'The Soul-Eater didn't,' said Renn. 'Take me to your Mage and I'll give him proof.'
'Our Mage keeps to his prayer shelter,' said the Auroch Leader, 'he doesn't see outsiders.'
'If you were really a Mage,' snarled the young man, 'you'd know that.'
People nodded. The throng closed in around her. Scarred faces leered. Red hands gripped poisoned spears. Her knees shook, but she stood her ground. To waver now was to fall.
A harsh caw echoed through the Forest.
All heads turned skywards.
A shadow cut across the stars and Rip lit onto a pine branch, his black eyes fixed on Renn.
She cawed a greeting and he swooped, landing with a thud on her shoulder. Talons dug into her parka, stiff feathers brushed her cheek. She made a gurgling sound, and Rip raised his bill and half-spread his wings in reply.
People drew back, clutching clan-creature amulets.
At the edge of camp, a wolf appeared.
Relief washed over Renn. If Wolf had survived the fire, maybe Torak had too.
Wolf's amber eyes grazed the camp, then returned to Renn. His hackles bristled. The sinews of his long legs were taut. One sign from her and he would spring to her aid.
He had helped her simply by showing himself. It would be dangerous for him to do more. 'Uff,' she warned.
He tilted his head, puzzled.
'Uff!' she said again.
He turned and vanished into the trees.
The clans breathed out. The young man stood dumbstruck, his axe dangling from his hand.
The old man cleared his throat. 'I think,' he said, 'we'd better not harm her just yet.'
Wolf was frightened and confused. His paws hurt from the hot earth, and he couldn't find Tall Tailless because the Bright Beast had eaten all the scents. And now the pack-sister had howled to him, then told him to go.
He didn't. He stayed near the Den.
The taillesses stank of fear and hatred. They hated the pack-sister, but were too scared to hurt her. The pack-sister was frightened too, but she hid it extremely well. This was something taillesses did much better than normal wolves.
Not far from the Den, Wolf found a small Still Wet, and cooled his sore pads in the mud. He waded deeper and washed the stink of the Bright Beast off his fur.
When he got back to the Den, he scented a change. The taillesses were getting ready to move. Wolf decided to follow and keep a close nose on the pack-sister.
Then maybe Tall Tailless would come too.
Two Lynx hunters ran into camp, breathless and sweating, and spoke to the Leaders in a flurry of hand speech. Renn tried and failed to follow what was going on.
Wolf had gone, but the ravens were playing in the pine tree, hanging by their talons from the auroch horns, then dropping almost to the ground before soaring and swooping round for another turn.
The young man cast them hostile looks, but the old man shrugged. 'They're ravens, they like games. And trickery.'
Renn wondered if that was meant for her.
'Here,' he said, 'you might as well take this, although I can't let you have any arrows.'
To her astonishment, he held out her bow. It had been cleaned and oiled, the bowstring freshly waxed.
'Thank you,' she said.
He grunted. 'It's a good bow, and you've looked after it. Unlike some.' He shuddered in sympathy for all mistreated bows. 'But the string's frayed. Give me your spare and I'll replace it.'
Renn hesitated. 'This is the spare string,' she lied.
He peered at her through the tangle of his brows.
Had he laid a trap for her? Or was he telling her to use what she had? She was about to ask why he'd given it back when the young man ran over to them.
'It's decided,' he told the old man, 'We're breaking camp.'
'Where to?' said Renn.
He ignored her, but the old one gave her a regretful look. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered as he hobbled away.
Renn barely had time to sling her bow over her shoulder before her wrists were tied and a blindfold was pulled over her eyes.
TWENTY-FOUR.
After the darkness of the beaver lodge, daylight blinded Torak.
Blinking, spitting out lake water, he clung to a branch. It was sooty; his hand came away black. The air was hazed with bitter brown smoke.
Scrambling onto the piled branches of the lodge, he cast about. Dimly, he made out charcoal hills jagged with dead trees. Nothing else.
He sank to his knees. Renn. Wolf. How could they have survived?
If there had been a single bird in the sky, he would have broken his promise to the wind and spirit walked to find them. If there had been a single tree left alive on the slopes . . .
Behind him, something sneezed.
The foal lay in a sprawl of spindly legs. It looked as startled as Torak by its sneeze.
Gently, he stroked its mane, and it blinked at him through long lashes. He felt a spark of hope. If a foal could live through the fire, maybe Wolf and Renn had too.
Talking to the foal in an undertone, he untied his belt and looped it over its neck. It wobbled to its feet and swayed. Then it threw down its head and coughed.
After a short struggle, he got it into the water, and together they struck out for the shore.
They'd hardly made it to the shallows when a shrill whinny rang out. The foal gave an answering whinny, startlingly loud, and tugged at the rawhide. Torak released it and it wobbled towards a black shape moving among the trees. Mother and foal nuzzled each other; then the foal ducked under her belly to suckle.
Torak made out more horses. The lead mare turned and gave him a penetrating stare and in that moment, he knew what to do.
Feverishly, he took the last of Saeunn's root from his medicine pouch and crammed it in his mouth. If Wolf or Renn were anywhere in this devastation, who better to sense them than prey?
The other horses side-stepped and tossed their heads, uneasy at his nearness, but the lead mare stood her ground. Swivelling her ears, she listened to his moans as the cramps took hold. She lowered her head and watched him clutch his belly, falling to the ground in a cloud of ash . . .
. . . and through her horse eyes, Torak stared at the body which lay twitching and frothing at the mouth.
For the first time in his life, he felt the ceaseless vigilance of prey. He twisted one ear to listen to the human kicking at cinders, and flicked back the other to catch the nicker of a mare chivvying her foal. One eye scanned the shore for hunters, the other the slope above, while his horse nose told him the movements of every member of the herd.
The mare's souls were surprisingly strong, but very fearful, and although Torak wanted her to canter up the hill, she refused. She was a wise horse, she knew it was best to avoid anything strange, and since everything was strange, she wouldn't budge. Her herd had been through the terrors of the fire, and now they found themselves in this black Forest where there was no grazing and only the water smelt the same, so she would stay near that.
But the alien souls in her marrow were making her restive. She snorted and rolled her eyes, and the worried herd did the same.
In the battle of souls, Torak overcame her. Kicking up his hind hooves, he broke into a canter. With effortless strength his four legs hammered the earth. Such power, such speed! He felt a surge of wild joy as he thundered up the hill, and his herd came thundering after him.
At the top he halted, puffing and blowing. The ashen wind played in his mane, cooling his sweaty neck. He flared his nostrils to catch the scents.
Almost at once, he caught the scent of a wolf.
The mare shivered, remembering sharp fangs biting her flanks. Torak forced her to stay where she was. Then he heard it: a long, wavering howl. I am seeking you . . .
It wasn't Wolf.
The disappointment was so great that he lost control of the mare's spirit, and she wheeled and crashed down the slope. Blundering through the bemused herd, she raced back to the safety of the water.
She skittered to a halt in a cloud of ash. She smelt the meaty breath of humans. She smelt that some bore the skins of bats, others the tails of horses. She was startled, but not frightened. Of all the hunters in the Forest, people never threatened her.
It was Torak who was afraid. He saw his human body lying defenceless on the ground. The hunters saw it too.
He saw them crunch towards him over the brittle earth, their tattooed faces merciless. He saw a Forest Horse hunter prod his body with the butt of his spear. Another kicked him in the ribs. Dimly, he felt the kick.
Now they were crowding round him, kicking, beating. With a jolt, he was back in his body, and pain was opening inside him. He moaned. Something struck his head.
In his last glimmer of awareness, he sent a silent howl to Wolf. Sorry, pack-brother, sorry I couldn't find you.
Sorry, Renn.
TWENTY-FIVE.
Renn was jostled and dragged till she lost track of time. Sometimes they carried her, sometimes they tossed her in a dugout. Once they fed her food and water.
She smelt charred corpses, and knew they'd entered the wasteland. It seemed endless, but at last they were back among hooting owls and rustling leaves.
Suddenly, her wrists were untied, the blindfold torn off, and she stood blinking in a glare of firelight.
It was night. She saw torches staked in a vast ring. She caught the tang of pine, the murmur of a river. The Aurochs and Lynx had pitched their camp to one side of the ring of fire. At its centre rose a scarlet tree. Root, trunk, branch, leaf all had been painted red with earthblood. An entire living tree was being offered, to draw the World Spirit into the Deep Forest.
Someone pushed her forwards, and she found herself beside a sputtering torch. To her amazement, she saw not only Auroch and Lynx gathered here. On the other side of the ring of fire, there was a second camp and a shadowy throng, bristling with axes and spears. One of them moved closer to the light, and she saw that his beard and lips were stained green, his face tattooed with leaves. His long green hair was braided with horsetails, and his headband was brown. Renn couldn't believe it. The Forest Horse Clan was camped not an arrowshot away from their deadly enemies.
Among the Forest Horses, others flitted, half-seen in the moonlight. Their mantles were the colour of night; a web of charcoal lines obscured their faces. Renn saw thorny black tattooes on their chins. Bat Clan.
The two sides faced each other across twenty paces of smoky torchlight. Arrows were nocked to bows. Hands flexed on axes and spears.
At the roots of the scarlet tree, Renn made out a huge figure in flowing robes and a glaring mask crested with horsetails. Her skin crawled. Thiazzi.
His long sleeve hid his mutilated hand, but in the other he held a heavy staff incised with burnt spirals. 'See what I bear,' he told the clans in the sonorous tones Renn had last heard in the Far North. 'I, the Forest Horse Mage, bear the speaking-staff of the Auroch Clan.'
The Aurochs stirred in alarm.
'The Auroch Mage,' Thiazzi went on, 'is known for being wise and just. I have talked with him in his prayer shelter. In token of trust, he has given me his staff.'
Doubtful head-shaking among the Aurochs. What trickery was this?
As the Forest Horse Mage approached the Auroch Leader, they aimed a thicket of spears at his chest. Thiazzi never flinched. 'To honour that trust, I return the staff to his clan.' With a bow, he proferred it to the Leader.
Even Renn had to acknowledge his bravery. If things went wrong, he would fall transfixed by twenty spears.
With a wary bow, the Auroch Leader took the staff, and Thiazzi stepped back. Slowly, the Aurochs lowered their spears.
Renn watched him return to the scarlet tree, where he addressed both sides.
'For a moon,' he told them, 'I have fasted in the sacred grove, and the Auroch Mage has fasted in his prayer shelter. To both of us the same vision has been sent.' He raised his arms. 'We must fight no longer! Auroch. Forest Horse. Lynx. Bat. Red Deer. We must unite!'
Gasps of amazement. Hands fluttered in urgent speech.
What is he after? wondered Renn. She could understand why a Soul-Eater might wish for strife, but why . . .
'We must unite,' repeated the Mage, 'against a greater foe!'
In the hush that followed, one could have heard the wingbeats of a moth. All eyes were on the masked Mage prowling the scarlet tree.