'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.
Wolf licked his ear.
In the Far North, Torak had seen sled dogs with paw-boots. The best he could do for Wolf was to bind his paws with strips of buckskin from his old jerkin. Wolf kept butting in to see what he was doing, and when the bindings were securely tied, Torak had to tell him sternly not to eat them.
He was so intent on watching Wolf that he didn't realize when they reached the top of the spur. Straightening up, he caught his breath. The Gorge of the Hidden People lay behind him. Above him loomed the Mountain of Ghosts.
Its summit pierced the clouds. Its glaring white flanks warded him back. Sacred, sacred. A place of spirits, not of men.
Sinking to his knees, he sprinkled earthblood as an offering. In hushed tones, he begged the Mountain to forgive him for trespassing.
Clouds closed in, hiding it from view. Torak didn't know if that was a good sign, or bad.
To his right, a scree slope fell steeply to a shadowy valley. Ahead, glimpsed through the swirling whitenenss, a huge boulder-field led onto the Mountain. The Redwater cascaded from a small black cave mouth nestled in its midst.
Torak made out a spiral marker on one of the boulders. Filled with apprehension, he started towards it. Wolf padded after him, his tail down.
The boulders were treacherous with ice, and in places the snow was deep enough to make the going hard. They struggled past another marker, and another. They were now on the very Mountain itself.
And Torak had to find somewhere to camp.
They came to a spur where snow had drifted deep. Torak was relieved. He preferred hacking out a snow hole to rearranging so much as a rock in this sacred place.
He didn't dare wake a fire. Huddled in his snow hole, he shared a scrap of smoked reindeer with Rip and Rek, while Wolf chewed the paw-boots which, as his pads were already healing, Torak had given him for nightmeal.
As night deepened, Torak listened to the distant voice of the stream and the silence of the Mountain. It had allowed him to camp, but it could crush him in a heartbeat.
And Eostra . . . What of the Soul-Eater who waited within?
With the assurance of absolute power, she had let him venture through the Gorge; but she could send her pack to take him whenever she wanted. And the day after tomorrow was Souls' Night.
On his forearm, Torak felt the weight of Renn's wrist-guard. She had never seemed so far away.
He dreams it is summer, and he is playing with Wolf in a lake strewn with yellow water lilies. Wolf leaps clear of the water and lands with a splash. Torak dives, trailing silver bubbles of underwater laughter. Still laughing, he bursts into the sun. Everything feels right. His world-soul is a golden thread stretching out to all living things. And there is Fa, standing smiling in the shallows. 'Look behind you, Torak!'
Torak jolted awake. He heard the boom of falling rocks. The ravens' stony alarm calls.
Yanking on his boots and grabbing his axe, he scrambled out of the snow hole and into a wall of fog.
Rip and Rek were invisible, he couldn't see two paces ahead. He glimpsed Wolf, a grey blur racing over the stones.
Stumbling towards him, Torak saw that part of the spur had collapsed; a few boulders were still rolling to rest.
Wolf halted, his black lips peeled back in a snarl.
Torak followed his stare. In the fog, all he could make out were the rolling boulders.
Wolf's growls shook his whole body.
Torak narrowed his eyes.
Not boulders.
Dogs.
TWENTY-SIX.
Relentless as a tide, Eostra's pack surged towards them through the fog.
They were bigger than any wolf or dog Torak had ever seen. He took in shaggy manes clotted with filth. Bloodshot eyes empty of feeling.
Slipping off his mittens, he tucked them in his sleeves. He gripped his axe. Beside him, Wolf wrinkled his muzzle and bared his fangs.
Torak uttered a deep grunt-growl. Stay together.
Wolf edged closer to him without taking his eyes off the pack.
Silently, the dogs came on, utterly concentrated on their prey.
Defiance surged in Torak. All right, then. Let's see you fight.
One huge black beast lunged at him.
He swung his axe. Wolf leapt. The creature drew back, melting into the fog.
Another tried, then two together: harrying, disappearing, but always spreading out to surround them.
Torak knew what they were doing. With wolves and dogs, most hunts begin like this. Make the prey fight, make it run. Find the weakest. Go after that.
The weakest was Torak. He knew it. Wolf knew it. The dogs knew it.
Grabbing a stone, he threw it as hard as he could, hitting a brindled monster on the shoulder. The dog twitched an ear, as if at an importunate wasp.
The ravens dropped out of the sky with furious caws, their talons skimming the marauders' backs. The pack ignored them. Cowed, Rip and Rek flew higher as if, thought Torak, they were already circling a carcass.
He threw more stones, and the dogs withdrew into the swirling white. But he could feel the ring closing in.
His grip on his axe was slippery with sweat. An axe wouldn't be much use except in close combat, and if it came to that, he wouldn't stand a chance. The only weapon that would've been any good was his bow, and that was in the snow hole, five paces away. It might as well be five hundred.
With the speed of a striking snake, a huge grey beast went for Wolf. Wolf whirled, sank his teeth into its rump. With a yowl it ripped free and fled, spattering blood.
The pack went on circling.
Wolf shook himself, unhurt.
At the corner of his vision, Torak glimpsed a black blur leaping towards him. He swung his axe, struck a glancing blow on the skull. The creature fell with a thud, then sprang to its feet as if nothing had happened.
As the pack prowled around them, the brindled beast the leader walked stiffly forwards and halted three paces from Torak. Torak felt Wolf tense for the attack. Urgently, he told him to stand his ground.
The leader's small, dull eyes fixed Torak's, and for an instant, he knew its mind. What it saw before it was not a boy, but a sack of meat, to be savaged till it moved no more. What kept that black heart beating was rage at all these running, howling sacks of life this life which must be destroyed.
By an act of will, Torak tore his gaze away.
He had an image of himself lying dead. Then he realized that that was wrong, it wouldn't be his body; Eostra wanted him alive. This was about getting Wolf away from him: about slaughtering his pack-brother.
Two dogs sprang at him. Wolf darted to intercept in a flurry of fur and fangs. The brindled leader attacked Torak from behind. His axe caught it flat on the ribs. With a yowl it slunk back but only a pace.
As Torak ran to help Wolf, the leader sprang again, seizing the hem of his tunic in its jaws, dragging him down. He lashed out. It dodged, hauling him after it, strong as a bear. Torak slipped, nearly lost his footing. He pretended to weaken, let the creature drag him closer then brought down his boot, heel-stamping between the eyes. For a moment the great jaws loosened. Torak wrenched his tunic free and staggered back to Wolf.
With a wet slapping of jowls, the leader shook itself, then lowered its head for the next attack.
Three dogs sprang at Torak, four at Wolf. But in mid-air the marauders yelped and twisted, as if struck from behind. Stones came hurtling through the fog. The pack faltered, casting about for the unseen attacker.
Torak thought he glimpsed a pale figure vanish into the fog.
Who's that? he asked Wolf.
Tailless, Wolf told him.
More stones smacked into the dogs: now from one side, now from another. Confused, the pack turned from Torak and Wolf and sought its mysterious assailant.
Shakily, Torak touched his pack-brother's scruff. Wolf's rump was bleeding, his left ear torn, but his eyes were bright; he wasn't even panting.
Torak was. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs.
He thought fast. Whoever was distracting the dogs wouldn't be able to do so for long. They would be back. And although Wolf could keep up the defence all day, he, Torak, could not. Soon he would go down. And they would kill Wolf.
Behind him, Torak saw a narrow cleft on the other side of the spur: a crack in the Mountain. He backed towards it.
Wolf threw him a warning look. No!
Torak kept moving. Reluctantly, Wolf came too. The dogs, battling a hail of stones, didn't notice.
The snow was knee-deep, but at last Torak reached the end of the cleft. The relief when he felt solid rock against his shoulders! Now he could last all day: eating snow, warding off attacks which could come only from the front.
Abruptly, the hail of stones ceased. The invisible guardian was gone. For an instant, Torak wondered who it had been; then he forgot about that. Once again, the pack was moving in.
Beside him, Wolf bristled with dismay. He'd followed Torak out of loyalty, but this went against everything he knew: no wolf backs into a place from which there is only one way out.
And Torak couldn't explain why he'd done it, because Wolf wasn't able to think like prey. Torak, though, found it all too easy; and he'd seen enough encounters between wolves and reindeer to know how it works. Wolves and dogs hunt those who run. If you're prey, your best chance is to stand and fight.
He was right, but he'd underestimated Wolf.
For an instant, the amber gaze grazed his. In that moment, Torak sensed what he meant to do. No, Wolf, no, it's just what they want! Too late. A gap opened in the pack and Wolf shot through it. The dogs sped after him.
It all happened in the blink of an eye, but Torak knew that he must seize the chance Wolf had given him.
Jamming his axe in his belt, he reached for the rocks and began to climb.
The last thing he saw before he boosted himself up the cleft was Wolf racing down the slope with Eostra's pack on his tail.
TWENTY-SEVEN.
Wolf flew over the rocks and the dogs flew after him. Wolf hated running away-but he had to save Tall Tailless. Wolf hated running away but he had to save Tall Wolf was heading for a great slope of Bright Soft Cold. From the voice of the wind coming off it, he knew it was deep, maybe wolf-high. So. The pack meant to chase him where even a wolf must flounder. But he knew this trick, he used it himself when he hunted deer. Did they think they could fool him?
Slowing his pace, he let the lead dog lope closer, till he caught the stony thud of its dark heart. It was snapping its chops, as if already tasting his flesh.
Too soon. As Wolf reached the edge of the Bright Soft Cold, he spun on one forepaw and leapt sideways onto solid rock. The dog behind him was too heavy, it couldn't turn in time. As Wolf sped off, he heard it thrashing and snarling in the Bright Soft Cold. Wolf threw up his tail. They might be bigger than him, but he was faster!
Although not by much. Already they were gaining on him again.
Over the pebbles he went, flicking his torn ear back to listen, the other ear forwards, for danger ahead.
He smelt darkness rushing towards him. The wind that blew from it made a booming sound, it was coming from underground. Suddenly there was no more stone in front and the Mountain opened to swallow him. Skittering to a halt, he saw that the crack was many paces across. From deep within came a howling cold.
In a snap, Wolf decided. Tensing his haunches, he sprang. His forepaws clawed the other side. Throwing his tail round and scrabbling with his hindpaws, he gave a tremendous heave . . . He was up.
Baying in fury, the pack ran along the other side of the crack. Wolf lifted his muzzle in scorn. No dog not even these can jump as far as a wolf!
And yet something was wrong. There weren't as many of them as before.
Where was the leader?
The lead dog stood at the bottom of the cleft and watched Torak climb. Its stare never wavered.
As his fingers sought the next handhold, Torak pictured Wolf racing over the snow with the pack at his heels. Wolf stumbled. A dog sank its fangs into his flank. They were on him, tearing him apart . . .
Torak's axe-handle banged against his hip, wrenching him back.
They haven't got Wolf, he told himself. It's what Eostra wants you to believe.