Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Part 26

'Where's Fin-Kedinn?' cried Torak when he reached the Raven camp.

'In the next valley,' said a man gutting salmon, 'gathering dogwood for arrowshafts.'

'What about Saeunn? Where's the Mage?'

'Casting the bones,' said a girl threading fish-heads on sinew. 'She's on the Rock, you'd better wait till she comes down.'

Torak ground his teeth in frustration. There was the Raven Mage perched high on the Guardian Rock: a small, bird-like figure scowling at the bones, while beside her the clan guardian folded its stiff black wings and uttered a harsh 'cark!'

Who else could he tell?

Renn was out hunting. Oslak, whose shelter he shared, was nowhere in sight. By the smoking-racks he spotted Sialot and Poi, the Raven boys closest to him in age but they were the last ones he'd approach; they didn't like him because he was an outsider. Everyone else was too busy getting in the salmon to listen to some wild tale about a sick man in the Forest. And as Torak looked about, he almost began to doubt it himself. Everything seemed so normal.

The Ravens had built their camp where the Widewater crashes out of a shadowy gorge and thunders past the Rock, then over the rapids. It was up these rapids that the salmon fought their way each summer on their mysterious journey from the Sea to the Mountains. Always they were driven back by the fury of the river, and always they tried again, hurtling through the foaming chaos in twisting, s.h.i.+ning leaps until they died of exhaustion, or reached the calmer waters beyond the gorge, or were speared by the Ravens.

To catch them, the clan sank poles in the riverbed, and spanned the Widewater with a wicker walkway just strong enough to support a few fishermen with spears. It was skilled work, and anyone falling in risked crippling injury or worse, for the river was relentless, and the rocks jutting from the rapids as sharp as broken teeth. But the prize was great.

The Ravens' shelters stood empty; everybody was at the smoking-racks, getting in the day's haul before it spoiled. Men, women and children sc.r.a.ped off scales and gutted fish, while others sliced strips of orange flesh from the bones, leaving them joined at the tail for easy hanging on the racks. Sialot and Poi pounded juniper berries, which would be mixed with the dried, shredded meat to keep it sweet or mask its taste if it was not.

Nothing was wasted. The skins would be cured and fas.h.i.+oned into waterproof tinder pouches; the eyes and bones would make glue; the livers and roe would provide a delicacy at nightmeal, and an offering for the guardian and the spirits of the salmon.

Elsewhere in the Forest, other clans camped by other rivers to take part in the bounty. Boar Clan, Willow, Otter, Viper. And where the people did not camp, other hunters came: bears, lynx, eagles, wolves. All celebrating the running of the salmon, which gave them new strength after the rigours of winter.

This was how it had always been since the Beginning. Surely, thought Torak, one sick man couldn't change all that.

Then he remembered the cankered face and the pus-filmed eyes.

At that moment, Oslak emerged from their shelter, and Torak's heart leapt. Oslak would know what to do.

But to his astonishment, Oslak hardly listened as he blurted out his story, seeming more engrossed in re-tying the binding on his fis.h.i.+ng spear. 'You say the man was Boar Clan,' he said, frowning and scratching the back of his hand. 'Well then, his Mage will take care of him. Here.' He tossed Torak the spear. 'Get down to the stepping stones and let me see you take a salmon.'

Torak was bewildered. 'But Oslak -'

'Go on, go!' snapped Oslak.

Torak gave a start. It was unlike Oslak to get cross. In fact, it never happened. He was a huge, gentle man with a tangled beard and a slightly alarming face, having lost one ear and a chunk of cheek in a misunderstanding with a wolverine. It was just like him not to blame the wolverine. 'My fault,' he'd say if anyone asked. 'I gave her a fright.'

That was Oslak. He and his mate Vedna had been the first to offer Torak a place in their shelter when he came to live with the Ravens, and they'd always been kind to him. But Oslak was also the strongest man in the clan, so Torak made no further protest, and took the spear.

As he did, he saw something that stopped him dead. The back of Oslak's hand was covered in blisters.

'What's that on your hand?' he said.

'Midge bites,' said Oslak, scratching harder. 'Worst I've ever had. Kept me awake all night.'

'They don't look like midge bites,' said Torak. 'Do they hurt?'

Oslak was still scratching. 'Strange. Feels as if my name-soul's leaking out. But that can't be, can it?' He peered at Torak as if the light hurt, and his face was fearful and childlike.

Torak swallowed. 'I don't think you can lose your name-soul through a cut; only through your mouth, if you're dreaming, or sick.' He paused. 'Are you sick?'

'Sick? Why would I be sick?' A s.h.i.+ver shook his whole body. 'But I can't hold onto my souls.'

Torak's hand tightened on the spear. 'I'll fetch Saeunn.'

Oslak scowled. 'I don't need Saeunn! Now go!' Suddenly he wasn't Oslak any more. He was a big man looming over Torak, clenching his fists.

Then he seemed to come to himself. 'Just leave me be, eh? Go on. Thull's waiting.'

'All right, Oslak,' said Torak as levelly as he could.

He was halfway to the river's edge when he turned and looked back.

Oslak was still scratching. 'Leaking out,' he muttered. Then he went inside the shelter and Torak saw the raw patch behind his remaining ear where the hair had been yanked out; the thick honey-coloured scab, like birch canker.

Torak felt a coldness settle inside him.

He raced down to the stepping stones, where Oslak's younger brother squatted to clean his knife. 'Thull!' he cried. 'I think Oslak's sick!'

His tale came out in a breathless jumble, and Thull wasn't impressed. 'Torak, those are midge bites. It happens every summer, they drive him mad.'

'It isn't midges,' said Torak.

'Well, he's fine now,' said Thull, pointing at the walkway.

Sure enough, there was Oslak, crouching with a spear and on the end of it, a wriggling salmon.

Biting his lip, Torak glanced about. It all seemed so normal. Children played with glittering handfuls of fish-scales. Reckless young ravens teased the dogs by pecking their tails. Thull's son Dari, five summers old, splashed in the shallows with the pine-cone auroch which Oslak had made for him.

Filled with misgiving, Torak clutched his spear and waded in.

The stepping stones were four boulders between the walkway and the rapids where beginners learned to keep their balance. Thull pointed to the first stone, but Torak made his way precariously to the fourth, placing himself midriver, and downstream from Oslak. He didn't know what he expected; only that he had to keep watch.

'Keep your eyes on the salmon,' shouted Thull from the bank, 'not on the water!'

Torak found that impossible. The rocks were slippery with lichen, and around him the green water boiled, with now and then a silver flash of salmon. The fis.h.i.+ng spear was long and heavy, making it hard to balance. It had two barbed antler p.r.o.ngs for gripping and holding the fish if Torak caught any, which he hadn't in all previous attempts.

When he'd lived with his father, he'd only fished with a hook and line. With a spear, as Sialot never tired of remarking, he was as clumsy as a child of seven summers.

He forced himself to concentrate. Stabbed with his spear. Missed. Nearly toppled in.

'Let them get past you before taking aim!' yelled Thull. 'Catch them on their way down, when they're tired!'

Torak tried again. Again he missed.

From the smoking-racks came a hoot of laughter. Torak's face flamed. Sialot was enjoying this.

'Better!' called Thull with more kindness than truth. 'Keep at it! I'll come back later.' He went off to feed the fires, leaving Dari in the shallows, crooning to his auroch.

For a while Torak forgot everything as he strove to catch a fish without either dropping the spear or falling in. Soon he was soaked in spray. And the river was angry. Every so often it hurled a huge wave against his rock.

Suddenly he heard a shout from the walkway. He jerked up his head then breathed out in relief.

Oslak had speared another salmon. With one blow he killed it, then knelt to pull it off the spear.

He's all right, Torak told himself.

As he watched, Oslak scratched his hand. Then he reached behind his ear and clawed at the scab.

The salmon slithered off the walkway. Oslak bared his teeth, wrenched off the scab and ate it.

Torak recoiled and nearly fell in.

The sun went behind a cloud. The water turned black. The discarded salmon slid past, glaring at him with a dull dead eye.

He shot a glance at the shallows.

Dari was gone.

Another cry from upriver.

He turned.

Dari was on the walkway, tottering towards his uncle who wasn't warning him back, but beckoning.

'Come to me, Dari!' he shouted, his face distorted by a horrible eagerness. 'Come to me! I won't let them take our souls!'

THREE.

On the banks, none of the Ravens had seen what was happening. Torak had to do something.

As he stood on the stepping stone gripping his spear, he saw two people emerge from different parts of the Forest.

From the east came Renn, her beloved bow in one hand, a brace of woodpigeons in the other.

From downriver came Fin-Kedinn, limping slightly and leaning on his staff, with a bundle of dogwood sticks over one shoulder.

In a heartbeat both grasped what was happening, and quietly set down their loads.

To stop Oslak noticing them, Torak called out to him. 'Oslak, what's wrong? Tell me. Maybe I can help.'

'n.o.body can help!' shouted Oslak. 'My souls are leaking out! Being eaten!'

Now people turned to stare. Dari's mother leapt forward with a cry. Thull held her back. Oslak's mate Vedna jammed her knuckles in her mouth. On the Rock, Saeunn stood motionless.

Renn had reached the walkway but despite his limp, Fin-Kedinn was there before her. Silently he handed her his staff.

'Who's eating your souls?' Torak called to Oslak.

'The fis.h.!.+' Yellow froth flew from Oslak's lips. 'Teeth! Sharp teeth!' He pointed to where the thras.h.i.+ng salmon endlessly broke and re-made his name-soul.

Torak felt a twinge of fear. That happened to everyone's name-soul if you leaned over the river, and it didn't do any harm unless you were sick, when it could make you so dizzy that you fell in.

'Soon it will be gone,' moaned Oslak, 'and I will be nothing but a ghost! Come, Dari! The river wants us!'

The child hesitated then moved towards him, clutching the pine-cone auroch to his chest.

Torak risked a glance at Fin-Kedinn.

The Raven Leader's face was still as carved sandstone. Putting a forefinger to his lips, he caught Torak's eye. You're between them and the rapids. Catch them.

Torak nodded, bracing himself on the rock. His feet were numb with cold. His arms were beginning to shake.

At last Dari reached Oslak, who tossed away his spear and s.n.a.t.c.hed him up. The wicker sagged dangerously.

'Oslak,' called Fin-Kedinn. His voice was low, but somehow he made himself heard above the rapids. 'Come back to the bank.'

'Get away!' screamed Oslak.

Torak saw to his horror that Oslak had tied a wovenbark rope to the poles supporting the end of the walkway: one hard pull, and the whole structure would go cras.h.i.+ng down, taking him and Dari with it.

Torak couldn't bear it. 'Oslak, this is me, Torak! Don't . . .'

Oslak turned on him. 'Who are you to tell me what to do? You're not one of us! You're a cuckoo! Eating our food, taking our shelter! I've heard you sneaking into the Forest to howl for your wolf! We've all heard you! Why don't you give up? He's never coming back!'

Renn flinched in sympathy, but Torak didn't move. He'd seen what Oslak had not: Fin-Kedinn limping onto the walkway.

At that moment Oslak swayed, and the wicker rocked.

Dari's mouth went square, and he began to howl.

Fin-Kedinn stood firm. 'Oslak,' he called.

Oslak lurched backwards. 'Stay away!'

Fin-Kedinn raised his hands to rea.s.sure him that he wasn't coming any closer. Then, as the clan watched in taut silence, he sat cross-legged on the wicker. He was six paces from the bank, and if Oslak pulled the rope, the walkway would collapse; but he looked as calm as if he were sitting by the fire. 'Oslak,' he said. 'The clan chose me for Leader to keep it safe. You know that.'

Oslak licked his lips.