Nothing. Not a breath of wind stirred the dead air.
'Try again,' said Torak.
She tried. And again. And again.
Still nothing. She couldn't meet his eyes.
Then from deep inside the mountain the faintest of howls.
Torak's face lit up. 'I told you! I told you!'
The howl was long and wavering, and even Renn could hear its misery and pain. It rose to a peak . . .
And cut off.
SIXTEEN.
'Wolf!' cried Torak, throwing himself forwards.
Renn yanked him back. 'Torak, no! They'll hear you!'
'I don't care, let me go!' He pushed her away with such force that she went flying.
She landed on her back, and they stared at one another, both shocked by his violence.
He offered her his hand, but she got to her feet unaided. 'Don't you understand,' she hissed in a furious whisper, 'if you go into that cave, you might be walking right into their hands!'
'But he needs me!'
'And how does it help if you get yourself killed?' She dragged him down the trail, out of sight of the Eye. 'We have to think! He's down there. We know that. But if we blunder in, who knows what might happen?'
'You heard that howl,' he said through his teeth. 'If we don't go in now, he may die!'
Renn opened her mouth to protest then froze.
Torak had heard it too. The crunch of footsteps coming up the slope.
Of one accord, they ducked behind the sleds.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Unhurried. Coming closer.
Quietly, Torak drew his knife. Beside him, Renn slipped her hands out of her mittens and nocked an arrow to her bow.
A thickset man came into view. He was clad in mottled sealskin, and carried a grey hide pouch over one shoulder. His head was bowed. His hood concealed his face. He bore no weapons that they could see.
As Torak watched, rage choked him. His eyes misted red. This was one of them. This man had taken Wolf.
In his mind he saw Wolf standing proudly on the ridge above the Forest, his fur limned golden by the sun. He heard again that agonized howl. Pack-brother! Help me!
Crunch, crunch, crunch. The man was almost level with them. He stopped. Looked over his shoulder, as if reluctant to go on.
It was too much for Torak. Scarcely knowing what he did, he leapt forwards, head-butting the man in the belly, sending him crashing into the snow.
He lay winded, but then with astonishing speed rolled sideways, kicked Torak's knife from his hand, and grabbed his hood, twisting it backwards in a vicious choke-hold. Torak felt strong legs pinioning his arms, squeezing the breath from his chest; flint digging painfully into his throat.
'I wouldn't,' Renn said coldly. She took a step closer, her arrow aimed at the attacker's heart.
Torak felt the grip on his ribs loosen. His hood was released, the knife withdrawn.
'Please,' whined his attacker, 'don't hurt me!'
With her arrow still poised to shoot, Renn nudged Torak's knife towards him with her boot, then told her captive to get up.
'No, no!' whined the captive, cowering at her feet, 'I may not look upon the face of power!'
Torak and Renn exchanged startled glances.
The captive grovelled, scrabbling for the pouch he'd dropped in the attack. Torak was surprised to see that he wasn't a man, but a boy about his own age, although twice as heavy. He bore the black nose tattoo of the White Foxes, and his round face glistened with blubber and terror sweat.
'Where is he?' said Torak. 'What have you done with him?'
'Who?' bleated the boy. He saw Torak's tattoo, and his mouth fell open. 'You're not one of us. Who are you?'
'What are you doing here?' snapped Renn. 'You're no Soul-Eater!'
'But I will be!' retorted the boy with unexpected ferocity. 'They promised!'
'For the last time,' said Torak, advancing with his knife, 'what have you done with Wolf?'
'Get away from me!' squealed the boy, scrambling backwards like a crab. 'If if I scream, they'll hear. They'll come to my rescue, all four of them! Is that what you want?'
Torak stared at Renn. Four?
'Get away from me!' The boy edged up the slope. 'I chose to do this! No-one can stop me!'
He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. It gave Torak an idea. 'What have you got in that pouch?' he said, to keep the boy talking.
'A an owl,' stammered the boy. 'They want it for sacrifice.'
'But an owl is a hunter,' said Renn accusingly.
'So is a wolf,' said Torak. 'And an otter. What are your masters doing in there? Tell us or we'll '
'I don't know!' cried the boy, moving further up the slope.
As they followed him, the Eye came into view.
'Your masters,' Renn said quietly, 'do they talk of the one who is a spirit walker? Tell the truth! I'll know if you lie!'
'A spirit walker?' The boy's eyes widened. 'Where?'
'Do they ever speak of this?' demanded Torak.
'No, no, I swear it!' He was sweating freely now, stinking of blubber. 'They came to make a sacrifice! That's all I know, I swear on my three souls!'
'And for this you'd break clan law by catching hunters for sacrifice?' said Renn. 'For an empty promise of a power that will never be yours?'
Sheathing his knife, Torak took a step towards the boy. 'Your mother wants you back,' he said.
He'd guessed right. The boy's body sagged.
Renn was puzzled, but Torak ignored her. If she got an inkling of what he meant to do, she'd try to stop him. 'Get out of here,' he told the boy. 'Go back to Akoomik while you still can.'
Terror and ambition fought in the blubbery face. 'I can't,' he whispered.
'If you don't go now,' said Torak, 'it'll be too late. Your clan will make you outcast. You'll never see them again.'
'I can't,' sobbed the boy.
From deep within the Eye, a voice boomed. 'Boy! It is time!'
'I'll make it easy for you,' snarled Torak. Wrenching the pouch from the boy's grip, he pushed him down the trail. 'Go on, go!' He hoisted the pouch over his shoulder. 'Renn, I'm sorry, but I've got to do this.'
Realization dawned in her face. 'Torak no it'll never work, they'll kill you!'
Turning his head, he shouted an answer to the Soul-Eaters. 'I'm coming!'
Then he raced up the trail and into the Eye of the Viper.
SEVENTEEN.
After the twilit mountainside, the darkness hit Torak like a wall.
'Shut your eyes,' said a voice in front of him. 'Let the dark be your guide.'
Torak just had time to draw down his hood before a figure lurched towards him bearing a sputtering pine-pitch torch.
From the voice he expected a man, but when he stole a glimpse from under his hood, he was startled to see a woman.
She was heavy and squat, with legs so badly bowed that she rocked as she walked. Her features were at odds with the rest of her: small, darting eyes in a sharp-snouted face. Pointed ears that reminded Torak of a bat. He didn't recognize her clan; the spiky tattoo on her chin was unknown to him. What drew his gaze was the bone amulet on her breast: the three-pronged fork for snaring souls.
'You were a long time,' said the Soul-Eater. 'Did you get it?'
Hiding his face, Torak held up the pouch. Inside, the owl wriggled feebly.
The Soul-Eater grunted, then turned and hobbled further into the cave.
Glancing back, Torak saw that the last glimmer of daylight was far behind. He slung the pouch over his shoulder, and started after her.
The Soul-Eater moved fast, despite her bow legs, and in the swinging torchlight he caught only flashes as they went deeper. Ridged red walls like a gaping maw. A tunnel as pale and twisted as guts. Yellow handprints that flared, then faded in the gloom. And always the echoing drip, drip of water.
As he stumbled on, the folly of what he'd done sank in. When the Soul-Eaters saw his face, they would know he wasn't the White Fox boy. Maybe, too, they would detect some trace of his father in his features. Or maybe they already knew who he was, and this was all a trap.
Down, down they went. An unclean warmth seeped from the rocks and clung to his face like cobwebs. An acrid stink stole into his throat.
'Breathe through your mouth,' muttered the Soul-Eater.
Fa used to give him the same advice. It was terrible to hear it repeated by the enemy.
Above him, Torak saw thin sheets of reddish stone hanging down like flaps of bloody hide. In their folds, unseen creatures shrank from the light.
His head struck a rock and he fell, crying out in disgust as his fingers plunged into soft blackness seething with thin grey worms.
A strong hand grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. 'Quiet!' said the Soul-Eater, 'you'll startle them!' Then to the darkness, 'There, there, my little ones.' As if in answer came the squeak and rustle of thousands of bats.
'The warmth makes them wakeful,' murmured the Soul-Eater. Laying her palm on the tunnel wall, she made Torak do the same.
He recoiled. The rock had the lingering warmth of a fresh carcass. He knew only one reason for that. The Otherworld.
'Yes, the Otherworld,' said the Soul-Eater, as if she'd heard his thoughts. 'Why do you think we came all this way?'
He didn't dare reply, which seemed to irritate her. 'Don't let the bats see your eyes,' she snarled. 'They go for the glitter.'
Abruptly, the tunnel widened into a long, low cavern the colour of dried blood. It had the eye-watering stink of a midden in high summer, and Torak's gorge rose.
Then he forgot about the smell. The walls were pitted with smaller hollows, some blocked with slabs of stone. From inside one he caught the hiss of a wolverine.
His heart quickened. Where there was a wolverine, maybe there was also a wolf.
He gave a low grunt-whine that Wolf would be sure to recognize. It's me!
No answer. Disappointment crashed over him like a wave. If Wolf was still alive, he wasn't here.