Why did I do what? wondered Torak. Then he realised what they were doing: talking to distract him while they closed in.
Quickly he looked about. Before him the ground sloped down into a long, lush hollow. He made out alders and willows; pale-green moss and fluffy white haregrass. If you knew the Forest, that told you one thing: a bog. But from what they'd said about horses, they didn't seem to know the Forest at all.
Staying low, Torak crept to the edge of the bog. It was big about twenty paces long and fifteen wide and by the smell of it, deep. No way around it. He'd have to get across, and noiselessly. Only when he was on the other side would he lure them in.
It might work. If he didn't fall in himself.
Quietly he climbed a willow overhanging the bog first making sure that it wasn't a crack willow. Then he made his way out onto a branch. There was an alder on the other side, if he could reach it . . .
He jumped, landing half in the alder, with his feet trailing in cold, stinking mud. A branch snapped as he hauled himself up, and he breathed an apology to the tree.
Shouts behind him. 'Down there!'
They crashed towards him, noisier than a herd of aurochs, and he fled up the slope, junipers scratching his shins.
Below him his pursuers bellowed with rage. Good. They'd blundered into the bog.
'Filthy Forest tricks!' yelled one.
'You're not getting away with this!' howled another.
But it sounded as if only two of them were down there. Where was the third one, the tall boy from the rocks?
No time to think about that. He reached the top of the slope and would have tumbled off the cliff if he hadn't grabbed a sapling just in time.
He stifled a cry of frustration. He hadn't come nearly as far as he'd thought.
The bog wouldn't slow his pursuers for long; and even if he could scramble down the cliff, the river was too wide to swim, and in those canoes they'd easily catch him. He'd have to follow the Widewater upstream, and hope he could lose them in the Forest. Which would mean leaving his gear behind on the rocks; although at least he still had his knife . . .
His knife . . .
What he held in his hand was the knife Fin-Kedinn had made for him, but Fa's knife his most precious possession was in his pack.
Above him there was a tearing sound and he glanced up to see a large branch rushing towards him. He leapt aside but not far enough. The branch caught him painfully on the elbow, and he cried out.
'Up there!' bayed his pursuers.
He heard a ripple of laughter and looked up to see a face of leaves disappearing into the trees.
A stone struck him on the cheekbone, and he fell against the sapling.
'We've got him,' said a voice close by.
Through a blur of pain, Torak saw the tall boy from the rocks moving calmly towards him through the pines. 'Asrif,' he said to his companion, 'I've told you before, not the head. You could have killed him.'
Asrif tucked his slingshot in his belt and grinned. 'And then wouldn't I have been sorry.'
They were back on the rocks: Torak with his hands bound behind him, his captors prowling up and down. They no longer wore the strips of hide across their eyes, but it wasn't an improvement. He could see the violence in them; their fingers flexing on the hilts of their knives. Strange knives, with hilts made of something that was neither wood, antler nor bone.
The tall boy who'd caught him on the rocks came close. He had a clever, watchful face, and eyes as cold as blue flint. 'You shouldn't have run,' he said quietly. 'That's what a coward does.'
'I'm not a coward,' said Torak, meeting his gaze. His cheek was throbbing, his feet and shins burning with scratches.
Asrif gave a gleeful laugh. 'Oh, you're in trouble, Forest Boy!' He had a weaselly look, and kept baring his teeth in an edgy grin. 'He is, isn't he, Bale?' he said to the tall boy.
The boy called Bale did not reply.
'I don't understand,' said Detlan, shaking his head. 'To taint the Sea with the Forest! Why would he do it?' His heavy brows made a deep crease on the bridge of his nose, and Torak guessed that he wasn't too bright, but very good at following orders.
Torak turned to Bale, who seemed to be the leader. 'I don't know what you think I've done, but I never -'
'Deerskin,' spat Bale, pacing up and down. 'Reindeer hide. Forest wood. Have you no respect?'
'For what?' said Torak.
Detlan's jaw dropped.
Asrif tapped his forehead. 'He's mad. He must be.'
Bale narrowed his eyes. 'No. He knew what he was doing.' Then to Torak, 'Bringing your unclean Forest skins right onto the shore! Setting your cowardly traps to snare our skinboats trailing them in the Sea herself!'
'I was fishing,' said Torak.
'You broke the law!' roared Bale. 'You tainted the Sea with the Forest!'
Torak took a breath. 'My name is Torak,' he said. 'I'm Wolf Clan. What clan are you?'
'Seal, of course.' Bale tapped the strip of grey fur on his chest. 'Don't you know sealskin when you see it?'
Torak shook his head. 'No, I've never seen one.' 'Never seen a seal?' said Detlan, aghast.
Asrif hooted. 'Told you he was mad!'
Torak's face grew hot. 'I'm Wolf Clan,' he said again. 'But I'm also -'
'Is that what this is?' sneered Asrif. With a piece of driftwood he jabbed at the strip of wolfskin on Torak's jerkin.
Bale's lip curled in scorn. 'So that's wolf hide. Looks a poor sort of creature to me.'
'You wouldn't say that if you'd ever seen one,' Torak said heatedly. Then to Asrif, 'Leave that alone!' Fa had prepared that skin for him last spring, from the carcass of a lone wolf they'd found in a cave. Since then it had been unpicked and sewn to his winter parka, and now to his summer jerkin. He was dreading the time when it would be worn to shreds.
Bale flicked Asrif a glance, and the smaller boy shrugged, and threw away the stick.
'I may be Wolf Clan,' Torak told Bale, 'but my father's mother was Seal. So whether you like it or not, we're bone kin.'
'That's a lie!' spat Bale. 'If you were kin, you'd know the law of the Sea.'
'Bale,' broke in Detlan, 'we should start back. She's getting restless.'
Bale glanced at the Sea. The waves had turned choppy. 'This is your doing,' he told Torak. 'Angering the Sea Mother. Tainting her waters with the Forest.'
Asrif snickered. 'Oh, Forest Boy, it'll be the Rock for you!'
'The Rock,' Torak said blankly.
Asrif's grin widened. 'A skerry near our island. You know what a skerry is, don't you?'
'It's a rock in the Sea,' put in Detlan, who seemed to be struggling to grasp the depths of Torak's ignorance.
'They give you a skin of water,' said Asrif, 'but no food, then they leave you on the Rock for a whole moon. Sometimes the Sea Mother lets you live; sometimes she washes you off.' His grin faltered, and in his pale-blue eyes Torak saw fear. 'Washes you off,' he repeated, 'into the jaws of the Hunters.'
'Asrif, that's enough,' said Bale. 'We'll have to take him with us, and let the Leader decide.'
'No!' protested Torak.
Bale wasn't listening. 'Asrif, load up the trade goods. Detlan, we need a fire to purify us, especially him. I'm going to repair my boat.' With that he jumped off the rocks and onto the beach.
Detlan seemed glad of something to do, and set about gathering armfuls of dried seaweed and driftwood. Soon he had a big fire blazing, giving off plumes of thick grey smoke.
'What are you going to do to me?' said Torak.
'Give you a taste of the Sea,' said Asrif with his weaselly grin.
'You can hardly go near our skinboats stinking of the Forest,' said Detlan, as if that was too obvious to need pointing out.
Before Torak could protest, Detlan had stripped him naked and pushed him into the fire.
He managed to leap clear of the flames but Asrif was waiting on the other side, and forced him back with his harpoon back through the acrid, choking smoke.
Again they pushed him through it until his eyes were streaming and his throat raw. Then they tossed him into the Sea.
The cold hit him like a punch in the chest, and he swallowed salt water. Kicking with all his might, he struggled to the surface, but couldn't break the bindings round his wrists.
Rough hands hauled him out and dragged him coughing onto the rocks. Then they cut the bindings at his wrists and bundled him into a grey hide jerkin and breeches that Asrif fetched from his boat. Torak felt naked without his knife and his clan-creature skin, and he hated having to wear someone else's clothes. 'Give me back my things!' he spluttered.
'Lucky for you the Salmon Clan didn't want to trade,' snorted Asrif, 'or you wouldn't have anything to wear!'
'He's so skinny!' said Detlan as he yanked Torak to his feet. 'Don't they have enough prey in the Forest?'
Half-pushing, half-pulling, they led him down to the sand. Swiftly Asrif loaded his canoe at prow and stern with large, lumpy bundles wrapped in hide. A short distance away, Bale crouched by his boat, smearing a patch on its side with what looked like fat from a small hide pouch. His hands moved tenderly, but when he saw Torak, he glowered. 'Take him with you, Detlan,' he growled. 'I don't want him near my boat.'
'In you go,' said Detlan, pushing Torak towards his craft. Like Asrif's, it was laden with bundles including Torak's gear but only at the prow end.
Torak hesitated. 'Your friend. Bale. Why is he so angry with me?'
It was Asrif who answered. 'One of your fish-hooks snagged his skinboat. It's as well for you that he can repair it.'
Torak was puzzled. 'But it's only a boat.'
Asrif and Detlan gaped.
'A skinboat is not just a boat!' said Detlan. 'It's a hunting partner! Don't ever let Bale hear you say that!'
Torak swallowed. 'I didn't mean to -'
'Just get in,' muttered Detlan. 'Sit in the stern, keep your feet on the cross-bar, and don't move. If you put your foot through the hide, we'll both go down.'
The skinboat was so shallow that it rocked with Torak's every move, and he had to grip the sides to keep from falling out. Detlan, although much heavier, leapt in without a wobble. Torak noticed that he braced his thighs against the sides of the craft for balance.
Bale led the way, skimming across the waves at amazing speed. With the wind at their backs they sped like seabirds over the water, and when Torak twisted round, he was dismayed to see how quickly the Forest was falling away.
Soon they reached the islands he'd seen from the shore but to his alarm, they kept going. 'But I thought we were going to your islands!'
'Oh, we are!' grinned Asrif.
'Then why have we gone past them?'
Detlan threw back his head and laughed. 'Not those islands! Much further! A whole day's rowing!'
'What?' cried Torak.
They cleared the last island, and suddenly there was no more land to right or left. There was nothing but Sea.
Torak clutched the sides and stared down into the murky water. 'I can't see the bottom,' he said.
'Of course you can't!' said Detlan. 'This is the Sea!' Torak twisted round, and saw the Forest sinking beneath the waves and with it, all hope of finding the cure.
Suddenly on the wind he caught the howl of a wolf. It wasn't just any wolf. It was Wolf.
Where are you? I am here! Where are you!
Wildly Torak staggered to his feet. 'Wolf!'
'Get down!' bellowed Detlan.
'Too late to go back now!' mocked Asrif. 'And don't even think about jumping in, because then we'd have to shoot you!'
Too late . . .
Too late, Torak heard Wolf howling for him, as the Forest disappeared into the Sea.
'Wolf!' he yelled.
Wolf had heard his plea had braved the wrath of the World Spirit to seek his pack-brother but Torak had put himself utterly beyond his reach.