Torak. He described the grouse-bone whistle he'd once made for summoning Wolf. "It didn't make any noise, but Wolf could hear it. If what attacked Renn is anything like a dog, then it can hear what we can't."

Renn sat shivering by the fire. The other Swan hunters

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were staring. Juksakai told them to go to the other shelter, and they gathered their things, avoiding her eyes. Maybe they could smell the creature on her.

When only Juksakai remained, Torak helped Renn out of her boots and gently rolled back her legging. She tried not to flinch, but the pain made her eyes water.

"But what
was
it?" said Juksakai again.

Torak didn't answer. He found his old Forest jerkin, and started cutting a strip for a bandage.

Renn said, "Eostra has the fire-opal. She's made tokoroths. I don't know what she's done to that owl, or to those dogs--if that's what they are--but she's made them her creatures. They seem to feel only the will to destroy."

Juksakai looked appalled.

Renn turned to Torak. "Those howls. Could you understand them?"

He shook his head. "It wasn't wolf talk, or any dog that I know. But it sounded as if there were several of them. Maybe a whole pack."

Renn stared into the fire. She could still hear those growls; that hungry, sawing breath. Eostra had reared a brood of killers. She had taken the Mountain for her own.

Shakily, Juksakai poured ice water into a rawhide bowl, added dried willow bark, and mashed it with a stub of antler. He set the bowl beside Renn.

"Let me," said Torak.

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"I can manage," she muttered. From her medicine pouch she took slices of horsehoof mushroom and put them in the bowl. When the strips were soaked, she gritted her teeth and laid the freezing poultice on her ankle.

She could feel Torak watching her. They both knew what this meant. Five moons ago in the Deep Forest, she'd twisted her knee. It had been two days before she could walk without help.

Stupid,
stupid!
she berated herself. Out loud, she told Torak to pass the bandage, then bound her ankle firmly, without wincing, to show him it didn't hurt.

He wasn't fooled. "You won't be able to walk for days," he said quietly.

Juksakai nodded. "Tomorrow we'll carry her down to the sleds. She'll be all right with us."

"A day's rest here and I'll be fine," snapped Renn.

"No you won't," said Torak.

She glared at him.

Juksakai glanced from her to Torak, and muttered about rejoining the others.

"One day"
said Renn after he'd gone. "Then we can head into the Gorge together."

Torak rubbed the scar on his forearm. "Juksakai tells me it's two daywalks to the Mountain. Souls' Night is only four days away."

"So there's time."

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"No, Renn. Not for you."

"You can't decide that for me."

"I don't need to." He pulled on his boots. "I'll say good-bye now. I'm leaving at first light."

There was a ringing in her ears. This wasn't happening. "But--you can't go all by yourself."

"I won't. I'll have Wolf."

"He isn't here."

"He'll come."

"How do you know? You'll be alone. That's just what Eostra wants!" He did not reply.

Something in his manner made her look at him, really look. What she saw in his face made her catch her breath. There would be no need to tell him of Saeunn's prophecy.

"You know," she said.

He nodded.

"How?"

"When I saw the Mountain." He touched his breastbone. "I felt it. Here."

Renn was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Prophecies can be wrong. We can prove it wrong."

"Not this time." He paused. "Many winters ago, on Souls' Night, my father woke the great fire and broke the power of the Soul-Eaters. I have to finish what he began."

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"I know. But--"

"And maybe I can do it, even against Eostra. But the thing is, Renn--" He broke off. "The thing is, when I try to think about afterward--about going back to the Forest and being with you and Wolf and Fin-Kedinn--I can't see it. It's all just dark."

Renn stared at him, aghast.

She watched him roll up his sleeping-sack and gather his gear. "Where are you going?" she said.

"I'll sleep in the other shelter, head off at dawn. You stay here. Get some rest."

He wore his stubborn look, and she saw that it was hopeless. "As soon as I'm better," she said fiercely, "I'll catch up with you."

"No."

"I will. And I'll prove it. Here. Take my wrist-guard. That's a pledge." Somehow, she managed to untie the thongs and grab his wrist. She pushed back his sleeve and fastened the thin oblong of polished greenstone on his forearm. "There. You can give it back when I find you."

"You mustn't try to find me."

"You can't stop me."

"Renn,
listen]
That creature ignored me and went after you. Because Eostra wants me alive, at least until Souls' Night--but she doesn't care about you. Well, I do." He slung his bow over his shoulder. "Stay with the