Wolf Brother by Michelle Paver
That was when Wolf noticed that one of Tall Tailless’s forepaws held something that was giving off a strange glow.
Wolf sniffed at it - and backed away. It smelt of hunter and prey and Fast Wet and tree, all chewed up together, and from it came a high, thin humming: so high that Wolf could only just catch it.
Wolf was frightened. He knew that he was in the presence of something very, very strong.
Torak huddled in his sleeping-sack, shivering uncontrollably. His head was on fire and his whole body felt like one big bruise, but worst of all, he couldn’t see. Blind, blind, thudded his heart.
Above the crackle of the fire he heard Renn muttering angrily. ‘Were you trying to get yourself killed?’
‘What?’ he said, but it came out as a mumble, because his mouth was thick with the salty sweetness of blood.
‘You’d nearly reached the surface,’ said Renn, pressing what felt like cobwebs to his forehead, ‘then you turned round and swam, deliberately swam, back down again!’
He realized that she didn’t know about the Nanuak. But his fist was so cold that he couldn’t unclench it to show her.
He felt Wolf’s hot tongue on his face. A chink of light appeared. Then a big black nose. Torak’s spirits soared. ‘I cad thee!’ he said.
‘What?’ snapped Renn. ‘Well of course you can see! You cut your forehead when you hit that branch, and the blood got in your eyes. Scalp wounds bleed a lot. Didn’t you know that?’
Torak was so relieved that he would have laughed if his teeth hadn’t been chattering so violently.
He saw that they were in a small cave with earth walls. A birchwood fire was burning fiercely, and already his sodden clothes, hanging from tree roots jutting through the ceiling, were beginning to steam. The thunder of the, falls was loud, and from its sound, and the view of treetops at the cave mouth, he guessed they must be some way up the side of the valley. He couldn’t remember getting there. Renn must have dragged him. He wondered how she’d managed it.
She was kneeling beside him looking shaken. ‘You’ve been very, very lucky,’ she said. ‘Now hold still.’ From her medicine pouch she took some dried yarrow leaves, and crumbled them in her palm. Then, having picked off the cobwebs, she pressed the yarrow leaves to his forehead. They stuck tight to the wound in an instant scab.
Torak shut his eyes and listened to the never-ending fury of the falls. Wolf crawled into the sleeping-sack with him, wriggling till he got comfortable. He felt gloriously furry and warm as he licked Torak’s shoulder. Torak licked his muzzle in reply.
When he awoke, he wasn’t shivering any more, and he was still clutching the Nanuak. He could feel its weight in his fist.
Wolf was nosing about in the back of the cave, and Renn was sorting herbs in her lap. Torak’s pack, boots, quiver and how were neatly piled behind her. He realized that to retrieve them she must have crossed the river again. Twice.
‘Renn,’ he said.
‘What,’ she said without looking up. From her tone, he could tell that she was still cross.
‘You got me out of the river. You got me all the way up here. You even fetched my things. I can’t imagine... I mean, that was brave.’
She did not reply.
‘Renn,’ he said again.
‘What.’
‘I had to swim down. I had to.’
‘Why?’
Awkwardly, he brought out the hand that held the Nanuak, and unclenched his fingers.
As soon as he did, the fire seemed to sink. Shadows leapt on the cave walls. The air seemed to crackle, like the moment after a lightning strike.
Wolf stopped nosing and gave a warning grunt. Renn went very still.
The river eyes lay in Torak’s palm in a nest of green mud, glowing faintly, like the moon on a misty night.
As he gazed at them, Torak felt an echo of the sickness that had tugged at him at the bottom of the river. ‘This is it, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘’’Deepest of all, the drowned sight.” The first part of the Nanuak.’
The color had drained from Renn’s face. ‘Don’t - move,’ she said, and scrambled out of the cave, returning soon after with a bunch of scarlet rowan leaves.
‘Lucky there’s mud on your hand,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t let it touch your skin. It might suck out your own part of the world-soul.’
‘Is that what was happening?’ he murmured. ‘In the river I was beginning to feel - dizzy.’ He told her about the Hidden People.
She looked horrified. ‘How did you dare? If they’d caught you… ‘ She made the sign of the hand to ward off evil. ‘I can’t believe you’ve just been sleeping with it in your fist. There’s no time to lose.’
Bringing out a little black pouch from inside her jerkin, she stuffed it with the rowan leaves. ‘The leaves should protect us,’ she said, ‘and the pouch should help too, it’s ravenskin.’ Grasping Torak’s wrist, she tipped the river eyes into the pouch and drew the neck tight.
As soon as the Nanuak was hidden, the flames grew and the shadows shrank. The air in the cave stopped crackling.
Torak felt as if a weight had been taken from him. He watched Wolf pad over and lie down beside Renn with his muzzle between his paws, gazing at the pouch on her lap, and whining softly.
‘D’you think he can smell it?’ she asked.
‘Or maybe hear it,’ said Torak. ‘I don’t know.’
Renn shivered. ‘Just as long as nothing else can, too.’
Torak woke at dawn feeling stiff and sore. But he could move all four limbs, and nothing felt broken, so he decided he was better.
Renn was kneeling at the mouth of the cave, trying to feed Wolf a handful of crowberries. She was frowning with concentration as she held out her hand. Wolf edged cautiously forwards - then jerked back again. At last he decided he could trust her, and snuffled up the berries. Renn laughed as his whiskers tickled her palm.
She caught Torak looking and stopped laughing, embarrassed to be seen making friends with the cub. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
‘Better.’
‘You don’t look it. You’ll need to rest for at least a day.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’m going hunting. We should keep the dried food for when we need it.’
Torak sat up painfully. ‘I’m coming too.’
‘No you’re not, you should rest -’
‘But my clothes are dry, and I need to move around.’ He didn’t tell her the real reason, which was that he hated caves. He and Fa used to shelter in them sometimes, but Torak always ended up outside. It felt all wrong to be sleeping between solid walls, cut off from the wind and the Forest. It felt like being swallowed.
Renn sighed. ‘Promise that as soon as we make a kill, you’ll come back here and rest.’
Torak promised.
Getting dressed hurt more than he’d expected, and by the time he’d finished, his eyes were watering. To his relief, Renn didn’t notice, as she was preparing for the hunt. She combed her hair with an ashwood comb carved like a raven’s claw, then tied it back in a horsetail and stuck in an owl feather for hunting luck. Next, she smeared ash on her skin to mask her scent, and oiled her bow with a couple of crushed hazelnuts, chanting: ‘May the clan guardian fly with me and make the hunt successful.’
Torak was surprised. ‘We prepare for hunting in the same way. Except we say, “May the clan guardian run with me”. And we don’t oil our bows every time.’
That’s just something I do,’ said Renn. Lovingly she held it up so that the oiled wood gleamed. ‘Fin-Kedinn made it for me when I was seven, just after Fa was killed. It’s yewwood, seasoned for four summers. Sapwood on its back for stretch, heartwood on its belly for strength. He made the quiver, too. Wove the wicker himself, and let me choose the decoration. A zigzag band of red and white willow.’
She
Torak knew that she was missing her uncle, and probably worrying about him too, as he tracked her through the bear-haunted Forest. To give her time, he made his own preparations and gathered his weapons. Then he said, ‘Come on. Let’s go hunting.’
She nodded once, then shouldered her quiver.
It was a bright, cold morning, and the Forest had never looked so beautiful. Scarlet rowan trees and golden birch blazed like flame against the dark-green spruce. Blueberry bushes glittered with thousands of tiny, frost-spangled spiders’ webs. Frozen moss crunched underfoot. A pair of inquisitive magpies followed them from tree to tree, bickering. The bear must be far away.
Unfortunately, Torak didn’t get long to enjoy it. Around mid-morning, Wolf startled a clutch of willow grouse, who shot skywards with indignant gobbles. The birds flew fast and into the sun, so Torak didn’t even bother taking aim, knowing he’d never hit one. To his astonishment, Renn knocked an arrow and let fly, and a willow grouse thudded into the moss.
Torak’s jaw dropped. ‘How did you manage that?’
Renn reddened. ‘Well. I practice a lot.’
‘But - I’ve never seen shooting that good. Are you the best in your clan?’
She looked uncomfortable.
‘Is there anyone better?
‘Um. Not really.’ Still embarrassed, she waded off through the blueberry bushes to retrieve the grouse. ‘Here.’ She flashed him her sharp-toothed grin. ‘Remember your promise? Now you’ve got to go back and rest.’
Torak took the grouse. If he’d known she was such a good shot, he’d never have promised.
When Renn returned to the cave, they had a feast. From the hooting of a young owl, they knew that the bear was far away; and Renn judged that they’d come far enough east to have escaped the Ravens. Besides, they needed hot food.
Renn wrapped two small pieces of grouse in dock leaves and left them for the clan guardians, while Torak moved the fire to the mouth of the cave, as he was determined not to spend another night inside. Half-filling Renn’s cookingskin with water, he hung it by the fire; then, using a split branch, he dropped in red-hot stones to heat it up, and added the plucked and jointed willow grouse. Soon he was stirring a fragrant stew flavored with crow garlic and big, fleshy wood-mushrooms.
They ate most of the meat, leaving a little for day meal, and sopped up the juices with hawkbit roots baked in the embers. After that came a wonderful mash that Renn made of late lingonberries and hazelnuts, and finally some beechnuts, which they burst by the fire and peeled to get at the small, rich nuts inside.
By the time he’d finished, Torak felt as if he need never eat again. He settled down by the fire to mend the rip in his leggings where the Hidden People had grabbed him. Renn sat some way off, trimming the flights on her arrows, and Wolf lay between them licking his paws clean, having swiftly dispatched the joint of grouse that Torak had saved for him.
For a while there was a companionable silence, and Torak felt contented, even hopeful. After all, he’d found the first piece of the Nanuak. That must count for something.
Suddenly, Wolf leapt to his feet and raced out of the firelight. Moments later he returned, circling the fire and talking agitated little grunt-whines.
‘What is it?’ whispered Renn.
Torak was on his feet, watching Wolf. He shook his head. ‘I can’t make it out. “Kill smell. Old kill. Move.”
Something like that.’
They stared into the darkness.
‘We shouldn’t have lit a fire,’ said Renn.
‘Too late now,’ said Torak.
Wolf stopped the grunt-whines and raised his muzzle, gazing skywards.
Torak looked up - and the remains of his good humor vanished. To the east, above the distant blackness of the High Mountains, the red eye of the Great Auroch glared down at them. It was impossible to miss: a vicious crimson, throbbing with malice. Torak couldn’t take his eyes from it. He could feel its power: sending strength to the bear, sapping his own will of hope and resolve.
‘What chance do we have against the bear?’ he said. ‘I mean, really, what chance do we have?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Renn.
‘How are we going to find the other two pieces of the Nanuak? “Oldest of all, the stone bite. Coldest of all, the darkest light.” What does that even mean?’
Renn did not reply.
At last he dragged his gaze from the sky, and sat down by the fire. The red eye seemed to glare at him even from the embers.
Behind him, Renn stirred. ‘Look, Torak, it’s the First Tree!’
He raised his head.
The eye had been blotted out. Instead, a silent, ever changing green glow filled the sky. Now a vast swathe of light twisted in a voiceless wind; then the swathe vanished, and shimmering pale-green waves rippled across the stars. The First Tree stretched for ever, shining its miraculous fire upon the Forest.
As Torak gazed at it, a spark of hope re-kindled. He’d always loved watching the First Tree on frosty nights, while Fa told the story of the Beginning. The First Tree. meant good luck in hunting; maybe it would bring luck to him, too.
‘I think it’s a good sign,’ said Renn as if she’d heard his thoughts. ‘I’ve been wondering. Was it really luck that you found the Nanuak? I mean, why did you fall into the very part of the river where it lay? I don’t think that was by chance. I think - you were meant to find it.’
He threw her a questioning glance.
‘Maybe,’ she said slowly, ‘the Nanuak was put in your way, but then it was up to you to decide what to do about it. When you saw it at the bottom of the river, you could have decided it was too dangerous to try for. But you didn’t. You risked your life to get it. Maybe - that was part of the test.’
It was a good thought, and it made Torak feel a little better. He fell asleep watching the silent green boughs of the First Tree, while Wolf sped out of the cave on some mysterious errand of his own.
Wolf left the Den and loped up to the ridge above the valley to catch the smell on the wind: a powerful smell of rotten prey like a very old kill - except that it moved.
As he ran, Wolf felt with joy how his pads were toughening, his limbs getting stronger with every Dark that passed. He loved to run, and he wished that Tall Tailless did too. But at times his pack-brother could be terribly slow.
As Wolf neared the ridge, he heard the roar of the Thundering Wet, and the sound of a hare feeding in the next valley. Overhead, he saw the Bright White Eye with her or many little cubs. It was all as it should be. Except for that smell.
At the top of the ridge he lifted his muzzle to catch the scent-laden winds, and again he caught it: quite close, and coming closer. Racing back into the valley, he soon found it: the strange, shuffling thing that smelt so rotten.
He got near enough to observe it clearly in the dark, although he was careful not to let it know that he was near. To his surprise he found that it was not an old kill after all.
It had breath and claws, and it moved in an odd shambling walk, growling to itself while the spit trailed from its muzzle.
What puzzled Wolf most was that he couldn’t catch what it was feeling. Its mind seemed broken; scattered like old bones. Wolf had never sensed such a thing before.
He watched it make its way up the slope towards the Den where the tailless were sleeping. It prowled closer…
Just as Wolf was about to attack, it shook itself and shambled away. But through the tangle of its broke
The fog stole up on them like a thief in the night.
When Torak crawled stiffly from his sleeping-sack, the valley below had disappeared. T he Breath of the World Spirit had swallowed it whole.
He yawned. Wolf had woken him often in the night, racing about and uttering urgent half-barks: kill smell-watch. It didn’t make sense. Every time Torak went to look, there was nothing but a stink of carrion and an uneasy feeling of being watched.
‘Maybe he just hates fog,’ said Renn grumpily as she rolled up her sleeping-sack. ‘I know I do. In fog, nothing’s what it seems.’
‘I don’t think it’s that,’ said Torak, watching Wolf snuffing the air.
‘Well what is it, then?’
‘I don’t know. It’s as if something’s out there. Not the bear. Not the Ravens. Something else.’
What do you mean?’
‘I told you, I don’t know. But we should be on our guard.’ Thoughtfully, he put more wood on the fire to heat up the rest of the stew for day meal.
With an anxious frown, Renn counted their arrows. ‘Twenty between us. Not nearly enough. Do you know how to knap flint?’
Torak shook his head. ‘My hands aren’t strong enough. Fa was going to teach me next summer. What about you?’
‘The same. We’ll have to be careful. There’s no telling how far it is to the Mountain. And we’ll need more meat.’
‘Maybe we’ll catch something today.’
‘In this fog?’
She was right. The fog was so thick that they couldn’t see Wolf five paces ahead. It was the kind that the clans call the smoke-frost: an icy breath that descends from the High Mountains at the start of winter, blackening berries and sending small creatures scuttling for their burrows.
Wolf led them along an auroch trail that wound north up the side of the valley: a chilly climb through frost-brittle bracken. The fog muffled sounds and made distances hard to judge. Trees loomed with alarming suddenness. Once they shot a reindeer, only to find that they’d hit a log. That meant a frustrating struggle to dig out the arrowheads, which they couldn’t afford to lose. Twice, Torak thought he saw a figure in the undergrowth, but when he ran to look, he found nothing.