Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Part 69

Again Nef seemed to read his mind. 'He isn't here. We're keeping him apart from the others.'

'Why?'

That earned him a sharp glance. 'You ask a lot of questions.'

'I want to learn.'

The bat on Nef's shoulder squirmed, and she watched it lift off and flit away into the darkness. 'Because of Seshru,' she said. 'Last summer she received a strange message from our brother across the Sea. 'The Wolf lives.' We don't know what it means. But that's why we keep the wolf separate.'

Torak's thoughts whirled. Did they know something? Maybe not enough to tip them off that he was a spirit walker, but something . . .

He realized that Nef was watching him keenly; so he asked the question to which he thought he already knew the answer. 'All these creatures. What are you going to do to them?'

'What do you think we're going to do?'

'Kill them,' he said.

The Bat Mage nodded. 'The blood of the nine hunters is the most dreadful the most potent of sacrifices.'

His temples pounded. The cave walls pressed in on him.

'You say you want to be one of us,' said Nef. 'Well, that begins now.' She raised her torch, and Torak saw that she'd brought him full circle, back to the forest of stone. It was deserted. The other Soul-Eaters had gone. On the ledge at his shoulder, the owl in the pouch lay still. Awaiting sacrifice.

The breath caught in his throat. 'But you said tomorrow. In the dark of the moon.'

'For the full charm, yes. But first we have the finding of the Door and for that, too, we must protect ourselves. The blood of the owl will do that. And it will help us hear what lies within.'

Wedging the torch in a crevice, she reached for the pouch, and drew out the bird. With one hand she held it down. With the other she extended her knife-hilt to Torak. 'Take it,' she ordered. 'Cut off its head.'

Torak stared at the owl, and the owl stared back at him: bedraggled, limp with fright.

Nef jabbed the knife-hilt in his chest. 'Are you so weak that you fail at the first test?'

A test . . .

He saw now that everything the Bat Mage had done had been leading up to this. She meant to find out if he was who he pretended to be: a White Fox boy determined to step over into the murky world of the Soul-Eaters.

'But it isn't prey,' he said. 'We're not going to eat it. And we're not hunting. It hasn't had a chance to get away.'

The eyes of the Bat Mage were bright with a terrible certainty. 'Sometimes,' she said, 'the innocent must suffer for the good of the many.'

Good? thought Torak. What's this got to do with good?

'Take the knife,' commanded Nef.

He couldn't breathe. The air in his lungs was hot and heavy with sin.

'Come!' said Nef. 'We are the Soul-Eaters, we speak for the World Spirit! Are you with us or against us? There is no middle path!'

Torak took the knife. He knelt, and placed his free hand on the owl. He'd never felt anything so soft as those feathers; so delicate as the fragile bones that sheltered the small, racing heart.

If he refused to do this, Nef would kill him. And the Soul-Eaters would open the Door, and unleash who knew what horrors upon the world.

And Wolf would die.

He took a deep breath silently begged the World Spirit for forgiveness and brought down the knife.

NINETEEN.

'It's done,' said the Bat Mage.

'Is that the blood?' said the Oak Mage.

'Of course.'

Hardly daring to breathe, Renn shrank deeper into her hiding-place: a dank fissure behind a thicket of stone saplings. Where was Torak? What had they done to him?

She watched the Soul-Eater bearing a sputtering torch in one hand and a horn cup in the other. In the flickering light, the bow-legged shadow was vast. Overhead, thousands of bats stirred.

'Where's the boy?' said the Oak Mage, taking his place before the altar.

'With the offerings,' said the Bat Mage. 'He seemed shaken. Seshru is watching him.'

Renn's skin crawled.

'So he's shaken, is he?' sneered the Oak Mage. 'Nef, he's a coward! I hope that won't affect the charm.'

'Why should it, Thiazzi?' retorted the Bat Mage. 'He came to us, he offered himself. He'll serve the purpose well enough.'

What purpose? thought Renn. From what she'd heard, Torak's disguise had succeeded; they didn't know who he was, or that he was a spirit walker. But why did they need him?

She wondered, too, how many Soul-Eaters there were in these caves. There had been seven when they'd banded together, and two were now dead, which left five; but the White Fox boy had mentioned only four. Where was the fifth?

Then she forgot about that. The Bat Mage set the torch in a cleft, dipped her forefinger in the cup, and daubed a streak of darkness on her brow. She did the same for the Oak Mage.

'The blood of the owl,' she chanted, 'for keenest hearing.'

'And to protect us from those who rage within,' intoned the Oak Mage.

Renn stifled a gasp. The blood of the owl . . . So they'd killed it, just as the White Fox boy had said. But why? To kill a hunter angers the World Spirit, and brings bad luck on oneself and one's clan.

Resting her hand on a sapling, she was startled to feel a sickly warmth. She knew instantly what it was. The heat of the Otherworld.

To protect us from those who rage within . . . Did they mean demons? Demons from the Otherworld?

If only she'd followed Torak at once! But instead she'd paced the snow: furious with him, arguing with herself. By the time she'd made up her mind had hidden her bow and found her courage the cave had swallowed him.

That was when she'd heard the echoing tread of a man. She'd barely had time to slip inside before he'd loomed from the darkness: big as an auroch, his face hidden in a tangle of hair and beard. The Oak Clan tattoo had been plain on the back of his hand. The smell of spruce-blood had hung about him like mist in the Forest.

In awe she'd watched him put his shoulder to a slab of rock five times her size, and slide it across the cave mouth as if it had been a wicker screen. They were shut in. She'd had no choice but to follow him into the twisting tunnels: fearing to get too close, or worse to be left behind in the dark.

At last they'd emerged into this forest of stone. Around her she felt the presence of shadowy figures watching, waiting. Even the drip, drip of water sounded stealthy. Worst of all was the flutter and squeak of thousands of bats. Did they know she was here? Would they tell the Soul-Eaters?

Peering between two stone saplings, she watched the Bat Mage take up her torch and touch it to others wedged around the altar. Firelight flared then suddenly dipped, as if in homage. The bats fell silent. The air grew heavy with evil.

Renn jammed her knuckles in her mouth.

A third Soul-Eater sat at the head of the altar. In the gloom, Renn made out feathered robes that seemed to grow from the stone itself; the fearsome orange glare of an eagle owl.

Behind the mask, a chill voice spoke. 'The souls. Give me the souls.'

The Bat Mage placed something small on the altar and the shadowy robes moved to cover it. Renn guessed that the Bat Mage had worked some kind of binding charm, and trapped the owl's souls in its feathers.

'It is well,' said the voice behind the mask.

Renn thought of the owl's souls, caught perhaps for ever in the grip of the Eagle Owl Mage. She wondered if they would ever escape, to flutter into the sky, seeking the shelter of the First Tree . . .

Dread dragged at her heart as she watched the Mage place something dark and curved on the altar. It was the Walker's strike-fire: the stone claw that he'd taken from a cave in the Forest long ago.

Next, the Oak Mage reached into a pouch, and held up a small black pebble with the sheen and smoothness of an eye. 'This is the owl,' he chanted as he laid it beside the strike-fire. 'The first of the nine hunters.'

The nine hunters?

Renn's fingers closed about a slender twig of stone. Feeling sick, she watched the Oak Mage upend the pouch. More pebbles rattled onto the altar.

The Bat Mage chose one and laid it beside that which betokened the owl. 'This, she chanted, 'is the eagle. For keenest sight.'

'And to protect us from those who rage within,' chanted the others.

Another pebble was set beside the second. And another. And another. As Renn listened, the hideous extent of the impending sacrifice revealed itself.

'This is the fox. For cunning . . . This is the otter. For water-skill . . . This is the wolverine. For rage . . . This is the bear. For strength . . . This is the lynx. For leaping . . . This is the wolf . . .' Renn shut her eyes. ' . . . For wisdom . . .'

A hush fell. The ninth pebble lay waiting to be set in its place: to close the ring of eyes encircling the strike-fire.

The Eagle Owl Mage extended a talon to grasp it. 'This,' she chanted, 'is the man. For cruelty.'

Man.

Renn's grip tightened on the stone. At last she knew why the Soul-Eaters had let the White Fox boy join them. And now Torak had taken his place . . .

The stone snapped. The bats exploded in a fluttering, squeaking cloud.

'Someone's there!' cried Nef, leaping to her feet.

'It's the boy!' boomed Thiazzi. 'He's been listening!'

Torchlight slid between the stone trees as the Soul-Eaters began to search the cave.

Wildly Renn cast about for an escape; but in choosing her hiding-place, she'd crept too far from the tunnel. She couldn't get back without being seen.

Nearer and nearer came the light, reaching for her. Nearer came the heavy tread of the Oak Mage.

She did the only thing she could. She climbed up.

The fissure was jagged as an axe-cut, and she skinned her palms as she groped for handholds. She raised her head couldn't see anything scrambled higher into the dark.

The footsteps were almost upon her.

Her fingers found a ledge. No time to think. She heaved herself onto it, praying that the rustling of the bats would mask the frantic scrabbling of her boots.

It wasn't a ledge, it was a tunnel, she'd found a tunnel! Too low to stand up she b.u.mped her head dropped to all fours, and crawled in.

The tunnel bent to the right, good, if she could get inside, the light wouldn't find her. But it was so narrow that she could barely squeeze in, and the roof was getting lower she had to crawl on her belly, and push herself ahead on her elbows.

Squirming like a lizard, she wriggled deeper. As she twisted her head to look back, she saw the yellow light flickering closer, nearly touching her boots. She wasn't far enough in, it was going to find her . . .

With a tremendous heave she pulled herself round the bend just as the light snapped at her heels.

Below her, a man's harsh breathing. The sharp tang of spruce-blood.

She bit down hard on her lower lip.

Then from the other side of the cave the thud of running feet.

'It wasn't the boy!' panted the Bat Mage. 'He's been with Seshru all the time!'

'Are you sure?' said the Oak Mage, his voice shockingly close.

'It must have been the bats,' said Nef.

'Well from now on,' growled Thiazzi, 'we'd better keep watch.'

His voice receded, taking the light with it. Darkness flooded back.

Weak with relief, Renn slumped on her belly. For a long time she lay in the blackness, listening to the Soul-Eaters moving about, talking in low voices.

At last, their voices faded. They had left the forest of stone. The bats fluttered, then sank into silence. Still Renn waited, fearing a trap.

When she was as certain as she could be that she was alone, she started to wriggle backwards out of the tunnel.