Spirit Walker (9 page)

Wolf?" Renn said again. The wolf's tail was down but faintly wagging, his ears rammed forward. He was watching her intently, but not meeting her eyes--and he was shivering, although whether from cold, fear or eagerness, she couldn't tell.

She leaped to her feet.
"Wolf!
It's me, Renn! Oh Wolf, it is you, isn't it?"
At her outburst, the wolf backed away, giving short little grunt-whines that sounded aggrieved.
She couldn't remember how Torak had said "hello"
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in wolf talk, so she got down on her hands and knees, grinning and trying to catch the wolf's eye.
That didn't seem right either. The wolf turned his head and backed even farther away.

But was it really Wolf? When she'd known him he'd been a cub--but he'd grown so much! From nose to tail he was almost longer than she was; and if they'd stood side by side, his head would have reached her waist.

 

When he was a cub, his fur had been a fluffy light gray, with a sprinkling of black across the shoulders. Now it was rich and thick, the gray subtly blended with white, black, silver and foxy red. But he still had that black mantle across the shoulders; and those extraordinary amber eyes.

Thunder crashed directly overhead.
Renn ducked.
The wolf yelped and shot to the back of the cave. His ears were flattened, and he was trembling violently.
Whoever he is, thought Renn, he's not yet full-grown, even if he looks it. Inside, he's still part cub.
Out loud she said gently, "It's all right. You're safe here."
The wolf's ears flicked forward to listen.
"Wolf? It is you, isn't it?"
He put his head on one side.
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She had an idea. From her food pouch she shook a handful of dried lingonberries into her palm. As a cub, Wolf had adored lingonberries. The wolf drew close to her outstretched hand, and his black nose twitched. Then he delicately snuffled up the berries.
"Oh,
Wolf?
cried Renn, "it is ou!"
He darted back into the shadows. She'd startled him.

She shook more lingonberries into her palm; and after some cajoling, he came forward and snuffled them up. Then he tried to nibble her finger guards. To distract him, she put a salmon cake on the ground. Wolf patted it with one forepaw in a gesture she remembered-- then gulped it down without even chewing.

Four more went the same way, and now Renn was sure. The Wolf she'd known had loved salmon cakes.
On hands and knees, she crawled toward him. "It's me," she said, reaching out and stroking the pale fur on his throat.
Wolf leaped up and raced to the mouth of the cave, where he ran in circles, whining. She'd done something wrong. Again.
In dismay she retreated to the fire and sat down. "Wolf, why are you here?" she said, although she knew he wouldn't understand. "Are you trying to find Torak, too?" 115
Wolf licked crumbs of salmon off his chops, then trotted to the back of the cave and lay down with his muzzle between his paws.
Outside, the thunder faded into the north as the World Spirit strode back to its Mountain. The cave filled with the gurgle of rain, and the pungent smell of wet wolf.

Renn longed to tell Wolf how glad she was to see him, to ask if he'd found Torak; but she didn't know how. She'd never paid much attention when Torak spoke wolf, because she'd found it disturbing; it had made her feel as if she didn't really know him. Now she searched her memory.

Wolves,
Torak had said once,
don't talk with their voices as much as we do, but more with their paws and tails, and ears and fur, and
-
um, with their whole bodies.
But you haven
't
got a tail,
Renn had pointed out.
Or fur. And you can't move your ears. So how do you do it?
I leave bits out. It's not easy, but we get by.
If it was hard for Torak, how was she going to manage? How was Wolf going to help her find Torak if they couldn't even talk to each other? Wolf did not
at all
understand the female tailless.
Her yip-and-yowls told him she was being friendly, but the rest of her was all chewed up: sometimes
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threatening, sometimes saying sorry, and sometimes just--unsure.

At first she'd seemed glad to see him, although he'd sensed a lot of mistrust. Then she'd stared at him rudely, and made it worse by rearing on her hind legs. Then she'd tried to apologize. Then she'd given him lingonberries and the flat fish without eyes that smelled of juniper. Then she'd apologized

again
by scratching his throat. Wolf had been so confused that! he'd run in circles.
Now the Dark was over, and he was bored with waiting for her to wake up, so he pounced on her and asked her to play.
She pushed him off, saying something in tailless talk that sounded like "Way! Way!" Wolf remembered Tall Tailless doing that. It seemed to be tailless for a growl.

Leaving the female to get up and stumble out into the Light, he bounded off to explore the Den, and was soon digging a hole, enjoying the power of his paws and the feel of the earth against his pads.

 

He heard a mouse scurrying in a tunnel. He stomped on the earth and seized the mouse in his jaws, tossed it high, then crunched it in two. He ate some beetles and a worm, then trotted out to find the female.

The Hot Bright Eye was shining in the Up, and
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he smelled that the Thunderer was gone. Greatly relieved, he raced through the ferns, relishing their wetness on his fur. He heard a fledgling magpie exploring its nest, and a forest horse in the next valley, scratching its belly on a fallen spruce. He smelled the female down by the Fast Wet, and found her standing with the LongClaw-That-Flies in her forepaws, pointing it at the ducks.

Scaring ducks was one of Wolf's favorite games. It was how he'd learned to swim, when he'd leaped into what he'd
thought

was a little Wet covered in leaves, and gone under instead. Now he longed to crash into the Wet and send the ducks hurtling into the Up. Not to hunt them; only for fun.

First, though, he must check with the female.
Politely he waited, asking her with a flick of his ears if she was hunting the ducks.
She ignored him.
Wolf waited some more, knowing that taillesses hear and smell so poorly that you can be right in front of them and they don't know you're there. At length he decided it must be all right, and crept through the ferns to where the ducks paddled, unaware.
He pounced. The ducks shot into the Up in a satisfying spray of indignant squawks.
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To Wolf's astonishment, the female yowled at him angrily. "Woof! Woof!" she howled, waving the Long-Claw at him.
Offended, Wolf trotted away. She should have
told
him she was hunting. He had asked.
But he wasn't offended for long. And as he ran off to explore, he reflected that in some strange way, he needed the female to help him find Tall Tailless. Wolf didn't know how he knew this; it was simply the sureness that came to him sometimes. And now it was telling him that he needed to stay close to the female.

The Hot Bright Eye rose in the Up, and at last she started along a deer trail to seek Tall Tailless. Being the leader, she went ahead and Wolf trotted behind-- which was an effort, because she was as slow as a newborn cub.

 

After a while, they stopped at a little Wet, and the female shared some of the juniper fish. But when Wolf licked her muzzle and whined for more, she laughed and pushed him away.

He was still wondering why she'd laughed, when the wind curled around, and the scent hit him full on the nose.
He stopped. He raised his muzzle and took long, deep sniffs.
Yes!
The best scent in the Forest! The
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scent of Tall Tailless!

Wolf turned and ran back to follow the scent trail, all the way to a pine tree where, some Lights before, Tall Tailless had rested his forepaw. Wolf raised his head to smell where the scent trail led.

Back there!
They were going the wrong way!
Tall Tailless
wasn't
heading for the deep Forest--he was heading
back,
to where the Hot Bright Eye sinks down to sleep!
The female was too far off for Wolf to see, but he could hear her crashing through the bracken, heading the wrong way.
He barked at her.
Wrong way! Back back back!
He was frantic to follow his pack-brother, for he felt in his fur that Tall Tailless was many lopes away. But still the female refused to understand. Snarling with frustration, Wolf ran to fetch her.
She stared at him.
He leaped at her, knocking her to the ground and standing on her chest, barking.
She was frightened. And she seemed to be finding it hard to breathe.
Leave her, then.
Wolf spun around on one forepaw and raced off to find Tall Tailless.
V V V
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Winded, Renn got up and brushed herself off.
The Forest felt empty after Wolf had gone, but she was too proud to use the grouse-bone whistle to call for him. He had left her. That was that.

In low spirits, she reached a fork in the trail, and stopped. She searched for some sign that Torak had come this way. Nothing. Just impenetrable holly trees and dripping bracken.

Wolf had been so excited. And he'd been heading
west. . .
. West? But that would lead to the Sea. Why would Torak have turned away from the Deep Forest and headed for the Sea?
Suddenly, Wolf appeared on the trail before her.
Joy surged through her--but she repressed a cry of welcome. She'd made mistakes before. She wasn't going to repeat them.

Squatting on her haunches, she told him in a soft voice how pleased she was to see him: keeping her eyes averted, and only now and then letting her gaze graze his.

Wolf trotted up to her, wagging his tail. He nosed her cheek and gave her a ticklish grooming-nibble, followed by a lick.
Gently she scratched behind his ears, and he licked her hand, this time refraining from trying to eat her finger guards.
Then he turned and trotted west.
"West," she said. "You're sure?"
Wolf glanced back at her, and she saw the certainty in his amber eyes.
"West," she said again.
Wolf started along the trail, and Renn followed him at a run.
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Chapter FIFTEEN
Torak caught a tang of salt on the air and came to a halt.
That smell brought back memories. He'd been to the seashore once, five summers ago. Once had been enough.

Above him the pines soughed in the breeze. North through the trees, the Widewater surged over boulders, eager to reach the Sea. Torak wasn't so eager. But the Forest Horse Leader had told him that what he sought was by the Sea. He wondered if he'd been a fool to believe her. He was bitterly aware that he was no 123

 

nearer to finding the cure than when he'd left the Ravens. First he'd gone east, and now west. It was as if someone were playing with him; pushing him about like a bone on a gaming-stone.

 

It was two days since he'd left the edge of the Deep Forest. Two days and nights on the alert for the Follower. But though he sensed that it was still with him, it hadn't shown itself, or played one of its lethal tricks.

 

Then last night things had got abruptly worse--but for reasons that had nothing to do with the Follower.

 

Torak had been sitting by the fire, struggling to stay awake while he listened to a storm growling away in the eastern hills. Twice he heard a snatch of cruel laughter on the wind. Twice he ran out of the shelter--to find nothing but tossing branches and glinting stars.

Then--very far off--he heard the wolf.
Heart racing, he strained to catch the meaning of the howls. But they were too far away, the pines too loud. He couldn't make them out. . . . Desperate, he dropped to the ground and pressed both hands flat, trying to pick up the faint tremors which wolf howls sometimes send through the earth. Nothing.
Had he really heard it? Or had he only heard what he'd wanted to hear?
He'd stayed up most of the night, but he didn't hear
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it again. It was if he'd dreamed it. But he knew that he hadn't.
The scream of a seabird wrenched him back to the present.

To his right the trees thinned, and he went to investigate--and nearly fell over a cliff. It wasn't high, but it was steep. He saw crumbly earth and tree roots; heard a clamor of seabirds. They seemed to be nesting in it.

 

More cautiously, he continued west with the cliff to his right. Pine needles deadened his footfalls. His breath sounded loud. The ground sloped down, and suddenly there were no more trees, and the sunlight blinded him. He had reached the edge of the Forest.

 

Before him the Widewater flowed into what appeared to be a very long, narrow lake--except that the lake had no end. To the west he saw a distant clutch of pinecovered islands. Maybe those were the Seal Islands, where his father's mother had been born. Beyond them lay the glittering haze of the open Sea. As soon as he saw the Sea, memories flooded back.

 

He was seven summers old, and brimming with excitement. Until now, Fa had kept him away from people, but today they were going to the great gathering of the clans.

Fa didn't tell Torak
why
they were going, or why they had to disguise themselves by painting their faces
125
with bearberry juice. He made a game of it, saying it was best if nobody knew their names.
Torak had thought it was fun. In his ignorance, he'd thought the people at the clan meet would think so, too.

By the time they got there, the shore at the mouth of the Fastwater was dotted with a bewildering number of shelters. Torak had never seen so many different kinds: of wood and bark, turf and hide. Or so many people . . .

His excitement didn't last long. The other children scented an outsider, and closed in for the attack.
A girl threw the first stone: a Viper with cheeks as plump as a squirrel's. "Your Fa's
mad!

she sneered. "That's why he ran away from his clan, because he swallowed the breath of a ghost!" Willow and Salmon Clan children joined in. "Mad! Mad!" they jeered. "Painted faces! Addled souls!"

 

If Torak had been older, he would have realized that he couldn't win against so many, and beaten a retreat. Instead the red mist had descended. No one insulted his father.

 

He'd snatched up a fistful of pebbles, and was on the point of letting fly when Fa had come along and hauled him off. To Torak's astonishment, Fa didn't seem to care about the insults. He was laughing as he swung Torak high in his arms and started back for the Forest.

 

He'd been laughing the night he'd died. Laughing at a joke Torak had made as they were pitching camp. That was when the bear had come. It was nine moons since Fa had been killed, but there were still times when Torak couldn't believe that he was really gone. Some mornings when he'd just woken up, he would lie in his sleeping-sack and think,