Renn wrapped two small pieces of grouse in dock leaves and left them for the clan guardians, while Torak moved the fire to the mouth of the cave, as he was determined not to spend another night inside. Half-filling Renn's cooking-skin with water, he hung it by the fire; then, using a split branch, he dropped in red-hot stones to heat it up, and added the plucked and jointed willow grouse. Soon he was stirring a fragrant stew flavoured with crow garlic and big, fleshy wood-mushrooms.
They ate most of the meat, leaving a little for daymeal, and sopped up the juices with hawkbit roots baked in the embers. After that came a wonderful mash that Renn made of late lingonberries and hazelnuts, and finally some beechnuts, which they burst by the fire and peeled to get at the small, rich nuts inside.
By the time he'd finished, Torak felt as if he need never eat again. He settled down by the fire to mend the rip in his leggings where the Hidden People had grabbed him. Renn sat some way off, trimming the flights on her arrows, and Wolf lay between them licking his paws clean, having swiftly despatched the joint of grouse that Torak had saved for him.
For a while there was a companionable silence, and Torak felt contented, even hopeful. After all, he'd found the first piece of the Nanuak. That must count for something.
Suddenly, Wolf leapt to his feet and raced out of the firelight. Moments later he returned, circling the fire and making agitated little grunt-whines.
'What is it?' whispered Renn.
Torak was on his feet, watching Wolf. He shook his head. 'I can't make it out. "Kill smell. Old kill. Move." Something like that.'
They stared into the darkness.
'We shouldn't have lit a fire,' said Renn.
'Too late now,' said Torak.
Wolf stopped the grunt-whines and raised his muzzle, gazing skywards.
Torak looked up and the remains of his good humour vanished. To the east, above the distant blackness of the High Mountains, the red eye of the Great Auroch glared down at them. It was impossible to miss: a vicious crimson, throbbing with malice. Torak couldn't take his eyes from it. He could feel its power: sending strength to the bear, sapping his own will of hope and resolve.
'What chance do we have against the bear?' he said. 'I mean, really, what chance do we have?'
'I don't know,' said Renn.
'How are we going to find the other two pieces of the Nanuak? "Oldest of all, the stone bite. Coldest of all, the darkest light." What does that even mean?'
Renn did not reply.
At last he dragged his gaze from the sky, and sat down by the fire. The red eye seemed to glare at him even from the embers.
Behind him, Renn stirred. 'Look, Torak, it's the First Tree!'
He raised his head.
The eye had been blotted out. Instead, a silent, ever-changing green glow filled the sky. Now a vast swathe of light twisted in a voiceless wind; then the swathe vanished, and shimmering pale-green waves rippled across the stars. The First Tree stretched for ever, shining its miraculous fire upon the Forest.
As Torak gazed at it, a spark of hope re-kindled. He'd always loved watching the First Tree on frosty nights, while Fa told the story of the Beginning. The First Tree meant good luck in hunting; maybe it would bring luck to him, too.
'I think it's a good sign,' said Renn as if she'd heard his thoughts. 'I've been wondering. Was it really luck that you found the Nanuak? I mean, why did you fall into the very part of the river where it lay? I don't think that was by chance. I think you were meant to find it.'
He threw her a questioning glance.
'Maybe,' she said slowly, 'the Nanuak was put in your way, but then it was up to you to decide what to do about it. When you saw it at the bottom of the river, you could have decided it was too dangerous to try for. But you didn't. You risked your life to get it. Maybe that was part of the test.'
It was a good thought, and it made Torak feel a little better. He fell asleep watching the silent green boughs of the First Tree, while Wolf sped out of the cave on some mysterious errand of his own.
Wolf left the Den and loped up to the ridge above the valley to catch the smell on the wind: a powerful smell of rotten prey like a very old kill except that it moved.
As he ran, Wolf felt with joy how his pads were toughening, his limbs getting stronger with every Dark that passed. He loved to run, and he wished that Tall Tailless did too. But at times his pack-brother could be terribly slow.
As Wolf neared the ridge, he heard the roar of the Thundering Wet, and the sound of a hare feeding in the next valley. Overhead, he saw the Bright White Eye with her many little cubs. It was all as it should be. Except for that smell.
At the top of the ridge he lifted his muzzle to catch the scent-laden winds, and again he caught it: quite close, and coming closer. Racing back into the valley, he soon found it: the strange, shuffling thing that smelt so rotten.
He got near enough to observe it clearly in the dark, although he was careful not to let it know that he was near. To his surprise he found that it was not an old kill after all. It had breath and claws, and it moved in an odd shambling walk, growling to itself while the spit trailed from its muzzle.
What puzzled Wolf most was that he couldn't catch what it was feeling. Its mind seemed broken; scattered like old bones. Wolf had never sensed such a thing before.
He watched it make its way up the slope towards the Den where the tailless were sleeping. It prowled closer . . .
Just as Wolf was about to attack, it shook itself and shambled away. But through the tangle of its broken thoughts, Wolf sensed that it would be back.
EIGHTEEN.
The fog stole up on them like a thief in the night.
When Torak crawled stiffly from his sleeping-sack, the valley below had disappeared. The Breath of the World Spirit had swallowed it whole.
He yawned. Wolf had woken him often in the night, racing about and uttering urgent half-barks: kill smell watch. It didn't make sense. Every time Torak went to look, there was nothing but a stink of carrion and an uneasy feeling of being watched.
'Maybe he just hates fog,' said Renn grumpily as she rolled up her sleeping-sack. 'I know I do. In fog, nothing's what it seems.'
'I don't think it's that,' said Torak, watching Wolf snuffing the air.
'Well what is it, then?'
'I don't know. It's as if something's out there. Not the bear. Not the Ravens. Something else.'
'What do you mean?'
'I told you, I don't know. But we should be on our guard.' Thoughtfully, he put more wood on the fire to heat up the rest of the stew for daymeal.
With an anxious frown, Renn counted their arrows. 'Twenty between us. Not nearly enough. Do you know how to knap flint?'
Torak shook his head. 'My hands aren't strong enough. Fa was going to teach me next summer. What about you?'
'The same. We'll have to be careful. There's no telling how far it is to the Mountain. And we'll need more meat.'
'Maybe we'll catch something today.'
'In this fog?'
She was right. The fog was so thick that they couldn't see Wolf five paces ahead. It was the kind that the clans call the smoke-frost: an icy breath that descends from the High Mountains at the start of winter, blackening berries and sending small creatures scuttling for their burrows.
Wolf led them along an auroch trail that wound north up the side of the valley: a chilly climb through frost-brittle bracken. The fog muffled sounds and made distances hard to judge. Trees loomed with alarming suddenness. Once they shot a reindeer, only to find that they'd hit a log. That meant a frustrating struggle to dig out the arrowheads, which they couldn't afford to lose. Twice, Torak thought he saw a figure in the undergrowth, but when he ran to look, he found nothing.
It took all morning to climb the ridge, and all afternoon to scramble down into the next valley, where a silent pine forest guarded a slumbering river.
'Do you realise,' said Renn as they huddled in a hasty shelter after a cheerless nightmeal, 'that we haven't seen a single reindeer? They should be everywhere by now.'
'I've been thinking that too,' said Torak. Like Renn, he knew that the snow on the fells should be driving the herds into the Forest, to grow fat on moss and mushrooms. Sometimes they ate so many mushrooms that they even tasted of them.
'What will the clans do if the reindeer don't come?' said Renn.
Torak didn't answer. Reindeer meant survival: meat, bedding and clothes.
He wondered what he was going to do for winter clothes. Renn had had the foresight to put hers on before she'd left the Raven camp, but she hadn't been able to steal any for him, so all he had was his summer buckskin: not nearly as warm as the furry parka and leggings which he and Fa made every autumn.
Even if they did find prey, there'd be no time to make clothes. Beyond the fog, the red eye of the Great Auroch was climbing ever higher.
Torak shut his eyes to push the thought away, and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep. But whenever he awoke in the night, he caught that strange carrion stink.
Next morning dawned colder and foggier than ever, and even Wolf seemed dejected as he led them upstream. They reached a fallen oak bridging the river, and crawled over it on their hands and knees. Soon afterwards, the trail forked. To the left, it wound into a valley of misty beech trees; to the right, it disappeared up a dank gully, its steep sides an uninviting jumble of moss-covered boulders.
To their dismay, Wolf took the right-hand trail.
'That can't be right!' cried Renn. 'The Mountain's in the north! Why is he forever going east?'
Torak shook his head. 'It feels wrong to me too. But he seems sure.'
Renn snorted. She was clearly having doubts again.
Looking at Wolf waiting patiently, Torak felt a twinge of guilt. The cub wasn't even four moons old. At this age, he should be playing by his den, not traipsing over hills. 'I think,' he said, 'we ought to trust him.'
'Mm,' murmured Renn.
Hoisting their packs higher on their aching shoulders, they entered the gully.
They hadn't gone ten paces before they knew that it didn't want them. Towering spruce trees warned them back with arms spread wide. A boulder crashed in front of them; another struck the path just behind Renn. The stink of carrion grew stronger. But if it came from a kill-site, it was a strange one, for they heard no ravens.
The fog closed in until they could barely see two paces ahead. All they could hear was the drip, drip, of mist on the bracken, and the gurgle of a stream rushing between fern-choked banks. Torak began to see bear shapes in the fog. He watched Wolf for the least sign of alarm, but the cub plodded along, unafraid.
At midday or what felt like midday they halted for a rest. Wolf slumped down, panting, and Renn shrugged off her pack. Her face was pinched, her hair soaking. 'I saw some reeds back there. I'm going to plait myself a hood.' Hanging their quivers and bows on a branch, she moved off through the ferns. Wolf heaved himself up and padded after her.
Torak squatted at the edge of the stream to refill the waterskins. It wasn't long before he heard Renn coming back. 'That was quick,' he said.
'Out!' bellowed a voice behind him. 'Out of the Walker's Valley or the Walker slits throats!'
Torak spun round and found himself staring up at an unbelievably filthy man towering over him with a knife.
In an instant he took in a ruined face as rough as tree bark; waist-length hair matted with filth; a rancid cape of slimy yellow reeds. And at last the carrion stink was explained, for around the man's neck hung a pigeon's softly rotting carcass.
In fact, everything about him seemed to be rotting: from his empty, festering eye socket to his toothless black gums, and his shattered nose, from which hung a loop of greenish-yellow slime. 'Out!' he bellowed, waving a green slate knife. 'Narik and the Walker say out!'
Quickly, Torak put both fists over his heart in the sign of friendship. 'Please we come as friends. We mean you no harm '
'But they already did harm!' roared the man. 'They bring it with them to the beautiful valley! All night the Walker watches! All night he waits to see if they will bring harm to his valley!'
'What harm?' Torak said desperately. 'We didn't mean it!'
There was a stirring in the bracken and Wolf threw himself at Torak. Torak clutched the cub close, and felt the small heart hammering.
The man didn't notice. He'd heard Renn creeping up behind him. 'Sneaking up, is she?' he snarled, lurching round and waving his knife in her face.
Renn dodged backwards, but that only made him angrier.
'Does she want them in the water?' he cried, snatching their bows and quivers from the branch and holding them out over the stream. 'Does she want to see them swim, the pretty arrows and the shiny, shiny bows?'
Mute with horror, Renn shook her head.
'Then they drop knives and axes quick, or in they go!'
They both knew that they didn't have a choice, so they tossed their remaining weapons at his feet, and he stowed them swiftly under his cape.
'What do you want us to do?' said Torak, his heart hammering as fast as Wolf's.
'Get out!' roared the man. 'The Walker told them! Narik told them! And the anger of Narik is terrible!'
Both Renn and Torak looked round for Narik, whoever he was, but saw only wet trees and fog.
'We are getting out,' said Renn, eyeing her bow in the enormous fist.
'Not up the Valley! Out!' He gestured to the side of the gully.
'But we can't go up there,' said Renn, 'it's too steep '
'No more tricks!' bellowed the Walker, and hurled her quiver into the stream.
She screamed and leapt after it, but Torak grabbed her arm. 'It's too late,' he told her. 'It's gone.' The stream was deeper and faster than it looked. Her beloved quiver had disappeared.
Renn turned on the Walker. 'We were doing what you said! You didn't have to do that!'
'Oh yes he did,' said the Walker with a toothless black grin. 'Now they know he means it!'
'Come on, Renn,' said Torak. 'Let's do as he says.'
Furiously, Renn picked up her pack.