To work off her frustration, Renn went hunting.
Maybe it was the offerings she'd made to the Lake, or maybe it was the pair of ravens she saw overhead, but her luck was good. Another duck, this time a goosander. She cooked it the way her father had taught her long ago: rolling it in mud and burying it in the embers, then cracking it open to get at the juicy meat.
After they'd eaten, Bale sat on the pine-needles, smoothing one of the new ash paddles with horsetail stems, while Renn set the goosander's innards on the blade of the other paddle and tipped it into the Lake as an offering. It was a warm, still evening, and frogs were piping in the reeds.
From the west came the howling of wolves.
Bale lifted his head. 'There they are again.'
Now and then, they'd heard them; but although Renn thought she recognized Wolf's howl, she couldn't make out Torak's. She felt a stab of worry. How could Torak be without Wolf?
The ravens were back, flying high and turning their heads from side to side to look down at her. She wondered if they were a good sign to set against all the bad ones.
'You're very quiet,' said Bale.
She turned to speak then froze.
'What is it?' said Bale.
'The first morning, after the storm, you walked from those pine-needles where you are now, down to the water's edge.'
'So?'
'It wasn't far. It only took you about three paces to get to the water. Try it now.'
Puzzled, he did as she asked. Then he did it again, to make sure. He stared at her. 'Five paces. The Lake. It's sinking, just like the Otters said.' His face turned grim. 'Seshru.'
Renn nodded. 'She's getting stronger.'
TWENTY-SEVEN.
'Uff!' barked Wolf, warning Torak not to go any further. But Torak couldn't turn back now, and Wolf couldn't come with him.
Torak cast him a reassuring glance and pressed on through the reed-bed, jumping from tussock to tussock. The sun was low, but with luck, he would reach the healing spring before dusk.
He couldn't wait till morning. The wound on his chest was burning, and had begun oozing yellow pus. The Soul-Eaters were reasserting their power.
'Uff!' barked Wolf from the edge of the trees.
Go back! Torak said in wolf talk. Through the reeds he saw Wolf running in circles, whining.
The rockface was as he remembered: steep, yet oddly enticing, with its waterfall misting the ferns. It was surprisingly easy to climb, with convenient footholds and bushes; but he was soon soaked in spray.
'Uff!'
Glancing down, Torak saw with a pang that Wolf was coming after him. But the rockface was too much for him. He leapt clawed granite and fell back with a yelp. It didn't help that Rip and Rek alighted on a ledge and laughed at him.
Go back! Torak told him. I'm at the Den in the Light! He hated not being able to explain that he would be back soon; but in wolf talk there is no future.
When he looked again, Wolf was gone.
Tiring now, Torak climbed on. He passed the creatures he'd seen before, hammer-etched into the rock. He was too close to glimpse more than fragments an elk's sloping nose, a snake's forked tongue but he caught their wet clay smell, and made sure not to touch.
At last he heaved himself over the top.
Except it wasn't the top, but a rocky hollow where part of the cliff had fallen away.
Before him lay a pool of luminous green, as bright as beech leaves with the sun shining through. Around it, purple orchids and black crowberries flourished in green clay: the same clay he'd seen on the faces of the Otters. As with the rockface, stone guardians thronged the encircling boulders. Stone elk raised antlered heads; stone waterbirds flew across stone skies, or plunged after stone pike who swam forever out of reach.
Torak couldn't see the spring itself, but he heard its echo and felt its power. It felt neither good nor evil; it had existed long before either.
He was only too well aware that he didn't know the proper rites, and he sensed the Hidden People watching. Bowing to the pool, he offered what he'd brought with him: the wing of a woodgrouse wrapped in burdock leaves, which he buried under a rock, in case Rip and Rek came back.
Then he knelt, cupped water in his hands, and bathed his chest, asking the spring to heal him. The water was icy. He welcomed its clean, sharp bite on his burning flesh.
Tentatively, he drank. The water tasted flinty. So did the crowberries, which bore an odd greyish bloom.
He thought about smearing some of the green clay on his chest, but decided not to risk it. He'd only seen that clay on the Otters and on the posts among the reeds. It belonged to the Lake. He was of the Forest. It wouldn't feel right.
Rip lit down beside him with a loud 'rap rap rap'! and he jumped. 'Rap rap rap'! croaked Rek, thudding down beside Rip and fluffing up her feathers in alarm. In the last rays of the sun, the spray on their wings glittered scarlet, like drops of blood.
'What's the matter?' said Torak. 'Do you want some berries?'
To his surprise, they refused to eat, and pecked angrily at the crowberry bushes, scattering twigs. Torak shooed them away before they could do much damage.
In the world below, an elk bellowed, and the wolves started their evening howl.
Torak yawned. His chest went blessedly numb, and an irresistible languor was stealing through him. He curled up in the ferns and shut his eyes.
Moon and stars whirled above him, trailing silver fire across a dark-blue sky. He felt giddy and tired, so tired.
He heard the hiss and spit of embers; the spring gurgling a song which had no end. Then another voice joined in, murmuring words he couldn't understand. It sounded like Renn.
It was Renn.
She sat with her back to him, tending the fire. In the gloom he made out her pale arms and her long, loose hair.
To make sure she was real, he put out a clumsy hand and grasped her wrist.
Her bones were light and small. Yes, real.
'I knew you'd find me,' he said. It didn't begin to express what he felt.
Her skin was warm and smooth; he didn't want to let go.
Smooth.
No zigzag tattoos.
'I knew I'd find you too,' said Seshru the Viper Mage.
TWENTY-EIGHT.
'How you've grown since last we met!' said the Viper Mage with her mocking sideways smile.
Her hair was a mantle of darkness, and the viper tattoo seemed to throb on her high white brow; but her beautiful lips were black.
Torak tried to move, but he couldn't. He wasn't tied up, his limbs simply refused to obey. He said, 'The crowberries. You poisoned them.'
Her eyes glinted. 'But I'm not going to hurt you.'
'Why would I believe that?'
'Because I would have done it by now. I could have cut out your heart and eaten it. Not even your wolves could have reached you up here.' She leaned down and whispered in his ear. 'But I want you alive!'
His heart was thumping so hard that she must be able to hear it. 'Why?' he said.
But she only laughed, and licked her lips with her little pointed black tongue.
As she twisted to tend the fire, her tunic of supple buckskin fell about her like water. It was fringed with snakeskin which caressed her naked arms and calves, shimmering with every move. Torak couldn't take his eyes off her. Fear and revulsion burned in him this woman was evil, she'd helped kill his father but he couldn't look away.
He watched her pass her hand over the lid of a basket, evoking a rustle from whatever lived within. He watched her twist a garland of herbs and set it on her brow, and paint long, wavering stripes on her arms: green snakes which wriggled to life on her pale skin. Fascinated and repelled, he watched and she smiled her knowing smile, enjoying her power.
With a forked stick, she dropped a stone from the fire into a rawhide pot, sending up a hiss of steam.
'What's that?' he said.
Her lip curled. 'Hot water. I was a Healer, remember?'
Wringing out a piece of buckskin, she bathed his chest, then smoothed on a cooling salve. It felt good. The pain was gone.
'It won't fester any more,' she told him. 'I no longer need it to draw you to me. Though it's as well I summoned you when I did.'
I summoned you. The voice he'd heard in his sleep hadn't been Renn, but Seshru.
'What do you want?' he said between his teeth.
Rising to her feet, she went to the edge of the cliff and gazed down. 'All the tiny creatures,' she murmured. 'The wolves, the frightened little Otter people. They belong to me now. They must submit or I will empty the Lake.'
Torak thought of the pine-needles on the black beach. The Lake was draining away. He tried to stir, but managed only a twitch of his head.
The Viper Mage touched the green clay on her arm. 'This this has power! When I wear it, those I meet see only a woman masked in green: sick, frightened, like them. Not even your wolf knows my scent.'
As if she'd called to Wolf, a howl rang out from below. Come down!
Seshru smiled. 'Now he knows me! I've shed my mask. He knows who has defeated him!'
Torak saw that the garland she wore was nightshade, which on a single stem bore purple flowers, green berries and ripe scarlet ones: a most potent herb, whose every part was deadly, like the Viper Mage herself. She was too strong. For a moment, he despaired.
He heard wings. Rip and Rek alighted on a boulder behind her.
'Ah, but you're strong!' said Seshru, oblivious. Kneeling beside him, she drew off his headband and gently pushed the hair from his forehead. 'To have spirit walked in an ice bear!' She stroked his temple. 'Brave, too. To cut out the mark of the Soul-Eater. Who taught you the rite? It must have been a Mage of great power.'
She was trying to flatter him. She wouldn't succeed. And yet her touch was gentle. He struggled to keep his thoughts together.
'You stole the red deer antlers,' he said. 'You poisoned the drink when I did the rite. You made me spirit walk in the elk.'
She smiled her beautiful, maddening smile. 'So strong. And to fight off soul-sickness!'
His thoughts were darkening, her fingers reaching into his mind. 'The F-Far North,' he stammered. 'How did you get away? Where is the Oak Mage the Eagle Owl Mage?'
She laughed. 'Ah, we're so alike, you and I! Both outcasts, both unimaginably strong. That's why the clans hunt us. The weak will always fear the strong.'
Rip and Rek flew away. Torak scarcely noticed.
'So alike,' breathed Seshru. 'Why fight it? Why not accept it?'
'No,' he said with an effort. 'We're not alike. You've killed people. You've broken clan law.'
'But that's all it is,' she countered, 'the law of the clans. Only the Soul-Eaters know the law of the World Spirit. That's why it delivered the spirit walker to me.' She paused. 'But why didn't I know you at once for what you are? How did you conceal yourself from me? The answer must lie somewhere.' With a supple movement, she reached for his gear.
The spell of her touch was broken. Torak hated seeing her handle his things.
'Your father's knife,' she said with distaste. 'A traitor's knife. Slate, antler, sinew. Nothing there. The axe, then. Not yours, I think.' Taking his hand, she measured it against the axehead. How clever she was! If the axe had been made for him, its head would have spanned from the heel of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. It was slightly longer.
'It has the Raven mark on the handle,' she mused, 'but the head is greenstone . . . They say that Fin-Kedinn lived with the frog-eaters for a time.'
She read the truth in his face. 'So it is his! You stole Fin-Kedinn's axe! You broke clan law!'
Next, she took his medicine pouch and drew out his medicine horn. Her lips thinned. 'Your mother's.' She set it down. 'Nothing. The answer lies elsewhere.'
With a shudder of relief, Torak remembered that the strand of Renn's hair was inside the pouch. Seshru hadn't found it. She was not all-powerful. She could make mistakes.