'Just keep out of the way,' muttered Bale.
Torak ground his teeth. They wouldn't even let him help.
Stifling his frustration, he watched Bale draw back his arm and throw the rope. The hook floated high, then dropped neatly over a peg about ten paces up. Asrif caught the hook and fixed it to the one at his back, and Detlan took the other end of the rope and pulled it taut. Asrif began to climb, finding cracks and climbing pegs with his hands and feet, while Detlan braced himself to take his weight if he fell.
When he neared the peg over which the rope had been flung, he found a ledge beside it and balanced on his toes, clinging to the rockface with one hand while he unhooked the rope from his harness and tossed it down. It hit the ground with a thump Torak had to jump smartly back and Bale cast it again, this time over a higher peg, taking care to avoid knocking Asrif off. Asrif needed good balance to catch the swinging hook and attach it to his harness.
As he climbed higher, seabirds lifted off the cliff and fluttered indignantly about him. A couple of times he slipped and came off the rockface. Only the harness and Detlan's muscle stopped him plunging to his death.
While Detlan and Bale sweated at the rope, Torak stood by, hating his helplessness. Asrif made his way precariously up the cliff. For the last few lengths which were out of Bale's reach he cast the rope himself, choosing pegs that were close enough to allow him to do so without losing his balance. By now he was nearing the eyrie.
As Torak watched, shading his eyes with his palm, he saw a dark, hunched shape lift off a crag. It had the enormous, blunt-fingered wings of an eagle; and it was spiralling slowly down towards Asrif.
A solitary eagle circled the peak. Renn thought of Torak on the other side, and quickened her pace.
Although the sun was getting low, it was still hot on the trail, and the breeze wafting from the lake did little to cool her. She'd been walking since well before dawn. Wolf had returned soon after, to her great relief; but he'd been keen to head west, and it had been a struggle to keep up with him. Even now he was racing ahead although always running back for her.
She wondered if he knew where Torak was, or if he'd picked up the trail of the skinboater she'd seen on the lake. She had found no trace of him, except for a second skinboat hidden under some brush at the edge of the lake. The boat had been empty. A spare, maybe. But that told her nothing about what the skinboater had been doing in this part of the island.
'These days, the Seals don't go inland,' Tiu had told her. 'They used to, but they've become much stricter about keeping Forest and Sea apart.'
'Doesn't anyone live on the west coast?' Renn had asked.
Tiu had shaken his head. 'It belongs to the eagles. You can see their home from far away: a great red peak shaped like a Hunter's fin.'
Renn had first glimpsed the peak at midday. Now, as she left the lake behind her, she stood directly beneath it.
From this side it was unscaleable: a treacherous scree slope on which not even crowberry could gain a hold. To her left, though, among some straggly rowan trees, there might be a way around its southern foot, and down to the Sea. She would need that if she was to find Torak.
But to her surprise, Wolf wasn't interested in that way. Instead he went north, disappearing into a birch thicket, then bursting out again, keen for her to follow. He didn't seem worried; simply excited. She decided to go after him.
Pushing through the thicket, she found herself climbing a rocky slope that soon had her breathless and scratched. It was a relief to come out on a windy ridge high above a beach of glittering black sand. To the north the beach came to an abrupt end where a cliff had fallen into the Sea, leaving a tumbled mass of boulders. In the midst of these, screaming flocks of birds squabbled over something large and dead.
Carrion, thought Renn, watching Wolf race down the slope to the beach. No wonder he's excited. Now he'll have enough to eat.
She'd come this far, so she decided to see what it was.
The wind changed, and she caught the stench of rottenness. As she reached the bottom and crunched through the charcoal-coloured sand, she saw Wolf at the other end of the beach, scattering the birds. Crows and gulls dived at him, but he fended them off with a few good snaps. The wiser ravens settled on the rocks to wait their turn.
Then she saw that someone else had been here before her. Beside Wolf's tracks were a man's. Walking, not running. Whatever the skinboater had been doing here, he'd taken his time.
As she drew nearer, the carrion stink grew so strong that she had to breathe through her mouth. In the glare of the sun she couldn't see much of whatever had died among the boulders. Just a big, humped shape splashed with bird droppings; and Wolf tearing hungrily at the dark-red flesh.
At her approach he moved round to the other side, to put more distance between them. That should have told her to give him more eating space, but what she saw made her forget about that. Oh no, she thought. It can't be.
Wolf raised his head and growled at her, then gave an uncertain whine and wagged his tail. He was telling her that he liked her, but she was getting too close to his meat.
She stumbled backwards. She'd seen enough.
The young Hunter had been trapped in a kelp net, and killed with an axe. Then its carcass had been left for the birds. Only its teeth had been hacked out.
Feeling sick, Renn sank to her knees in the sand, staring at the small black fin covered in peck-marks. Why would anyone do such a thing?
Then she remembered the Kelp Clan's warning about the lone Hunter.
No wonder it's angry, she thought.
TWENTY-SIX.
On the Heights, Asrif was in trouble. He'd reached a ledge just beneath the eyrie, but the back of his harness had caught on a rock, and he couldn't unsnag it.
'He could cut himself free,' said Detlan, craning his neck.
'Then what does he do for a harness?' said Bale.
Torak said, 'If he's really caught, then -'
'- then he can't get down,' snapped Bale. 'Yes, we've already thought of that.'
'What I mean,' said Torak, 'is I could go up and help him.'
'What?' said Detlan and Bale together.
'Those other pegs, a bit to the side? If I could reach them -'
'If,' said Bale.
Torak looked at him. 'You've got a spare harness and a spare coil of rope; and I'm lighter than Asrif. I saw how he did it.'
Bale was staring at him as if he'd never seen him before. 'You would do this?'
'We need that root,' Torak said simply. 'Besides,' he added, 'what else are we going to do?'
The first ten paces were easy. The harness crossed loosely over Torak's shoulders and round his waist, with the big wooden hook at the back linking to the hook at the end of the rope. A quick check reassured him that both hooks were well-made, of good hard spruce.
With Detlan holding Asrif's rope, Bale held Torak's while he climbed to the first ledge.
'Don't look down,' Bale warned him. 'And don't look too far up, either.'
Torak forgot that almost at once. As he waited to catch the hook after Bale tossed it over the next peg, he caught a glimpse of Asrif, impossibly high above; and above Asrif, a raft of branches jutting from a cleft. The eyrie. But where were the eagles?
At the second attempt he caught the hook, and after an awkward struggle, managed to link it to the one between his shoulder blades. Then, when he felt the tug on the rope that told him Bale was ready, he began to climb.
The pegs were sturdy, but too widely spaced for him, and twice he slipped, and the harness snapped taut, checking his fall.
The heat on the rockface was intense. Before starting, he'd taken off the gutskin parka, but even so, he quickly broke out in a sweat. Every ledge and cranny was smeared with bird-slime. The stink stung his eyes, and soon his hands and feet were grey and slippery.
Throwing the rope was a lot trickier than it had appeared when Asrif did it, but he managed it after several attempts. It reassured him to feel his father's knife bumping against his thigh, and the weight of his medicine pouch at his belt, with his mother's medicine horn inside.
Here and there he passed incongruous tufts of pink clover shivering in the breeze. A guillemot chick twisted its scrawny neck to watch him. Most birds fled at his coming, but some tried to chase him away. Kittiwakes fluttered screaming about him. As he climbed past a ledge crowded with fulmar chicks, he narrowly avoided a faceful of foul-smelling spit.
Just when he was beginning to wonder if he would ever get there, he heaved himself onto a ledge that brought him level with Asrif.
The Seal boy was a little over an arm's length away, on his hands and knees with his back to Torak, his shoulder strap hopelessly snagged on a jagged tongue of rock. No wonder he hadn't been able to free himself.
Asrif glanced awkwardly over his shoulder. 'Good to see you, Forest boy,' he said, trying for a grin that didn't work. His face was red, although whether from exhaustion or humiliation, Torak couldn't tell.
'I think I can unhook you,' said Torak. He began edging sideways along a narrow crack that led from his ledge to Asrif's.
'Watch out for the eagles,' warned Asrif.
Torak risked a glance up and nearly fell off the cliff in shock. Directly above him, the eyrie blotted out the sky. A huge tangle of lichen-crusted branches, it was easily as big as a Raven's shelter. From deep inside he heard a faint 'chink chink' of nestlings. But of their parents he could see no sign.
'Where are they?' he murmured.
'Circling higher up,' said Asrif. 'I think they know I'm stuck. It won't be the same for you.'
Torak swallowed, and glanced back to the ledge he'd just left. His rope was securely looped over the final peg, a short way above it. If he missed his footing, that should stop him falling too far. If, of course, the rope didn't break, or his harness didn't snap, or the peg didn't crack . . .
If, if, if, he told himself impatiently. Get on with it.
He moved further along the crack. But even straining as far as he could, he couldn't reach Asrif's harness.
He tried to get closer but his rope held him back. He tugged at it the signal for Bale to feed him more slack but nothing happened.
'He can't give you any more,' said Asrif. 'There's none left.'
Torak glanced down a dizzying drop to the upturned faces far below and saw Bale shaking his head.
He thought for a moment. Then he wriggled out of his harness, and let it swing free from the final peg. Now there would be nothing to hold him if he fell.
'What are you doing?' whispered Asrif in horror.
'Try to keep the birds off me,' said Torak as he edged closer.
Again he reached out for Asrif's harness and this time his fingers brushed it.
A shadow slid across the rock and he ducked as a herring gull flew at him with a strident 'kyow'. Asrif shouted and threw a stone. He missed, and the gull flew away, spattering them both. Foul white slime clogged Torak's hair and leaked down his face, narrowly missing one eye. He spat out the worst and tried again.
This time he grabbed Asrif's shoulder strap. His fingers were slippery with bird-slime, and he couldn't pull the harness off the snag. 'Move back a bit,' he gasped, 'let it slacken.'
Asrif shuffled back.
With a jerk that nearly took him with it, Torak yanked the harness free of the rock.
Asrif was still on hands and knees, open-mouthed with shock. He turned and met Torak's eyes. 'Thanks,' he muttered.
Torak gave a curt nod. 'The root. Did you get the root?'
Asrif shook his head.
'What?'
'I couldn't reach.' His face puckered with shame. 'I chose the wrong pegs, climbed myself to a dead end. Should've taken your route instead.'
Torak risked another glance up, and saw that a short way to his right, a deep, slanting crack zigzagged up towards the nether part of the eyrie. At its top, in the very shadow of the eyrie, nestled a clump of glossy, dark-purple leaves. Selik root.
He thought about going back to the ledge he'd just come from, and putting on his harness. But there was no more slack in the rope; it wouldn't allow him to reach the eyrie. He would have to do without.
'I should be able to make it,' he said, with more confidence than he felt.
His arms and legs trembled with strain as he sought handholds and hoisted himself up the crack. He was hot and tired, and the stink of bird-slime was making him sick.
Beneath his foot, the crack gave. Just in time he climbed further up and watched part of the rim disintegrate, the fragments rolling and bouncing before shattering on the boulders, dangerously close to Detlan and Bale.
It occurred to him that he should have shouted a warning, but it was too late now. Besides, shouting would displease the cliff, which seemed to be waxing impatient with these interlopers on its flank.
He edged further up the crack towards the selik root.
'Look out!' whispered Asrif below him.
A menacing 'klek klek' echoed off the cliff then a shadow sped towards him and he looked round to see an eagle coming straight at him, its vicious talons reaching for his face. He needed both hands to cling on, he couldn't even shield his head, could only flatten himself against the rock. He caught a fleeting glimpse of fierce golden eyes and a sharp black tongue heard the hiss of wings wider than a skinboat . . .
A stone struck the eagle on the breast, and it wheeled away with a screech.
Torak glanced down at Asrif, who'd found another pebble and was fitting it to his slingshot.
Torak couldn't see where the eagle had gone. Maybe it had been frightened off, but he didn't think so. More likely it was circling for another attack.
Above him, the cleft widened and became much easier to climb. When he reached the top, he found to his relief that it was deep enough to allow him to go down on his right knee, and by pressing himself against the sun-hot rock, reach down with his left and unsheath his knife.
The sky darkened. More wingbeats more hammer-like alarm calls this time from two eagles: the mated pair fighting to protect their nestlings.
'I'm not after your young!' cried Torak, forgetting to lower his voice as he brandished his knife.
Not surprisingly, the eagles didn't listen. As he reached for a clump of the selik root and dug at it with his knife, he expected at any moment to be wrenched off the cliff.
Several well-aimed strikes from Asrif warded them back, but the eagles kept coming. The cliffs rang with their calls.
'Hurry up!' called Asrif.