Its wingbeats faded. Renn hid behind a rock. The wingbeats were coming back. Too noisy for an owl, she thought.

Rip lit onto the rock and rattled an excited kek-kek-kek!

Renn gave an edgy laugh. Rip hitched himself into the air and flew off. Quork!

When Renn didn't follow, he flew back.

Renn chewed her lip. Torak's trail led straight ahead, but Rip wanted her to follow him down a gully.

Quork! he cawed impatiently.

Renn followed.

She hadn't gone far when the fog thinned, and she made out something lying on the rocks. Rip and Rek wheeled above it, as if circling a carca.s.s.

Renn's belly turned over. It was a carca.s.s.

Sound cut away as she stumbled towards it.

THIRTY.

Darkfur's breath came in rasping coughs that made her flanks heave.

As Renn knelt beside her, the she-wolf raised her head and attempted one of her little greeting snaps. The effort was too much. She slumped back.

Slipping off her mitten, Renn laid her hand on Darkfur's side. She could feel each rib. The she-wolf hadn't eaten for days.

How had she managed to get all this way?

Renn pictured Darkfur hauling herself from the river after the owl's attack, and setting off: battered, longing for her cubs, determined to find her mate. Perhaps she'd been drawn by Wolf's howls; perhaps by the strength of the bond between them.

With the resilience of wolves which surpa.s.ses that of the toughest man, she had survived the ice storm and made it across the fells. Renn remembered Krukoslik speaking of hunters finding a dead wolf, and leaving food for its spirit. Maybe that had been Darkfur. Maybe the kindness of strangers had saved her life.

Wrenching open her food pouch, Renn placed a slip of meat by the she-wolf's muzzle. Darkfur ignored it.

Rip flew down and sidled closer.

'No,' scolded Renn. 'She needs it more.'

The raven gave her a reproachful look, and stalked off to sulk.

Renn nudged the meat closer. Still no response.

Puzzled, Renn touched one large black forepaw.

Darkfur tensed, and uttered a low growl.

Renn's alarm deepened. That pad was burning hot. Then she noticed that Darkfur's nose looked dull. Her tongue was tinged grey.

Renn leant nearer and recoiled at the stink. It wasn't hunger which had felled the she-wolf. The owl's claws had gashed her foreleg from shoulder to shin, and the wound was festering. Renn saw foul, oozing green pus.

Her thoughts raced. Darkfur lay in a hollow under a rock. It shouldn't take long to turn it into a shelter. Further back in the gully, she'd pa.s.sed a clump of the heathery plant which Juksakai used for waking fires. She had herbs in her medicine pouch she'd refilled it before leaving the Swans and she knew a healing charm.

It flashed through her mind that all this would lessen her chances of finding Torak, but she told herself the delay would be slight. Dress the wound, coax Darkfur to eat, then leave her to get better. How long could that take?

Sure of herself now, Renn worked fast. Soon the shelter was built and a small fire woken. At the foot of a boulder where a hawk had perched to eat its prey, she found the tiny skull of a snow-vole: strong medicine against fevers. Best of all, the purple droppings on the boulder led her to a nearby stand of juniper. That would be a powerful aid to the healing charm.

Back with Darkfur, she heated water and made a brew of crushed sorrel root, vole bones and juniper berries. Cooling this with snow, she started cleaning the wound by trickling a few drops onto the injured shoulder.

Darkfur's growls shook her whole body.

Renn swallowed. She tried again. Same result.

She wished she was Torak, and could speak wolf. If only she could tell Darkfur that this would do her good. 'Darkfur, please,' she said. 'I'm trying to help you.'

Darkfur swivelled one ear.

'You have to let me clean your wound.'

The green-amber gaze touched hers, then slid away.

Maybe that's it, thought Renn. Just talk.

'I'm I'm sorry about the cubs,' she stammered. 'And that the owl hurt you. But Wolf is alive. You will see him again. Only you have to let me help you.'

Darkfur remained tense, the sinews on her long legs standing out like cords. But she was listening.

Renn went on talking: softly, continuously. Praying that the she-wolf would hear from her voice that she meant no harm.

The next time she dribbled medicine onto the wound, Darkfur lay quiet.

Washing the injured leg was agonisingly slow. Renn did as much as she dared, then prepared the poultice. She chewed juniper berries, then ground sorrel root with earthblood and juniper bast, and mashed the whole into a warm pulp.

Muttering the charm under her breath, she leant closer, hiding the poultice behind her back.

Darfkur bared her fearsome white teeth.

Renn froze. Sweat broke out between her shoulder blades.

When the she-wolf's muzzle relaxed, Renn slowly brought out the poultice.

Darkfur swung her head close to Renn's face. Renn felt her hot breath. She stared into the open jaws. 'It it's all right,' she faltered. 'Let me do this.'

The jaws slackened. The she-wolf lay back and shut her eyes.

Trembling, Renn laid the poultice on the wound. Darkfur didn't stir.

The ravens edged in and made off with the meat. Renn was too drained to care. She heard them squabbling; then a sleepy rustle of feathers as they settled down to roost.

To roost?

She crawled out of the shelter.

While she'd been tending Darkfur, the rest of the day had slipped away. By now, Torak might already have reached the Mountain of Ghosts. Tomorrow night, when the sun went down, it would be Souls' Night.

Too late, Renn perceived Eostra's cunning. The Soul-Eater had allowed Darkfur to get this far for a reason: to keep Renn away from Torak. And it wasn't hard to work out why the dogs hadn't menaced them. They had other prey to hunt. Somewhere, in some lonely place, they were cornering Torak and Wolf. Renn saw their evil heads sunk between their shoulders as they closed in for the kill . . .

Angrily, she pushed that away, and crawled back inside, where she found Darkfur twitching in her sleep.

Renn bit her lip. She knew she would have to spend the night here but what then? Should she stay and look after Darfkur? Or let the she-wolf take her chances, and catch up with Torak?

Wolves heal much faster than people, but even so, the wound would need bathing and dressing. Perhaps another whole day would be lost.

Renn didn't know what to do. She felt pulled in different directions by ropes of loyalty and love.

Beside her, Darkfur's tail thumped in her sleep. Her muzzle quivered. She was smiling. She gave an eager, keening whine.

Renn's heart twisted with pity. In her dreams, Darkfur was calling her dead cubs.

Moments later, the she-wolf awoke. For an instant, her eyes glowed. Then the dream faded, and she gave a defeated sigh.

Gently, Renn stroked her forepaw. If she followed Torak and Darkfur died, how would she ever face Wolf? How would she face herself?

Her doubts fled. If she broke faith with Darkfur now, then whatever happened on the Mountain of Ghosts, Eostra would have won. The she-wolf had come through grief and hardship. Although Renn's spirit cried out to follow Torak, her mind was made up.

She would stay.

THIRTY-ONE.

Torak had lapsed into furious silence. Dark was going through his things, asking questions. What's this green thing? A wrist-guard? Who made it? What's a foster father? Does he love you? Why is this pouch made of swans' feet? What's this horn for? Who made it? Your mother? Does she love you?

'Yes!' shouted Torak. Souls' Night was looming, and here he was, trussed like a ptarmigan, while this extraordinary boy examined his gear.

'There's a red hair round the top of the horn,' observed Dark. 'Is that your mother's?'

'No. It's a girl called Renn's. Don't touch.'

Dark glanced at him. 'Is she your mate?'

'No.'

'But you like her.'

'Of course.'

'And she likes you.'

'Yes!' he snapped.

Dark's pale face closed. His white eyelashes trembled. Suddenly he flung down the medicine horn and ran off into the shadows. Moments later he reappeared with Torak's clothes in his arms. 'There.' He threw them on the floor.

Ark croaked and flapped her wings. Wolf sniffed the hides. Torak watched Dark.

Brusquely, the boy drew his knife and cut Torak's bonds. 'You're free. You can go.'

Torak lost no time in getting dressed. As he was tying his belt, he said, 'What changed your mind?'

Dark took a slate wolverine from a ledge and glowered at it. 'All those people would miss you. n.o.body misses me.'

Torak paused. 'I'm sorry.'

Dark set down the carving. 'I'll let you out.'

The cave was deeper than Torak had thought. With Wolf padding behind him, he followed the glimmer of Dark's cobweb hair. The walls closed in. Snowy reindeer and musk-oxen peered at him. Mindful of what else dwelt in the shadows, he said, 'Your sister. Is she . . .'

'It's Souls' Night. She's gone with the others.'

Torak felt icy air, and guessed that they'd reached the way out.

Dark jammed a slingshot in his belt and tied a birdskin snow mask around his eyes. Torak cut the thongs on his mittens, so they wouldn't get in the way. Dark kicked aside a granite wedge and rolled away a boulder; but as he knelt to crawl out, Torak said, 'Wait. I need you to do something.'

The last time he'd worn Death Marks had been three winters ago, when he'd prepared to hunt the demon bear. Then, Renn had helped him. Now it was Dark who must daub the earthblood circles on his breastbone, heels and brow.

As Dark stirred the ochre with thin fingers, he said, 'I remember this. It's for dead people.'

Torak didn't reply.

Dark's touch was light and skilled, and somehow rea.s.suring. 'There's some left,' he said when he'd finished. 'You must put it in your hair. There will be ghosts. You don't want them to come too close.'

The red paste chilled Torak's scalp, but felt oddly comforting: maybe because his mother, who had been Red Deer, would also have worn ochre in her hair.

He rubbed the last of it between Wolf's ears. Soon his pack-brother would be alone on the Mountain. This might keep him safe.