Ghost Hunter (16 page)

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Swan Clan. Get better. Go back to the Forest."

"No!"

"Good-bye, Renn. Whatever happens, you know--you must know how much I..." His throat worked. "May the guardian fly with you." Stooping, he kissed her mouth. Then he turned and ran out into the dark.

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[Image: A thicket.]

TWENTY-FOUR

The wind howled around the Mountains and swept across the fells. It stirred a thicket fringing a frozen lake, where men crouched around a fire.

A group of Rowan Clan had arrived on dog sleds, bringing three hunters from the Forest. They'd nearly missed Fin-Kedinn's camp, as he'd concealed it well, but in the end, their dogs had found him.

Etan of the Raven Clan spoke urgently to his leader. "Fin-Kedinn, we beg you, come back with us! Thull wouldn't have sent us if he wasn't desperate. The shadow sickness has spread throughout the clans. There aren't many people who are well enough to hunt. Those who

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are don't dare venture far, for fear of tokoroths. They're beginning to fight over food."

Fin-Kedinn took this in silence. Then he said, "Thull isn't the only leader among them. What about the others?"

"The Willow Clan Leader helped keep order for a while, and Durrain of the Red Deer. Then the sickness attacked them too. They've had to be confined to their shelters. And now Saeunn is dying."

"Saeunn has the shadow sickness?" Fin-Kedinn said sharply.

"No. She wore herself out tending her people. When we left, she was sinking fast. Thull says he can't lead without her. He's right. The clans won't listen to him alone."

"They'll have to," said Fin-Kedinn. "I must reach the Mountain."

"But
way?"
Uneasily, Etan peered into the thicket, where a shadowy figure hid beyond reach of the light.

"Who is that with you?" asked one of the Rowan hunters. "Why won't they come out and speak their name?"

Fin-Kedinn did not reply. The shadow in the thicket edged deeper into the dark.

"What do you hope to gain out here?" said Etan. "What can even Fin-Kedinn achieve against the evil one?"

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"If we're to have a chance against Eostra," said the Raven Leader, speaking the name distinctly, "it won't be by might, but by Magecraft. I journey with one who knows these things; who knows how to find Eostra in the Mountain of Ghosts, and how to remain hidden from her and her creatures. That's all I can tell you."

Etan met his eyes. "Maybe this will change your mind. Saeunn herself sends word. She says only you can steady the clans."

"Saeunn was against my leaving," said Fin-Kedinn. "Of course she wants me back."

"She bids you remember what she saw in the embers. She says the spirit walker will die. Not even you can alter that. She says the place of the Raven Leader is with the living. She says you must return."

The fire sputtered. The hunters waited for Fin-Kedinn's answer. The figure in the thicket watched and listened.

Fin-Kedinn rose and strode to the edge of the trees, where a lone boulder stood guard over the lake. In the distance, the Mountains were black against the stars. They were still a long way off. If he returned to the Forest now, could he be sure that his companion would make the journey alone?

He stared at the sky. It gave him no answers. The World Spirit was far away, battling the Great Auroch. The troubles of men were not its concern.

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And somewhere out there were Torak and Renn: isolated, vulnerable, like two tiny sparks about to be snuffed out by the night.

Fin-Kedinn ground his fist against the boulder. Duty called him to the Forest. His heart pulled him toward the Mountains.

The wind sank to a whisper. The granite was hard beneath his hand.

Fin-Kedinn turned from the darkness and walked back toward the fire.

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[Image: A boulder.]

TWENTY-FIVE

As Wolf slewed to a halt in the windy Dark, he sensed . that his pack-brother was many lopes away. He'd made a mistake. He should never have run off into the Mountains.

He'd been gnawing the reindeer head near the great Den of the Taillesses when the eagle owl had swooped over him. He had known it was a trick, but he couldn't
not
follow. It had taken his cub.

Through Darks and Lights he had chased it, but now it was gone, and he didn't know where he was. His paws sank into the Bright Soft Cold, and the Mountains loomed over him. The wind carried the smell of ptarmigan and

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hare--but no Tall Tailless. Lifting his muzzle, Wolf uttered sharp, seeking barks.
Where are you?
No beloved answering howl.

The wind veered and Wolf turned into it--and caught a smell he'd never smelled before. Dogs; but something was wrong with them. Wolf smelled that they were big and strong, cunning and full of hate. His claws tightened. Against such as these, Tall Tailless had no more chance than a newborn cub.

It was a blustery day, and the wind moaned through the Gorge of the Hidden People. Torak had heard no strange howls, but whenever a pebble fell, he started.

From time to time, he came across a boulder on which a spiral had been hammer-etched. Juksakai had said that his ancestors had made them to mark the trail to the Mountain; but no one had ventured in for many winters.

Who, then, had scraped the spirals clean of ice?

And where was Wolf?

Torak tried not to think of what Eostra's dogs could do to his pack-brother. And he couldn't even howl for him, except in his head.

In places, the snow lay thigh-deep; in others, Torak had to scramble over rocks scoured bare by the wind. He was soon sweating, but thanks to his Mountain clothes, he didn't get chilled. His jerkin had dense diverbird plumage at front and back, but looser-feathered ptarmigan under

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the arms to let out the sweat. His musk-ox wool socks were light as gossamer, yet incredibly warm. Pads of dried moss in his boots prevented blisters, and rawhide coils on the soles gave a good grip.

But nothing could protect him from the thinning air. His head ached. He felt constantly breathless. Worst of all was the knowledge that he was where he should not be.

The Gorge of the Hidden People was a bewildering maze of gullies and spurs and twisting valleys. Looming cliffs shut out the sky. The Redwater had fled underground. This was a world of stone.

And the Hidden People didn't want him here.

"They make you see things," Juksakai had said. "Once near the mouth of the Gorge, I found a snow-vole turned to stone. Another time I saw a great white bird vanish into the cliff."

"But what
are
the Hidden People?" Torak had asked. He knew they lived in lakes and streams and rocks; he'd even sensed them at times, and the memory was very bad. But he'd never paused to consider what they were, or where they came from.

"They used to be clans, like us," Juksakai had told him. "But long ago in the Great Hunger, they took to killing and eating people. The World Spirit punished them by decreeing that they must hide forever, only coming out when no one is near. That's why you never

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see them. If ever you get close, all you find are stones."

Torak sensed them peering at him from clefts in the rock face. He passed a ring of standing stones that leaned toward one another. Glancing back, he caught a blur of movement. As he walked, he heard a furtive rustling. It stopped when he did, but when he went on, it started again.

Around midafternoon, he paused for breath. "I mean you no harm," he told the dwellers in the rocks. "I seek the Soul-Eater. I have no quarrel with you."

A whirring overhead. He threw himself sideways. The boulder exploded on impact, pelting him with fragments.

Later, he heard the gurgle of water, and traced it to a spring in a gully. He found clumps of the heathery scrub Juksakai had used for waking fire; and an overhang that he could wall in with rocks, for a shelter.

No stones whistled down in the night, and he heard no strange howls. But there was no sign of Wolf, either.

Next morning the wind was gone. The stillness felt unnatural. Intentional.

Torak wasn't long out of the gully when he found tracks in the snow. Some time before, a pack of dogs had raced through the Gorge. Torak made out seven sets of prints, all bigger than any he'd ever seen.

Dry-mouthed, he drew his knife, and followed the trail around a spur.

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The young hare had been torn apart. Dark-red entrails were flung across the snow like discarded rope. Ice-rimed eyes stared from its mangled skull.

Torak pictured the hare's desperate zigzag as the dogs ran it down. They had ripped it apart, spattering flesh and brains over thirty paces, but eating nothing. They had done it because they could.

Pity and disgust churned inside him as he muttered a prayer for the hare's souls. But as he headed off, it was for himself that he prayed. He had told Renn that Eostra wanted him alive. But alive, he reflected, did not necessarily mean whole.

The smell of sweat wafted from the neck of his robe. A dog would scent that from a daywalk away.
I'm frightened,
it said.

A thud behind him.

He spun around.

And sagged with relief.

Rek raised her head from the hare's skull and gave a preocuppied croak, then went back to pecking out an eye.

As Torak sheathed his knife, Wolf came bounding toward him over the snow.

Did you follow the owl?
asked Torak when their first delirious greeting was over.

Yes,
said Wolf.
But I didn't find the cub.

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I'm sorry.

Where is the pack-sister?

Safe,
said Torak,
but she hurt her paw.

You miss her.

Yes.

Me too.

Wolf snuffed the air.
Dogs. Far away.

They're strong, and many,
said Torak.
Much danger.

Wolf leaned against him and wagged his tail.

They hadn't gone far when the Redwater reappeared, in an echoing channel under the cliffs. Rip and Rek flew to the top of a spur that cut across the Gorge, then back to Torak, calling impatiently.
Come on, it's easy!

"No it's not," panted Torak as he and Wolf started to climb. The spur was made of knives. Some malign force had shivered its rocks into thousands of blades standing on edge. Even through his boots, Torak's feet were soon bruised. He hadn't gone far when he noticed that Wolf was limping. His pads were criss-crossed with cuts.

"I'm sorry,"
said Torak.