Ghost Hunter (6 page)

"Torak!"
yelled Renn. The ice storm ripped away his name like a leaf. "Torak!" It was hopeless.

A flash of lightning, and from the holly, a face peered down at her. Icicle hair. Eyes glittering with malice.

Renn screamed.

Thunder boomed.

The tokoroth leaped into the dark.

The holly gave a groan--and tore itself apart.

Renn threw herself out of the way a heartbeat too late. One of the holly's limbs crashed across her calf, pinning her to the ground.

Wildly, she struggled, but the tree held her fast. She'd left her axe in the shelter. With her knife, she hacked at the branch. The wood was like granite; the blade bounced off. Frantically, she dug at the earth beneath her leg. Frozen hard.

Already, ice was weighing her down, sucking the life from her marrow.

"Torak!" she screamed. "Wolf!"

The wind whipped her voice away into the night.

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[Image: Flood-tossed logs.]

NINE

The hill below Torak was a precarious jumble of flood-tossed logs.

He'd spent ages searching in vain for some trace of his pack-brother. And now he couldn't even get down. He guessed that Wolf had run lightly over the logs; but if he tried, he'd start a log slide.

"Fool," he muttered. A while ago, he'd passed a good campsite on some level ground near a big holly tree, but he'd been so intent on finding Wolf that he'd ignored it. The strange thing was, he'd known at the time he was making a mistake, but he'd done it anyway.

The wind tore at his hood and pelted him with

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branches. The trees roared a warning:
Get under cover, fast!

Rip thudded onto his shoulder, making him stagger.
Quork!
cawed the raven. He looked bedraggled. Torak wondered how far he and Rek had chased the eagle owl.

The raven lifted off and flew uphill.

That was the way Torak had come. Maybe Rip wanted him to get back to that campsite while he still had the chance.

Quork! Follow!

Torak followed.

The light was so bad that he could hardly see. As he crashed through the undergrowth, he glimpsed Rip's white wing-feather. Then the clouds let loose the hail.

Only it isn't hail, he thought as he ran, it's freezing rain. Torak, you're caught in an ice storm!

Bent double, he battled up the slope. He couldn't go much farther. He had to find some hollow under a boulder, anything, and wait out the storm.

He would have missed the shelter completely if Rip hadn't perched on top.

A shelter?
Torak
.
couldn't believe it. He recognized the patch of level ground, although it looked different: the holly had toppled over. And there had been no shelter here, he was sure of it.

A flash of lightning showed him the wattle door weighted shut with a stone. Thrusting it open, he threw

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Rip inside and crawled after him.

With the door closed behind them, the wind's screams lessened a little, but the ice hammering the walls was deafening. The shelter was empty, but by the look of the fire, whoever had built it hadn't gone far.

And they had known what they were about. As Torak brushed the ice from his clothes, he saw that the fire had been set on a platform of sticks to keep it off the cold earth, and ringed with stones to stop it escaping. Wood was stacked on one side, while a quiver and bow hung to dry--but not too close to the flames--and a bag of snow, improvised from a jerkin, dripped water into a half-full pail.

Rip was pecking eagerly at the sleeping-sack. It moved. Rek peered out. The ravens greeted each other with much gurgling and holding of beaks. Torak's belly turned over. Why was Rek in here?

That bow. That jerkin.

Renn.

This was her shelter. Her quiver, her arrows. Over there were the crumbs of the salmon cake she'd left for Rek. And being Renn, she'd raven-proofed the rest of her food by weighting her pouch with her axe.

She'd left her weapons, which meant she couldn't have gone far.

Fear trickled down Torak's spine. In winter, you don't
need
to go far to die in a storm. Every clan has its stories

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of people lost in a blizzard, whose frozen corpses are later found just a few paces from camp.

Beside the wood pile, Renn had stacked some stubs for use as torches. Torak jammed one in the embers to wake it. Then, leaving his gear and the ravens inside, he seized his axe and threw himself out into the storm.

"Renn!" he yelled.

She could have been right beside him and he wouldn't have heard her.

Branches flew at him as he began to search. Doubled up against the onslaught, he circled the shelter. His torch died. He could hardly see a pace ahead.

He made another round, widening the search. Still nothing.

On his third pass, lightning flickered in the fallen holly, and through the branches he glimpsed a flash of red.

Dropping to his knees, he tore at the branches.
"Renn!"

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[Image: Birds.]

TEN

Renn didn't seem to be breathing. Her eyes were . shut, her lips tinged blue. It was only when Torak got her into the shelter and felt her throat that he detected a tremor of life.

He shouted her name. She didn't respond. The cold had sent her deep inside herself. It would kill her if he couldn't get her warm.

Her clothes were stiff with ice. Torak pulled her parka over her head, then yanked off his own parka and jerkin. The birdskin was warm from his body; he got her into it fast. Drawing off her outer leggings, he bundled her into her sleeping-sack, checking her face, hands, and feet for

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the waxy flesh of frostbite but finding none.

With a stick, he rolled a hot stone from the edge of the fire and wrapped it in his empty waterskin. Then he reached inside her sleeping-sack and placed it on her belly. After that, he unrolled his own sleeping-sack and put it around her shoulders, rubbing her back, willing her to wake up.

Her eyelids flickered. She looked at him without recognition.

He dropped another hot stone in the water pail, raising a hiss of steam. Then he emptied his medicine pouch, scooped up some dried meadowsweet, and tossed it in. Tipping some of the steaming brew into his drinking cup, he held Renn's head and trickled a few drops between her lips. She spluttered. He made her drink more. She started to shiver. His dread lifted a little. Shivering was good.

The shelter was low and cramped, so he had to sit hunched, with one arm around her. As he made her drink, faint color stole into her cheeks, and her mouth lost that terrifying blue tinge. Now when she looked at him, she knew who he was.

"You're going to be all right," he told her. He needed to say it out loud. To make it true.

Her gaze took in his bandaged head. "You found me," she mumbled.

"And you built the shelter. Rip led me to it."

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Hearing his name, the raven stretched his neck and fluffed his chin-feathers.

Torak did his best to scrape the ice off their parkas, laying Renn's on the other side of the fire to dry, and pulling on his own, chill and unpleasant against his bare skin. Then he shared out some salmon cakes.

Renn gave a corner to the ravens and solemnly thanked Rip for guiding Torak to her. Then she began to eat, holding her cake in both hands, like a squirrel. She was sitting up now, with the sleeves of Torak's jerkin flopping over her hands. Her face was flushed, her hair a mass of fiery tendrils. Torak felt that he could warm himself simply by her nearness.

The fire had burned low. He fed it more wood. Outside, the ice storm battered the Forest. He began to shake. The storm had nearly killed Renn. It had nearly killed Renn.

He told her he was sorry for leaving her, and she gave him an unreadable look. Then she told him how things had been after he left: about the shadow sickness, and Fin-Kedinn going off on a secret journey of his own. When Torak couldn't delay it any longer, he told her about the eagle owl attack, and the deaths of Darkfur, Shadow, and Pebble.

Renn took that in appalled silence. "All three?" she said at last.

He nodded. "I don't know how Wolf will bear it."

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"All three," repeated Renn.

But she was not Fin-Kedinn's kin for nothing, and Torak could see that already she was pondering what this meant. "The owl," she said. "There must be something wrong with it."

"I saw its eyes. They were--empty."

"Ah. So not a demon."

"I don't think so."

"I wonder what Eostra did to it." Her tone was that of one Mage assessing the craft of another, and Torak admired the speed with which she'd recovered. "You say it flew south?" she said.

"Yes. It took Pebble, I think to decoy Wolf away. He's out in the storm. If he's still alive."

Renn met his eyes, and now she was more girl than Mage. "He's alive," she said. "Wolf knows how to look after himself."

Torak did not reply. In his mind, he heard his pack-brother's howls. Wolf hadn't sounded as if he cared whether he lived or died.

As Torak crouched in the flickering gloom, he fancied that amid the roaring of wind and weather, he heard wild laughter. "This storm," he said. "Eostra sent it. Didn't she?"

Renn's raven eyes gleamed. "She holds the Forest in a grip of ice."

Together they listened to the trees fall.

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"After you left," said Renn, "she sent signs."

"I think I saw one. Like a spiky bird, gouged in a yew."

Renn hesitated, and he sensed her deciding what to tell him and what to keep back. She said, "The sign means that Eostra has made her lair in the Mountain of Ghosts."

The Mountain of Ghosts. Torak had never heard of it, but the name made him feel cold inside.

"Fin-Kedinn told me it's sacred to the Mountain clans," Renn went on. "He says if we can find them, they might help us find the Mountain."

With part of his mind, Torak heard her voice; but another part was thinking, there will be caves. The knowledge dropped into his heart like a stone. Twice in his life he'd ventured into caves: once in the time of the bear, to find the stone tooth, and once in the Far North, to rescue Wolf. Both times, the Walker had warned him. "Once you've gone in," the old man had said, "you'll never be whole." The Walker was mad, but now and then, he showed flashes of sanity. His warnings had force. Torak had a sudden presentiment that if he ignored them--if he ventured again into a cave--the jaws of the earth would snap shut on him forever.

Renn spoke his name, and he was back in the shelter.