Soul Eater (2 page)

flailing hoof. "But the Walker is crazy" he sneered, "so who can believe him?"Seizing one of the deer legs, he sucked at the festering hide. "The sideways one," he mumbled. "Not alone, oh no, oh no. Twisted legs and flying thoughts." He hawked and spat, narrowly missing Torak. "Big as a tree, crushing36the little creatures, the slitherers and scurriers too weak to fight back." A spasm of pain twisted his ruined features. "Worst," he whispered, "the Masked One. Crudest of the cruel."Renn threw Torak a horrified look."But the Walker follows," hissed the old man. "Oh yes, oh yes, he listens in the cold!""Where are they going?" said Torak. "Is Wolf still alive?""The Walker knows nothing of wolves! They seek the empty lands! The Far North!" He clawed the crusted tattoos on his throat. "First you're cold, then you're not. Then you're hot, then you die." His eye lit on Torak and he grinned. "They are going to open the Door!"Torak swallowed. "What door? Where?"The old man cried out, and beat his forehead with his fists. "But where is Narik? They keep him and keep him, and Narik is lost!" He turned and blundered off toward the lake.Torak and Renn exchanged glances--then snatched up their weapons, and raced after him.Out on the ice, the Walker retrieved his shaggy cape, and resumed his snuffling search. One of his foot-bindings came loose and blew away.Torak brought it back--and recoiled. The old man's foot was a blackened, frostbitten, toeless stump. "What happened?"37The Walker shrugged. "What always happens if you lose your fire. It bit his toes, so he cut them off.""What bit them?" said Renn."It! It!" He beat at the wind with his fists.Suddenly his face changed, and for a moment Torak saw the man he'd been before the accident that had taken his eye and his wits. "It can never rest, the wind, or it would cease to be. That's why it's angry. That's why it bit the Walker's toes." He cackled. "Ach, they tasted bad! Not even the Walker could eat them! He had to spit them out and leave them for the foxes!"Torak's gorge rose. Renn clamped both hands over her mouth."So now the Walker keeps falling over. But still he searches for his Narik." He ground his knuckle into his empty eye socket.Narik, thought Torak. The mouse who'd been the old man's beloved companion. "Did they take Narik, too?" he said, determined to keep him talking.The Walker shook his head sadly. "Sometimes Narik goes away. He always comes back, in new fur. But not this time.""New fur?" queried Renn."Yes, yes!" the Walker said tetchily. "Lemming. Vole. Mouse. Doesn't matter what, still the same Narik!" "Oh," said Renn. "I see. New fur." "Only this time," said the Walker, his mouth ragged38with grief, "Narik never came back!" He staggered away across the ice, howling for his fosterling.Almost with reluctance, they left him, and made their way into the woods on the other side of the lake."He'll be better now that he has fire," Renn said quietly."No he won't," said Torak. "Not without Narik." She sighed. "Narik's dead. An owl probably ate him for nightmeal.""Another Narik, then.""He'll find one." She tried to smile. "One with new fur.""How? How can he track a mouse, with only one eye? ""Come on. We'd better get going."Torak hesitated. The sun was getting low, the trail fast disappearing beneath windblown snow. And yet--he felt for the Walker. This stinking, angry, crazy old man had found one spark of warmth in his life: his Narik, his fosterling. Now that spark was lost.Before Renn could protest, Torak dropped his gear and ran back to the lake.The old man didn't glance up, and Torak didn't speak to him. He put down his head and began looking for signs.It didn't take long to find a lemming burrow. He spotted weasel tracks, and followed them to a clump of39willow on the shore. There he crouched, listening for the small scratchings that told him where the lemmings were burrowing.With its many knife-prick entrance holes, their winter shelter reminded him of an extremely small badger's sett. Peering at the snow, he found one hole rimed with tiny ice-arrows of frozen breath. That meant the occupant was at home.He marked the spot with two crossed willow twigs, and ran to fetch the old man. "Walker," he said gently.The old man swung around."Narik: He's over there."The Walker squinted at him. Then he followed Torak back to the crossed sticks.As Torak watched, he knelt and began clearing the snow with feather-light gentleness, stooping to blow away the final flakes.There, curled in its burrow on a neat bed of dried grass, lay a lemming about the size of Torak's palm: a soft, heaving ball of black and orange fur."Narik," breathed the Walker.The lemming woke with a start, sprang to its feet and gave a fearsome hiss to frighten off the intruder.The Walker grinned, and extended his big, grimy hand.The lemming fluffed up its fur and hissed again. The Walker didn't move.40The lemming sat down and scratched its ear vigorously with its hindpaw. Then it waddled meekly onto the leathery palm, curled up, and went back to sleep.Torak left them without a word.Back on the shore, Renn handed him his weapons and pack. "That was a good thing you did," she said.Torak shrugged. Then he grinned. "Narik's grown a bit since we saw him. Now he's a lemming."She laughed.They hadn't gone far when they heard the crunch of snow, and the Walker's angry muttering."Oh no!" said Renn."But I helped him!" said Torak."Giving?" roared the Walker. In one hand' he brandished his knife; the other clutched Narik to his chest. "Do they think they can just give, and wander off? Do they think the Walker has forgotten the old ways?""Walker, we're sorry," said Torak, "but--""A gift looks for a return! That is the way of things! Now the Walker must give back!"Torak and Renn wondered what was coming next."Black ice," wheezed the Walker, "white bears, red blood! They seek the eye of the viper!"Torak caught his breath. "What's that?""Oh, he'll find out," said the Walker. "The foxes will tell him."41Suddenly he bent like a wind-snapped tree, and the look he gave Torak was wise, and fraught with such pain that it pierced Torak's souls. "To enter the eye," he breathed, "is to enter the dark! You may find your way out again, Wolf boy; but once you've gone in, you'll never be whole. It'll keep a part of you down there. Down in the dark."42FOURThe Dark crept over the Forest, but Wolf didn't even notice. He was caught in a Dark of his own: of rage and pain and fear.The tip of his tail ached where it had been stamped on in the fight, and his forepaw hurt from the bite of the big, cold claw. He couldn't move at all, because he was squashed onto a strange, sliding tree, which the taillesses were dragging over the Bright Soft Cold. He couldn't even move to lick his wounds. He was flattened beneath a tangled deerhide that was pressing down on him hard. It was unlike any hide he'd ever encountered. It had lots of holes in it, but somehow it managed to be stronger43than an auroch's leg bone.The growls inside him were fighting to get free, but more hide was tangled around his muzzle, so he couldn't let them out. That was the worst of it: that he couldn't growl or snap or howl. It hurt to hear Tall Tailless howling for him and not be able to howl back.Sharp and small inside his head, Wolf saw Tall Tailless and the female, running after him. They were coming. Wolf knew that as surely as he knew his own scent. Tall Tailless was his pack-brother, and a wolf never abandons his packbrother. ,But would Tall Tailless be able to find him? He was smart, but he wasn't at all good at finding, because he wasn't a normal wolf. Oh, he smelled of wolf (as well as lots of other things besides), and he talked like a wolf, even if he couldn't hit the highest yips. And he had the light silver eyes, and the spirit of a wolf. But he moved slowly on his hind legs, and was very bad at catching scents.Suddenly the sliding tree shuddered to a halt. Wolf heard the harsh bark of tailless talk; then the crunch of the Bright Soft Cold as they began to dig their Den.Behind him on the tree, the otter woke up, and started a piteous mewing. On and on she went, until Wolf wanted to shake her in his jaws to make her stop.He heard a tailless approaching from behind. He was too squashed to turn and see, but he caught the smell of44fish. The otter stopped mewing, and started making scrunching noises. That was a relief.A few lopes ahead, the Bright Beast-that-Bites-Hot snarled into life. Wolf watched the taillesses gather around it.They bewildered him. Until now, he'd thought he knew their kind. At least, he knew the pack that Tall Tailless ran with, the pack that smelled of ravens. But these--these were bad.Why had they attacked him? Taillesses are not the enemies of wolves. The enemies of wolves are bears and lynxes, who sneak into Dens to kill wolf cubs. Not taillesses.Of course, Wolf had met some bad ones before now; and even the good ones sometimes growled and waved their forepaws when he got too close to their meat. But to attack without warning? No true wolf would do this.Straining ears and eyes and nose, Wolf watched the bad pack crouch around the Bright Beast. He swiveled his squashed ears to listen, and sniffed, trying to sort their tangled smells.The slender female smelled of fresh leaves, but her tongue was black and pointed as a viper's, and her sideways smile was as empty as a carcass pecked by ravens.The other female, the big one with the twisted hind legs, was clever, but Wolf sensed that she was unsure of her place in the pack, and unsure of herself. On her45overpelt lay a patch of stinking fur. It was the fur of the strange prey which had lured him into the trap.The last in the pack was a huge male with long, pale fur on his head and muzzle, and breath that reeked of spruce-blood. He was the worst, because he liked to hurt. He'd laughed as he'd trodden on Wolf's tail, and cut his pad with the big, cold claw.It was this pale-pelt who now rose on his hind legs and came toward Wolf.Wolf gave a muffled growl.Pale-Pelt bared his teeth, and brought his big claw close to Wolf's muzzle. Wolf flinched.Pale-Pelt laughed, lapping up Wolf's fear.But what was this? Wolf's muzzle was free! Pale-Pelt had cut his muzzle free!Wolf seized his chance and lunged--but the deerhide held him back, and he couldn't get his jaws around it to bite through it.Here came the other one, the big twisted female with the stinking fur.Pale-Pelt jabbed at Wolf again, but Stinkfur growled at him. Pale-Pelt stared hard, to let her know who was leader, then stalked off.Crouching beside Wolf, Stinkfur pushed a scrap of elk meat through a hole in the deerhide.Wolf ignored it. Did these taillesses think he was46stupid? Did they think he was a dog, who would take meat from anyone?Stinkfur threw up her forepaws, and walked away.Now the viper-tongued female left the Bright Beast, and came over to Wolf. Squatting on her haunches, she talked softly to him.Without wanting to, he listened. Her voice reminded him a little of the female who was Tall Tailless's pack-sister, whose talk was sharp and clever, but gentle underneath. As he listened to the viper-tongued female, he smelled that she was not afraid of him--that she was curious.He flinched as she reached her forepaw toward him, but she didn't touch him. Instead, he felt coldness on his flank. His whiskers quivered. She was smearing his pelt with elk blood!The smell was so muzzle-wateringly delicious that it drove all else from his head. After much struggling, he twisted around and started to lick.He knew it Was odd that the female had done this, and something in her voice made him wary, but he couldn't stop. The blood-lust had him in its grip, and already the strength of the elk was loping through his limbs. He went on licking.Wolf was becoming very tired. There was black fog in his head, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. He47felt as if a great stone were crushing him.Through the fog he heard the soft, sly laugh of the viper-tongued female, and knew that she had tricked him. The elk blood she'd fed him had been bad, and now he was sinking into the Dark.The fog grew thicker. Fear seized him in its jaws. With the last twitch of his mind, he sent a silent howl to Tall Tailless.48FIVEAre you scared?" said Torak. "Yes," said Renn. "Me too."They stood at the edge of the Forest, beneath the last--the very last--tree. Before them stretched an empty, white land beneath an endless sky. Here and there a stunted spruce withstood the onslaught of the wind, but that was the only sign of life.They were now as far north as any of the Forest clans had been, except for FinKedinn, who as a young man had journeyed into the frozen lands. In the two days since meeting the Walker, they'd crossed three valleys,49and glimpsed the distant glare of the ice river at the roots of the High Mountains--where, the winter before last, the Ravens had camped, and Torak had gone in search of the Mountain of the World Spirit.They stood with the north wind in their faces, staring at the trail of Wolf's captors: a brutal knife slash through the snow."I don't think we can do this on our own," said Renn. "We need help. We need Fin-Kedinn.""We can't go back now," said Torak. "There isn't time."She was silent. Since their encounter with the Walker, she'd been unusually subdued. Torak wondered if she too had been thinking about what the old man had said. Twisted legs and flying thoughts... the sideways one... big as a tree... It had raised echoes in his mind: echoes of Fin-Kedinn, speaking of the Soul-Eaters. But he couldn't bring himself to mention them out loud. It couldn't be them. Why would they have taken Wolf, and not him?So in the end, all he said was, "Wolf needs us." Renn didn't reply.Suddenly he was gripped by the fear that she would turn around and leave him to continue on alone. The fear was so intense that it left him breathless.He watched her brush the snow off her bow, and settle it on her shoulder. He braced himself for the worst.50"You're right," she said abruptly. "Let's go." Without a backward glance, she left the shelter of the trees.He followed her into the empty lands.As soon as they left the Forest, the sky pressed upon them, and the north wind scoured their faces with snow.In the Forest, Torak had always been aware of the wind--as a hunter he had to be--but apart from storms, it was never a threat, because the power of the Forest kept it in check. Out here, nothing could hold it back. It was stronger, colder, wilder: a malevolent, unseen spirit, come to harass these puny intruders.The trees became smaller and sparser, until they shrank to an occasional knee-high willow or birch. Then--nothing. No green thing. No hunters. No prey. Only snow.Torak turned, and was shocked to see that the Forest had dwindled to a charcoal line on the horizon."It's the edge of the world," said Renn, raising her voice above the wind. "How far does it go on? What if we fall off?""If the