Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Part 70

The hood of her parka snagged on the roof, and she kicked forwards to unhook it but the tunnel was too low, she couldn't move far enough to free herself.

Irritated, she tried again. And again. She tried wriggling from side to side. The tunnel was too narrow, it didn't do any good.

She lay on her belly, struggling to take in what had happened. Her arms were folded awkwardly beneath her chest. Against her fists she felt the thunder of her heart.

The truth crashed upon her.

She was stuck.

TWENTY.

She thought about screaming for help; but that would bring the Soul-Eaters. She thought about lying in this stinking weasel hole, dying of thirst. A quick death or a slow one. That was the choice.

She was soaked in sweat, and the tunnel walls blew back the smell of her fear. She could no longer hear the drip of water; only her ragged breath, and a strange, uneven 'drum-drum-drum' that was keeping pace with the thunder of her heart.

It was her heart, she realized: her heart echoing through the rock as it thumped against her ribs.

Suddenly she was horribly aware of the vast weight of stone that pressed upon her, of the utter impossibility of movement. The earth had swallowed her. It had only to give the slightest twitch to crush her like a louse.

No-one would ever know. No-one would find her bones and lay them to rest in the Raven bone-ground. No-one would put the Death Marks on her, to keep her souls together.

Darkness lay on her face like a second skin. She shut her eyes. Opened them. No difference. She dragged her hand from under her, held it before her nose. Couldn't see her fingers. They didn't exist. She didn't exist.

She couldn't get enough air. She took a great, shuddering breath and the rock shrank tight around her.

She panicked. Clawing, kicking, moaning, drowning in a black sea of terror. She collapsed, exhausted, grinding her mouth into the unyielding stone to keep back the whimpers.

Deep in the earth, there is no time. No winter. No summer. No moon. No sun. There is only the dark. Renn lay for so long that she wasn't Renn anymore. Whole winters drifted over her. She became part of the rock.

She heard demons cackling on the other side. Lights flashed. Red eyes glared at her, coming nearer. She was dying. Soon her souls would be scattered, and she'd become a demon: squeaking and gibbering in the endless heat of the Otherworld, hating and desiring all living things.

But now more lights were coming: tiny, brilliant green needle-p.r.i.c.ks that s.h.i.+mmered and danced, chasing the red eyes away. There was a humming in her ears, a humming of . . .

Bees?

She jerked awake. Bees? In winter, in a cave in the Far North?

The humming was nearer, and it was definitely bees. Although she couldn't see them, she could feel them, brus.h.i.+ng against her cheeks. What were they? A message from her clan-guardian? The spirits of her ancestors? Or a trick of the demons, waiting behind the rock?

But they didn't feel evil. Shutting her eyes, she lay and listened to the humming of the bees . . .

It's the Moon of the Salmon Run, and the blackthorn trees are in bloom, and the bees are humming. Renn is eight summers old: hunting with Fin-Kedinn, eager to try out the beautiful new bow he has made for her. She pauses on the riverbank to admire its gleaming golden curve, and the blackthorn blossom drifts down like summer snow, and catches on the manes of the forest horses who stand in the shallows.

When she drags her eyes away from her bow, she's startled to see that Fin-Kedinn has crossed the river and gone on ahead. Hurriedly she tumbles down the bank and splashes after him.

The mares don't like her coming so close to their foals. They show the whites of their eyes, ready to kick.

Renn isn't frightened, but to avoid them she flounders deeper, and the mud sucks at her boots. She's stuck.

She panics. Since her father died, she's had nightmares about being trapped. What if the horses trample her? What if the Hidden People of the river pull her under?

Suddenly the sunlight is blotted out, and Fin-Kedinn is standing over her. His face is as impenetrable as ever, but in his blue eyes there's a glint of laughter.

'Renn,' he says calmly, 'there's an answer to this. But you won't find it if you don't use your head.'

She blinks. Glances down. Then wobbling she steps out of her boots.

Laughing, her uncle swings her high in his arms. And now she's laughing too, and squealing as he swings her down in a dizzying swoop to pluck her boots from the mud. Still laughing, he sets her on his shoulders, and wades to the bank, and around them the blossom is drifting, and the bees are humming . . .

The bees were still humming, but she couldn't see them any more because she was back in the weasel hole. The thought of Fin-Kedinn was like a beam of light in the dark. Her fingers touched the polished slate wrist-guard on her forearm. He'd made it for her when he'd taught her to shoot.

'There is an answer,' she whispered. 'Use your head . . .'

Her breathing slowed. Her chest was no longer heaving. The walls didn't seem to grip quite as tightly as before.

Of course! she thought. Don't breathe so deeply, and you won't take up so much s.p.a.ce!

Keeping her breathing shallow was a small victory, and it cheered her greatly. She wasn't dead yet. If only there was some way of making herself narrower still.

Maybe it was possible. Yes! Why hadn't she thought of it before?

Slowly painfully she uncurled her right arm and stretched it forwards as far as she could. Then she tilted her left shoulder back. Now she really was narrower, because she wasn't blocking the tunnel face on, but tilting sideways.

The next bit would be harder. Bending her right arm back over her head, she clutched at her parka. Missed. Tried again, and grabbed the hood. Tugged. It was mercifully loose: Tanugeak had told her that the White Foxes made them like that because loose clothes are warmer. Like a snake sloughing off its skin, Renn wriggled and pulled, wriggled and pulled and at last the parka slid over her head.

She lay panting, and the bees hummed giddily.

Now for the birdskin jerkin. This was harder no hood to grab hold of but without the parka she could move much more easily.

The relief when the jerkin came off was overwhelming. For a while she lay gasping, feeling the sweat chilling her skin, touching the clothes bunched up in front of her. But now she was resting with a purpose. In only her leggings, she was half the size she had been, and could slip through the tunnel like an eel. She could get back to the forest of stone, and find Torak and Wolf.

She started wriggling backwards, but her leggings snagged on a spur. It didn't stop her for long, but to her surprise, the buzzing of the bees turned as fierce as hornets. What did that mean? Didn't they want her to go back?

Stretching her hand into the darkness before her, she felt cool air stinging her raw fingers. It wasn't merely the chill of drying sweat, it was a current of cold air. And if it was cold, it must be coming from outside.

Pus.h.i.+ng with her toes, she edged forwards through the tunnel. It sloped steeply up, but now that she had more room to squirm, it was easier, and she could grasp projections jutting from the rocks, and pull herself along.

Still she hesitated. If she went forwards wherever that led it would mean leaving Torak behind. She couldn't do that. She had to warn him that he was the ninth hunter in the sacrifice.

And yet if she went back, she would find herself once again in the cavern of the Soul-Eaters; and even if she could evade them, and somehow find Torak even if they could rescue Wolf, and make their way through the tunnels to the mouth of the cave how would they get out, when it was blocked by that great slab which only Thiazzi could move?

She chewed her lip, wondering what to do.

Fin-Kedinn often said that when things went wrong, the worst you could do was nothing. 'Sometimes, Renn, you have to make a choice. Maybe it's a good one, maybe not. But it's better than doing nothing.'

Renn thought for a moment. Then she started wriggling forwards.

TWENTY-ONE.

In the forest of stone, the Soul-Eaters were making ready for the finding of the Door.

Nef hobbled about dipping torches in pitch and setting them in place, while her bat flitted overhead. The veins in Thiazzi's temples bulged as he hauled rocks into a circle about the altar. Seshru fitted three masks with gutskin eyes for seeing into the Otherworld. Of Eostra there was no sign.

Torak dreaded the return of the Eagle Owl Mage and yet he needed it, too. He had to be certain that all four Soul-Eaters were here in this cave, before he could slip away and find Wolf. Until then, he had to be the apprentice Soul-Eater: grinding earthblood on a slab, while the blood of the owl stiffened on his forehead.

After he'd killed it, Nef had put her heavy hand on his shoulder. 'Well done. You've just taken the first step to becoming one of us.'

No I haven't, Torak had told her in his head.

But he knew what Renn would have said. 'Where will it end, Torak? How far will you go?'

He remembered an argument he'd had with Fin-Kedinn, when he'd begged the Raven Leader to let him go in search of the Soul-Eaters. In vain.

'Your father tried to fight them,' Fin-Kedinn had said, 'and they killed him! What makes you think you'd be any stronger?'

At the time, Torak had raged against the Raven Leader's refusal, but now he understood what lay behind it. It wasn't only the evil of the Soul-Eaters which Fin-Kedinn feared. It was that within Torak himself.

Once, the Raven Leader had told him the story of the first winter that ever was. 'The World Spirit fought a terrible battle with the Great Auroch, the most powerful of demons. At last the World Spirit flung the demon burning from the sky; but as it fell, the wind scattered its ashes, and a tiny speck settled in the marrow of every creature on earth. Evil exists in us all, Torak. Some fight it. Some feed it. That's how it's always been.'

Torak thought of that now: a tiny black seed in his marrow, waiting to burst into life.

'Bring me the earthblood,' said Seshru, startling him.

'Quickly. It's almost time.'

He lifted the heavy slab and carried it to the altar.

How long before he could escape and find Wolf?

The plan he'd come up with was dangerous it might even kill him but it was the only one he could think of. First he had to return to the stinking tunnel where the "offerings" were held; then he had to get as close to the ice bear as he dared, and then - 'Put it there,' ordered Seshru.

He did as he was told, and made to withdraw but her cold hand clasped his wrist.

'Stay. Watch. Learn.'

He had no choice but to kneel beside her.

She'd painted the mask with lime, turning it glaring white. Now she dipped her forefinger in a paste of alder juice and earthblood, and reddened the mouth. Her finger worked in slow circles that made Torak dizzy. As he watched, the face began to live. The scarlet lips glistened with spittle. The mane of dead gra.s.s rustled and grew.

'Don't touch,' whispered the Viper Mage.

He jerked back with a cry.

Laughter rippled through the Soul-Eaters. They were playing with him; making him feel one of them for some purpose of their own.

'You want to know why we're doing this,' said Nef, guessing the question in his mind.

'Why are we going to open the Door?' murmured Seshru.

'Why are we going to let out the demons?'

'To rule,' said Thiazzi, coming to stand beside her. 'To unite the clans and rule.'

Torak licked his lips. 'But the clans rule themselves.'

'Much good it does them,' growled Nef. 'Have you never asked yourself why the World Spirit is so fickle, so unpredictable? Why does it send the prey at some times, but not others? Why does it kill one child with sickness, but spare another? Because the clans don't live as they should!'

'They have different ways of sacrificing,' said Thiazzi, 'of sending their Dead on the Journey. This displeases the World Spirit.'

'There's no order to it,' said Nef.

Thiazzi drew himself up to his full height. 'We know the true way. We will show them.'

'But to do that,' said Seshru, fixing Torak with her unfathomable gaze, 'we must have power. The demons will give it to us.'

He tried to look away, but her eyes held his. 'No-one can control demons,' he said.

Thiazzi's laugh echoed through the cave. 'You're wrong. If only you knew how wrong!'

'The mistake others made in the past,' said Seshru, 'was to overreach themselves. Our brother who is lost summoned an elemental and trapped it in a great bear. Of course he couldn't control it. It was a magnificent madness.'

Magnificent? thought Torak. That madness had cost his father his life.

Nef hobbled towards him. 'The demons we summon,' she declared, 'will be as many as the bats that darken the moon '

' as many as the leaves in the Forest,' boomed the Oak Mage. 'We will flood the land with terror!'

'And after that . . .' the Viper Mage stretched out her hands, then drew them towards her, as if grasping an invisible bounty, 'we will call them back, and the demons will do our bidding, because we and only we possess that which forces them to our will.'

Torak stared at her. 'What do you mean?'

The beautiful mouth curved. 'Ah. You'll see.'