Ghost Hunter (12 page)

The painted face split into a grin.
"Torak!"
Striding forward, the Leader of the Mountain Hare Clan put both fists to his chest in friendship. "You've grown tall! Is that Renn over there? Come down, come down!"

Embarassed at not having recognized him, Renn did as he said, and everyone crowded around. Most were Mountain Hare, but Renn also saw a few rowanbark necklets and swan feathers tied to hoods. All had broad faces and welcoming smiles. Their anger seemed to have

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burned off like mist.

Torak tried to apologize for spoiling the hunt, but Krukoslik waved that away. "There's another crossing place at the next river, more hunters waiting. Come! You look hungry."

Someone had already woken a fire. Krukoslik thanked the fallen reindeer for its body, and wished its spirit a safe journey to the Mountain. Then three men swiftly skinned it. After emptying the stomachs, they swilled one clean and drained the blood into it, piled the innards and stomach contents on the hide, and quartered the carcass. Nothing was wasted, and the snow was barely reddened.

Their deft work reminded Renn of Fin-Kedinn, and she felt a pang of homesickness. She was also shaky from her encounter with the reindeer, and her scalp throbbed. A Rowan woman saw her touching it, and quietly helped her bind on a sorrel poultice, which slightly numbed the pain.

Krukoslik handed Renn and Torak beakers and urged them to drink. The blood was turning stringy as it cooled, and Renn coughed when she gulped it down; but the reindeer's strength quickly became hers, and she felt a bit steadier.

Krukoslik's son Chelko--the young hunter who'd missed his aim--passed them chunks of raw liver: warm and unbelievably delicious. Now Renn felt
much
better.

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She mumbled a belated thanks to her guardian, as she'd forgotten before.

Krukoslik sat with them, but ate nothing. He'd scrubbed off his paint, revealing a round face that looked permanently flushed, as if by a good fire. Like the rest of his clan, he wore a calf-length tunic of reindeer fur, tied at the waist with a wide scarlet belt. His brown hair was cut short across the brow to reveal his red zigzag clan-tattoo, and his hare-fur cape was also stained red, although it had been turned inside out for the hunt.

His eyes were shrewd, yet kind. When Renn unknowingly flouted the custom of his clan by turning her back on the fire, he gently corrected her. "We don't do that--the fire doesn't like it."

But he was also Clan Leader, used to doing things his way. When Torak asked about the Mountain of Ghosts, he stopped him. "This isn't the place. You will come to our camp, while Chelko tracks the wounded one. Then we'll talk of sacred things."

Torak nodded, and turned to Chelko. "I'm sorry the raven startled you. You should know that he's--sort of our friend."

Chelko blinked. "Your friend?"

"He didn't mean any harm," said Renn. "He's young, he likes tricks."

Chelko scratched his chin and grinned. "And I thought it was a demon."

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"So it's really our fault," said Torak, "that your hunt was spoiled. I'd better help you track the wounded one." Chelko looked pleased. "Good," said Krukoslik. "This is good."

"I'll go with you," said Renn.

But to her surprise, Torak shook his head. "You're still shaken. You should go with Krukoslik."

"I'm fine!" she protested.

"I'll see you at camp," said Torak.

Krukoslik's small eyes darted from one to the other. "Good," he said again. "Torak goes with Chelko, Renn with me. When we're together again and everyone's eaten, you can tell me why you've come."

Renn wasn't looking forward to a long walk to camp, but she needn't have worried. The hunters had kept their dog sleds away from the reindeer, but at a whistle they arrived, driven by the children entrusted to mind them.

The sleds were of antlers lashed with willow withes, the runners coated in frozen mud rubbed smooth. They were smaller than those of the Far North, with just enough room for one person to sit, while the driver stood behind. First, Krukoslik introduced Renn to each of his dogs. He clearly thought they merited the same courtesies as people, which made her like him even more.

They started north, rattling over the icy ground. Krukoslik didn't use a whip; he called commands to his

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lead dog, who did the rest. While he drove, he made Renn tell him the news from the Forest. He frowned and touched his clan-creature skin when she spoke of the moths and the shadow sickness, and he was troubled that Fin-Kedinn had gone off on his own; but he seemed glad that Wolf had come with them, although he asked Renn not to name him out loud.

"We who live in the eye of the Mountain are careful with names. The gray one who is your pack-brother, we call his kind ghost hunter, because they stalk with such skill. And we don't name the prey aloud, either, as they have keen ears, and might hear our hunting plans. We call them the antlered ones."

His face creased with worry. "It's good that you've brought the ghost hunter. For three moons, none of his kind have been seen or heard on the fells--except for a dead one, which some Rowan hunters found in the west. They put food by its muzzle to feed its souls, then left it in peace. We fear the others have fled because"--he lowered his voice--"because of the evil one."

Renn glanced over her shoulder. The jagged peaks were suddenly much nearer.

Krukoslik did not speak again, and they went on in silence. The shadows were darkening to violet as they reached camp. From a distance, it looked tiny, nestled beside a gray lake in the immensity of the fells. As they drew closer, Renn saw many shelters honeycombed with

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golden light: the huge hide tent of the Mountain Hares, the turf domes of the Rowans, and long mounds banked with snow, which Krukoslik said were Swan.

"These are terrible times," he said. "The Mountain clans must stay together. It's our only chance."

The dogs barked as the sleds slewed to a halt, and shafts of gold speared the snow as hunters emerged to greet them. Krukoslik handed Renn a bone blade for brushing the snow from her clothes. Stiff with cold, she followed him inside.

She was greeted by a blast of heat and a wonderful, smoky smell of hot food and people. A large peat fire glowed in a ring of stones. Around it, on reindeer pelts flung over layers of springy birch, men and women sat sewing or grinding spearheads. Steam wafted from cooking-skins. Renn's hunger came back in a rush.

Taking off her outer clothes and hanging them to dry on a cross-beam, she followed Krukoslik around the fire, careful not to turn her back on it. Those she passed nodded to her with wary friendliness, but she felt conspicuous, and wished Torak were here.

Krukoslik settled himself at one end of the shelter. "Nearest the Mountain," he said as she sat beside him. He thanked the fire and the antlered ones for the food, and everyone did the same, while Renn mumbled a prayer to her guardian. Then the eating began.

A woman handed Renn a bowl, and explained that

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the stew was mostly fat: crushed marrow and back fat, tongue, and the fattiest innards.

"Meat is good," said the woman, "but fat's better when you live on the fells."

Renn found the stew strengthening, but the fat stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she had to wash it down with heather tea. After that there was reindeer paunch stuffed with chewed lichen--this she politely declined-- and platters of ribs and chewy, roasted ears. The toddlers had bowls of reindeer-foot jelly, and a mother gave her teething baby a stick of frozen marrow to gnaw. The elders got the reindeer's eyeballs, and nibbled the fat off them before popping them in their mouths and munching them whole.

Krukoslik apologized that there were no berries. "Because of the ice," he said. It was the only time he mentioned it.

When Renn was full, she curled up and lay listening to the sound of the fire and the murmur of voices. She was exhausted--she could still feel the movement of the sled bumping over the ice--but for the first time in days, she felt safe. Outside, the fells lay in Eostra's grip. In here, it was almost possible to forget.

Drowsily, she heard the creak of the tent poles, and the snow blowing against the shelter. In the smoky half-darkness, she watched naked toddlers clamber over their elders, who steered them clear of the fire without

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glancing up from their work. The Mountain clans lived with more uncertainty than most; maybe that was why they took such pleasure in the good things.

And yet, Renn saw the hardships they endured. Some were missing an eye from encounters with antlers. Others had lost fingers to frostbite. Krukoslik had said that his people didn't name their children till they reached their eighth summer, in case they fell sick and had to be left to die.

Thinking of that, Renn fell asleep. She woke to shouting and laughter. Torak and Chelko were back.

Chelko beamed as he told everyone how Torak had summoned the ghost hunter, who'd helped them track the wounded reindeer. "I killed it with a single spear-cast. Then some Rowans came by with their sleds and helped us."

The clan looked at Torak with cautious respect, and a woman took a reindeer head outside as a present for Wolf.

Torak spotted Renn and came to sit beside her, bringing with him the clean, cold smell of the night. As he gulped a bowl of stew, he asked if she was feeling better.

"Of course I am," she said tartly.

He warded off an imaginary blow.

Around them, talk sank to a murmur, and children

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snuggled into their sleeping-sacks. The Mages of all three clans came in and began to circle, mouthing spells.

"To keep us safe," murmured one of them to Renn. She wore a necklet of white feathers, and her clan-tattoo was a ring of thirteen red dots on her forehead, for the thirteen moons of every cycle. Her eyes were pale, as if bleached by staring into great distances, and with a swan's thighbone she blew earthblood on the walls, breathing life into images of the guardians. A hare sat up on its hind legs and scanned for danger. A swan glided on wide wings. A tree spread protecting arms. There were spirals, too, and reindeer, and bisonlike creatures with downward-curving horns.

Renn shivered. The Swan Mage had reminded her that only the thickness of a reindeer-hide stood between them and the dark.

Torak sat with his arms about his knees, watching sparks shooting up the smoke-hole.

Suddenly, Renn felt the distance between them of things unsaid. She knew he had secrets from her. When he'd emptied his medicine pouch during the ice storm, she'd seen a scrap of the black root that made him spirit walk. He must have gotten it from Saeunn. And he hadn't told her.

But that paled beside what she hadn't told him. "Renn," he said quietly. "Do you remember your dreams?"

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"What?" she said, startled.

"Your dreams. When you wake up. Can you remember them?"

"Mostly. Why?"

"Since we left the Forest, I can't. It's all just black. What does that mean?"

She swallowed. Tell him, tell him.

At that moment, a strange, booming groan echoed through the night.

Krukoslik saw them jump. "It's the lake. It's freezing. Crying to the Mountain to send more snow to keep it warm. We need this too. An end to this accursed ice that's starving the antlered ones."

Firelight leaped in Torak's eyes. "The Mountain," he said. "It's time for you to tell us what you know."