With an odd sense of giving up an unwelcome burden, Torak handed her the ravenskin pouch, and she tied it to her belt. Wolf watched what was happening with ears swivelling: as if, thought Torak, the pouch were making some kind of noise.
'You'll need light,' said Renn, glad to be doing something practical. From her pack she brought out two rushlights: the peeled pith of rushes that had been soaked in deer fat, then dried in the sun. With her strike-fire, she lit a curl of juniper bark tinder, and one of the rushlights flared into life: a bright, clear, comforting flame. Torak felt hugely grateful.
'If you need help,' she said, kneeling and hugging Wolf to stop herself shivering, 'shout. We'll come running.'
Torak nodded. Then he stooped and entered the stone mouth.
He groped for the wall. It felt slimy, like dead flesh.
He shuffled forward, feeling the way with his feet. The rushlight trembled and shrank to a glimmer. The stench wafted up from the darkness, stinging his nostrils.
After several halting steps, he came up against stone. The cave mouth had narrowed to a gullet: he'd have to turn sideways to get through. Shutting his eyes, he edged in. It felt as if he was being swallowed. He couldn't breathe. He kept thinking of the weight of the rockface pressing in on him . . .
The air cooled. He was still in a tunnel, but it was wider, and twisted sharply to the right. Glancing back, he saw that the daylight had vanished, and with it, Renn and Wolf.
The stink got stronger as he followed the tunnel, hearing nothing but his own breathing, seeing nothing but glimpses of glistening red stone.
A sudden chill to his left, and he nearly lost his footing. Pebbles rattled, then dropped into silence.
The left-hand wall had vanished. He was standing on a narrow ledge jutting out over darkness. From far below came an echoing 'plink' of water. One slip and he'd be over the edge.
Another bend this time to the left and a rock beneath his foot tilted. With a cry he grabbed for a handhold, righting himself just in time.
At the sound of his cry, something stirred.
He froze.
'Torak?' Renn's voice sounded far away.
He didn't dare call out. Whatever had moved had gone still again: but it was a horrible, waiting stillness. It knew he was there. 'The Watchers everywhere. They see you, but you don't see them. Not till it's too late.'
He forced himself to go on. Down, always down. The stink came at him in waves. Breathe through your mouth, said a voice in his head. That was what he and Fa used to do when they came upon a stinking kill-site or a bat-infested cave. He tried it, and the stench became bearable, although it still caught at his eyes and throat.
Abruptly the ground levelled out, and he felt space opening up around him. A dim light had to be coming from somewhere, because he made out a vast, shadowy cavern. The fumes were almost overwhelming. He was in the dripping, reeking bowels of the earth.
The ledge he was standing on ended, and the floor beyond it was weirdly humped. In the middle of the cavern, a great, flat-topped stone gleamed like black ice. It looked as if it had stood untouched for thousands of winters. Even from twenty paces away, Torak could feel its power.
This was where the Walker had found his stone claw. This was the reason for the warning hand at the cave mouth. This was what the Watchers guarded: a door to the Otherworld.
Torak couldn't take another step. It was like the times when he awoke so heavy with sleep that to stir even a finger seemed impossible.
To steady himself, he put his free hand on the hilt of his knife. The sinew binding felt faintly warm, giving him the courage to step down onto the cave floor.
As he did, he cried out in disgust. The floor sank beneath his boot: a noisome softness sucking him down. 'The killing earth that gulps and swallows . . .'
His cry rang round the walls, and far above him he heard a stealthy movement. Something dark detached itself from the roof and swooped towards him.
There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. The softness sucked at his boots like wet sand. A foetid downrush, and the thing was on him: greasy fur clogging his mouth and nose, sharp claws tearing at his hair. Snarling with horror, he beat at the silent attacker.
At last it lifted away with a leathery 'thwap'. But he knew that it wasn't vanquished. The Watcher had merely come to find out what he was. Once it knew, it had left.
But what was it? A bat? A demon? How many more were there?
Torak floundered on. Halfway to the stone, he stumbled and fell. The stink was unbearable. He wallowed in choking blackness, he couldn't see, couldn't think. Even the rushlight turned black a black flame flaring above him . . .
He staggered to his feet, shaking himself free like a swimmer gasping for air. His mind steadied. The black flame burned yellow again.
He reached the stone. On its ancient smoothness, six stone claws had been arranged in a spiral, with a gap where the Walker had snatched the seventh. At the centre lay a single black stone tooth.
'Oldest of all, the stone bite.' The second part of the Nanuak.
Sweat slid down his spine. He wondered what power he would unleash if he touched it.
He stretched out his hand, then snatched it back, remembering Renn's warning. 'Don't touch the Nanuak with your bare hands.'
Where was the mitten? He must have dropped it.
With the rushlight he cast around, plunging his hand into the stinking mounds. Again the dizziness mounted. Again the flame darkened . . .
Just in time, he found the mitten, tied to his belt. Yanking it on, he reached for the tooth.
The rushlight glimmered on the cave wall behind the stone and lit the gleam of thousands of eyes.
With his hand poised above the tooth, he moved the flame slowly to and fro. It caught the liquid gleam of eyes. The walls were swarming with Watchers. Wherever the light touched, they rippled and heaved like a maggot-riddled carcass. If he took the tooth, they would come for him.
Suddenly, everything happened at once.
From far above came Wolf's sharp urgent bark.
Renn screamed. 'Torak! It's coming!'
The Watchers exploded around him.
The rushlight went out.
Something struck him in the back and he fell forward onto the stone.
Again Renn screamed. 'Torak! The bear!'
TWENTY.
Clutching Torak's quiver, Renn raced to the edge of the trail and tripped on a tree root, spilling arrows in the dirt. Panic bubbled in her throat. What to do? What to do?
Only moments before, she'd been pacing up and down, while a flock of greenfinches tore at the yew tree's juicy pink berries, and Wolf tugged on the leash, uttering bark-growls which Torak would have understood, but she just found worrying.
Then the finches had fled in a twittering cloud, and she'd glanced down the hill. A gap in the fog had given her a clear view: she'd seen the stream rushing past a clump of spruce, and a big dark boulder hunched beside them. Then the boulder had moved.
Frozen in horror, she'd watched the bear rear up on its hind legs, towering over the spruce. The great head swung as it tasted the air. It caught her scent and dropped to all fours.
That was when she'd run to the cave and screamed a warning to Torak and got nothing back but echoes.
Now, as the fog closed in again and she fumbled for the arrows, she pictured the bear climbing the hill towards her. She knew how fast bears can move: it would be here in moments.
The rockface was too steep for her to climb; besides, she couldn't leave Wolf. That left the cave, but every part of her screamed not to go inside. They'd be caught like hares in a trap, they'd never get out.
Wolf's desperate tugging on the leash broke her panic. He was pulling her towards the cave and in a flash she knew he was right. Torak was inside. They would fight it together.
She plunged in, dragging packs and sleeping-sacks behind her. The darkness blinded her. She ran into solid rock, hitting her head.
After a breathless search she worked out that the cave narrowed sharply to a slit. Wolf was already through, tugging at her to follow. She turned and edged sideways quickly, quickly then dropped to her knees and reached through the gap to drag the gear in after her.
As she yanked in packs and bows and quiver, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe the gap was too narrow for the bear? Maybe they could hold out . . .
Her waterskin was wrenched from her hand with a force that slammed her against the gap and sent pain shooting through her shoulder. In a daze she scrambled sideways into a hollow, yanking Wolf with her.
The bear couldn't have moved that fast, she thought numbly.
A deep growl reverberated through the cave. Her skin crawled.
It can't get through the gap, she told herself. Stay still. Stay very, very still.
From deep within the cave came a cry. 'Renn!'
Was Torak calling for help, or was he coming to help her? She couldn't tell. Couldn't call out. Couldn't do anything but cower with Wolf in the hollow, knowing she was too close to the gap just two paces away yet powerless to move. Some force was keeping her there. She couldn't take her eyes from that narrow slit of daylight.
The daylight turned black.
Knowing it was the worst thing to do, Renn leaned forward and peered through the gap. The blood roared in her head. A nightmare glimpse of dark fur flickering in an unfelt wind; a flash of long cruel claws glistening with black blood.
A roar shook the cave. Moaning, Renn jammed her fists against her ears as the roar battered through her, on and on till she thought her skull would crack . . .
Silence: as shocking as the roar. Taking her fists from her ears, she heard a whisper of dust. Wolf panting. Nothing else.
Slowly, appalled at what she was doing, she crawled towards the slit, pulling the reluctant cub with her.
She saw daylight again. Grey rockface. The yew tree with a scattering of berries beneath. No bear.
A shuddering growl: so close that she heard the wet champ of jaws, smelt the reek of slaughter. Then the daylight was blotted out, and an eye held hers. Blacker than basalt, yet churning with fire, it drew her it wanted her.
She tilted forwards.
Wolf wrenched her back, breaking the spell so that she shrank out of the way just as the deadly claws sliced the earth where she'd been kneeling.
Again the bear roared. Again she cowered in the hollow. Then she heard new sounds: the clatter of rocks, the groans of a dying tree. In its fury, the bear was clawing at the mouth of the cave, uprooting the yew and tearing it apart.
Whimpering, she pressed herself into the hollow.
Against her shoulder, the rock moved. With a cry she jumped back.
From the other side, she heard stones shattering, and earth being flung aside with lethal intent. She realised what was happening. The rock that formed this side of the gap was not, as she had thought, a part of the cave itself, but merely a tongue of stone that jutted from the earth floor. The bear was clawing at its roots: digging them out like wood-ants from a nest.
Sweat streamed off her. She stared at Wolf.
With a shock, she saw that he was cub no longer. His head was down, his eyes fixed on the thing beyond the slit. His black lips were peeled back in a snarl, baring formidable white fangs.
Something hardened inside her. 'Not like wood-ants,' she whispered. The sound of her voice gave her courage.
She untied the leash to give Wolf his freedom: maybe he could escape, even if she and Torak could not. Then she groped for her bow. The touch of the cool, smooth yew gave her strength. She got to her feet.
Concentrate on the target, she told herself, remembering the many lessons Fin-Kedinn had given her. That's the most important thing. You must concentrate so hard that you burn a hole in the target . . . And keep your draw arm relaxed, don't tense up. The force comes from your back, not from your arm . . .
'Fourteen arrows,' she said. 'I should be able to put in a few of them before it gets me.'
She stepped out from the hollow and took up position.
Torak tore at the Watchers swarming over him.
Claws snagged his face and hair. Foul wings stifled his mouth and nose. Somehow he managed to pull on Renn's mitten and reach for the stone tooth. It was heavier than he'd expected. He wrenched off the mitten with the tooth inside, and shoved it into the neck of his jerkin.
'Renn!' he yelled as he pushed himself off the stone. His cry was deadened by leathery wings.
He struck out through the stench but with the rushlight gone, he couldn't even see his hands in front of his face.
Faint and far above came Wolf's frenzied yowls: Where are you? Danger! Danger!
He waded towards the sound with the Watchers swarming over him, pushing him down into the stink.
Terrible images thronged his head. Wolf and Renn lying dead just like Fa. Why had he made them stay up there where it was 'safe', when all the time that was where the true danger lay?
Raging inwardly, he drew his knife from its sheath and slashed at the Watchers. They seemed to lift to avoid the blade. 'Oh, so you're scared of it, are you?' he shouted. 'Well here's some more!' He slashed at them and again they lifted, a dark cloud just out of reach. The hilt grew hot in his hand. Snarling, he ploughed on through the stink.
He barked his shins on solid rock. He'd reached the ledge. 'I'm coming!' he shouted, pulling himself out and starting up the slope.
A roar shook the cave, beating him to his knees. The Watchers rose in a cloud and vanished.
The silence after the last echo had died was worse. Torak became aware of rock beneath his knees; the stone tooth throbbing inside his jerkin. He struggled to his feet and ran up the ledge. It was steep so steep. Why was there no sound from above? What was happening up there?
On and on he climbed till his knees ached and the breath seared his throat. Then he rounded the last bend and the daylight blinded him.
The cave mouth was five paces away, and wider than he remembered. The gap he'd squeezed through on his descent had been wrenched open, and before it stood Renn, a small, upright figure, incredibly brave, taking aim with her last arrow at the thing looming over her.