A flying hoof can kill a foolhardy young wolf. Torak had' taught him to avoid them, but what if he'd been careless? He'd be trapped. Unable to howl as the noose tightened round his neck. The trees creaked. More snow pattered down. Torak put his hands to his lips and howled. No reply. Renn gave him a worried smile; but in her dark eyes he saw his own anxiety.
There'll be enough light to track. They'd gone another few paces when she turned aside. Over here! They'd dug a pit, and hidden it with a flimsy screen of snow-covered branches. That wouldn't have held him for long, but in the churned-up snow around the pit, Torak found shreds of braided rawhide. I'm going to wake up, and Wolf is going to come loping through the trees. A shocking red spatter in the snow. I hope he bit their hands off! His fingers shook. He forced himself to read the snow.
Wolf had approached the pitfall warily, his tracks changing from a straight-line lope to a walk, in which front and hind prints showed side by side. But he'd approached just the same. Oh Wolf, said Torak silently.
Why weren't you more careful? Then it struck him that maybe it was his friendship with Wolf that had made him more trusting of people. Maybe this was his fault. He stared at the trampled trail that led north. Ice was forming in the tracks. Wolf's captors had a head start.
The bigger man's prints are deeper when he ran off. But why take him at all? No one would hurt Wolf. No one would dare. But I can't make out--" "Don't move! His father had taught him tracking, and he thought he knew every print of every creature in the Forest; but these were the strangest he'd ever seen. Very light and small, like a bird's--but not. The hind tracks resembled tiny, crooked, five-clawed hands, but there were no front prints, only two pockmarks: as if the creature had been walking on stumps.
Renn met his eyes. They used it as bait. Where could they go from there? They could've turned east for Lake Axehead, and kept going all the way to the High Mountains. Or doubled back south, for the Deep Forest. Or west, they could be halfway to the Sea by now-"Voices, coming their way.
They ducked behind the junipers. Renn readied her bow, and Torak drew his black basalt axe from his belt. Whoever it was, they were making no attempt at20stealth. Torak saw a man and woman, followed by a large dog dragging a sled on which lolled a dead roe buck.
A boy of about eight summers plunged eagerly ahead, and with him a younger dog with a deerhide saddlepack strapped to his belly. The young dog caught Wolf's scent on Torak, gave a terrified yelp, and sped, back to the boy, who halted.
Torak saw the clan-tattoo between his eyebrows: three slender black ovals, like a permanent frown. Renn breathed out. Maybe they saw something!
Of course we can! They saw her and broke into smiles. They were returning to their clan in the west, the woman explained. Her face was scarred, like birch canker, marking her as a survivor of last summer's sickness. Torak stood up. Did you see anyone? And we have the Leader's leave--""Did you see anyone?
Then I saw them. They had a net; it was struggling. He'd been clenching his fists so hard that his nails were digging into his palms. The boy stretched his arm above his head. And another, big, with bowed legs. The Leader of the Ravens is wise; he'll know what to do. Tell him we're going to get him back. It was past middle-night, and Torak was dizzy with tiredness. He forced himself to keep going. The trail of Wolf's captors lay like a snake in the moonlight.
North, always north. With heart-stopping suddenness, seven Mages loomed before him. Lean, horned shadows cut across his path. We will rule the Forest, they whispered in voices colder than windblown snow. All tremble before us.
We are the Soul-Eaters A hand touched his shoulder. He cried out. He blinked. Before him, seven birch trees glittered with frost. She gave a disbelieving snort. They trudged on, their breath smoking in the freezing air. Torak wondered if the dream meant something.
Could it be--was it possible that the Soul-Eaters were behind Wolf's disappearance? But what would they want with Wolf? Besides, no trace of them had been found. Since the sickness last summer, Fin-Kedinn had spoken to every clan in the Open Forest, and had sent word to the Deep Forest and the Sea and Mountain clans.
The Soul-Eaters had gone to ground like a bear in winter. And yet--Wolf was still gone. Torak felt as if he were walking in a blizzard of ignorance and fear. Raising his head, he saw the great bull Auroch high in the sky. He felt the malice of its cold red eye, and fought a rising tide of panic. First he'd lost his father. Now Wolf. What if he never saw Wolf again? What if he was already dead? The trees thinned. Before them glimmered a frozen river, crisscrossed with hare tracks.
On its banks, the25dead umbels of hemlock reached spiked fingers toward the stars. A herd of forest horses took fright and clattered off across the ice, then turned to stare. Their manes stood stiff as icicles, and in their moon-bright eyes Torak glimpsed an echo of his own fear. In his mind he saw Wolf as he'd looked before he vanished: magnificent and proud.
Torak had known him since he was a cub. Most of the time he was simply Wolf: clever, inquisitive, and fiercely loyal. Sometimes he was the guide, with a mysterious certainty in his amber eyes. Always he was a pack-brother. Maybe they want me, not Wolf. He hated being a spirit walker. And he hated that she'd said it out loud.
It felt like a scab being torn off. Two big strong men, we'd have been no match for th em. So why--""I don't know! What good does it do? I just want him back! The forest horses had trampled the trail, and for a while it was lost, which at least gave them an excuse to split up. When Torak found it again, it had changed. For the worse. We should build a shelter. Get some rest. I'm going on. He's my friend too.
A few paces back, one of them turned aside to follow those otter tracks--""What otter tracks? You're exhausted! So am I! But he didn't want to admit it. In silence they found a storm-toppled spruce, and dug out the snow at its base to make a makeshift sleeping-space. They roofed it with spruce boughs, and used their snowshoes as shovels to pack on a thick layer of snow. Finally they dragged more boughs inside, and laid their reindeer-hide sleeping-sacks on top.
When they'd finished, they were trembling with fatigue. From his tinder pouch Torak took his strike-fire and some shredded birch bark, and woke up a fire. The only deadwood he'd found was spruce, so it smoked and spat. He was too exhausted to care. Renn wrinkled her nose at the smoke, but didn't remark on it.
She took a coil of elk-blood sausage from her pack and cut it in three, then put one piece on the roof of the shelter for the clan guardian, and tossed Torak another. Tucking her own share in her food pouch, she picked up her axe and waterskin.
There's more meat in my pack, but don't touch the dried lingonberries. Then he crawled out of the shelter and made an offering. Cutting a lock of his long, dark hair, he tied it around28a branch of the fallen spruce. Then he put his hand on his clan-creature skin: the tattered scrap of wolf fur sewn to the shoulder of his parka. I ask by each of my three souls--by my name-soul, my clan-soul, and my world-soul--I ask that you watch over Wolf, and keep him from harm.
Renn had made her own offering. That made him feel guilty. He shouldn't have shouted at her. Back in the shelter, he pulled off his boots, wriggled into his sleeping-sack, and lay watching the fire, smelling the mustiness of reindeer fur and the bitter tang of spruce.
Far away, an owl hooted. Not the familiar bvoo-bvoo of a gray Forest owl, but the deep oo-hu, oo-hu, oo-hu of an eagle owl. Torak shivered.
He heard Renn's footsteps crunching through the snow, and called to her. So did I. It's just He heard her crunch toward the shelter--then circle behind it. He sat up. His heart began to pound.
It wasn't Renn. As quietly as he could, he wriggled out of his sleeping-sack, pulled on his boots, and reached for his axe. The footsteps came closer. Whoever it was stood only an arm's length away, separated by a flimsy wall of spruce. For a moment there was silence. Then--very loud in the stillness--Torak heard wet, bubbling breath. His skin prickled. He thought of the victims of last summer's sickness. The murderous light in their eyes; the slime catching in their throats He thought of Renn, alone by the river.
He crawled toward the mouth of the shelter. Clouds covered the moon, and the night was black. He caught a whiff of carrion. Heard again that bubbling breath. The breathing stopped. The stillness was absolute. Torak scrambled out of the shelter and stood, clutching his axe with both hands. Smoke stung his eyes, but for a heartbeat he glimpsed a huge form melting into the shadows.
A cry rang out behind him--and he spun around to see Renn staggering through the trees. I heard it. Whatever it was, it had gone, leaving only a whiff of carrion and a dread memory of bubbling breath. Sleep was now impossible.
They fed the fire, then sat up together, waiting for dawn. Torak shook his head. But I know one thing. If we'd had Wolf with us, it would never have got that close. With Wolf gone, they hadn't only lost a friend. They'd lost someone to keep them from harm.
Huge, manlike--but without any toes. The tracks were nothing like the booted feet of the men who'd captured Wolf, but they headed the same way.
Torak didn't reply. They had no choice but to follow. The sky was heavy with snow, and the Forest was full of shadows.
With each step they dreaded seeing a figure lurching toward them. Or one of the Hidden People, whose backs are hollow as rotten trees Torak watched the snow drifting across the tracks, and thought of Wolf. They began their descent into the next valley through a silent birchwood. The otter had bounded down the slope, then slid on its belly, as otters love to do.
Renn smiled, and for a moment, they pictured a happy otter taking a snow-slide. But the otter had never reached the frozen lake at the bottom of the hill. In the lee of a boulder twenty paces above the shore, Torak found a scattering of fish-scales and a shred of rawhide. It didn't make sense. Suddenly Renn tensed. Through the trees, Torak caught movement on the lake. A creature snuffling, swaying, searching for something.
It was very tall, with a shaggy pelt and a trailing, matted mane. Torak smelled carrion, and heard a wet bubbling of breath. Then it turned, and he saw a33filthy one-eyed face as rough as bark. He gasped. They stared at one another. They'd been lucky to escape with their lives. That he threw my quiver in the stream, and threatened to snap my bow? And Renn. What if he saw something? Torak, he's crazy! Whatever he says, we couldn't believe him! She tricked him! The Walker wants it back!
Loops of green slime swung like creepers from his shattered nose and his rotten, toothless mouth. He'd left his cape on the ice to fool them, and was naked but for a hide loincloth stiff with filth, foot-bindings of moldy wovenbark, and a rancid jerkin made from the skin of a red deer, which he'd ripped from the carcass and then forgotten to clean.
The tail, legs and hooves swung wildly as he waved his knife in their faces. His head was twisted back, his weapons tossed in the snow. In the snow, quick quick quick! The Walker pressed his knife against Torak's windpipe, cutting off his air.
And he'll do it, oh yes! Deftly the old man caught the stone, and threw Torak to the ground. Torak knew it, and so did Renn.
Neither of them moved. The old man turned on her, and she dodged a flailing hoof. Twisted legs and flying thoughts. Crudest of the cruel. They seek the empty lands! The Far North! Then you're hot, then you die. They keep him and keep him, and Narik is lost! Torak and Renn exchanged glances--then snatched up their weapons, and raced after him. Out on the ice, the Walker retrieved his shaggy cape, and resumed his snuffling search.
One of his foot-bindings came loose and blew away. Torak brought it back--and recoiled. The old man's foot was a blackened, frostbitten, toeless stump. It bit his toes, so he cut them off. Suddenly his face changed, and for a moment Torak saw the man he'd been before the accident that had taken his eye and his wits. That's why it's angry. That's why it bit the Walker's toes. Not even the Walker could eat them! He had to spit them out and leave them for the foxes! Renn clamped both hands over her mouth.
But still he searches for his Narik. Narik, thought Torak. The mouse who'd been the old man's beloved companion. The Walker shook his head sadly. He always comes back, in new fur. But not this time. Doesn't matter what, still the same Narik! New fur. Almost with reluctance, they left him, and made their way into the woods on the other side of the lake. An owl probably ate him for nightmeal.
How can he track a mouse, with only one eye? We'd better get going. The sun was getting low, the trail fast disappearing beneath windblown snow. And yet--he felt for the Walker. This stinking, angry, crazy old man had found one spark of warmth in his life: his Narik, his fosterling.
Now that spark was lost. Before Renn could protest, Torak dropped his gear and ran back to the lake. The old man didn't glance up, and Torak didn't speak to him. He put down his head and began looking for signs. It didn't take long to find a lemming burrow. He spotted weasel tracks, and followed them to a clump of39willow on the shore. There he crouched, listening for the small scratchings that told him where the lemmings were burrowing.
With its many knife-prick entrance holes, their winter shelter reminded him of an extremely small badger's sett. Peering at the snow, he found one hole rimed with tiny ice-arrows of frozen breath. That meant the occupant was at home. He marked the spot with two crossed willow twigs, and ran to fetch the old man.
The old man swung around. Then he followed Torak back to the crossed sticks. As Torak watched, he knelt and began clearing the snow with feather-light gentleness, stooping to blow away the final flakes. There, curled in its burrow on a neat bed of dried grass, lay a lemming about the size of Torak's palm: a soft, heaving ball of black and orange fur. The lemming woke with a start, sprang to its feet and gave a fearsome hiss to frighten off the intruder.
The Walker grinned, and extended his big, grimy hand. The lemming fluffed up its fur and hissed again. The Walker didn't move. Then it waddled meekly onto the leathery palm, curled up, and went back to sleep. Torak left them without a word. Back on the shore, Renn handed him his weapons and pack. Torak shrugged. Then he grinned. Now he's a lemming.
They hadn't gone far when they heard the crunch of snow, and the Walker's angry muttering. In one hand' he brandished his knife; the other clutched Narik to his chest. Do they think the Walker has forgotten the old ways? That is the way of things! Now the Walker must give back! They seek the eye of the viper! You may find your way out again, Wolf boy; but once you've gone in, you'll never be whole.
It'll keep a part of you down there. Down in the dark. He was caught in a Dark of his own: of rage and pain and fear. The tip of his tail ached where it had been stamped on in the fight, and his forepaw hurt from the bite of the big, cold claw.
He couldn't move at all, because he was squashed onto a strange, sliding tree, which the taillesses were dragging over the Bright Soft Cold. He couldn't even move to lick his wounds. He was flattened beneath a tangled deerhide that was pressing down on him hard. It was unlike any hide he'd ever encountered. It had lots of holes in it, but somehow it managed to be stronger43than an auroch's leg bone.
The growls inside him were fighting to get free, but more hide was tangled around his muzzle, so he couldn't let them out. That was the worst of it: that he couldn't growl or snap or howl. It hurt to hear Tall Tailless howling for him and not be able to howl back. Sharp and small inside his head, Wolf saw Tall Tailless and the female, running after him. They were coming. Wolf knew that as surely as he knew his own scent.
Tall Tailless was his pack-brother, and a wolf never abandons his packbrother. He was smart, but he wasn't at all good at finding, because he wasn't a normal wolf.
Oh, he smelled of wolf as well as lots of other things besides , and he talked like a wolf, even if he couldn't hit the highest yips.
And he had the light silver eyes, and the spirit of a wolf. But he moved slowly on his hind legs, and was very bad at catching scents. Suddenly the sliding tree shuddered to a halt. Wolf heard the harsh bark of tailless talk; then the crunch of the Bright Soft Cold as they began to dig their Den. Behind him on the tree, the otter woke up, and started a piteous mewing. On and on she went, until Wolf wanted to shake her in his jaws to make her stop.
He heard a tailless approaching from behind. He was too squashed to turn and see, but he caught the smell of44fish. The otter stopped mewing, and started making scrunching noises. That was a relief. A few lopes ahead, the Bright Beast-that-Bites-Hot snarled into life. Wolf watched the taillesses gather around it. They bewildered him. Until now, he'd thought he knew their kind. At least, he knew the pack that Tall Tailless ran with, the pack that smelled of ravens.
But these--these were bad. Why had they attacked him? Taillesses are not the enemies of wolves. The enemies of wolves are bears and lynxes, who sneak into Dens to kill wolf cubs. Not taillesses. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator.
We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Soul Eater may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them. DMCA and Copyright : The book is not hosted on our servers, to remove the file please contact the source url.
If you see a Google Drive link instead of source url, means that the file witch you will get after approval is just a summary of original book or the file has been already removed. Loved each and every part of this book. The books are page turners, and "Soul Eater" is perhaps the most thrilling, with a satisfyingly twisty plot and some genuine surprises. But arguably the greatest success of the series is Paver. After reading biochemistry at University of Oxford, where she earned a first-class degree, she became a partner in a London law firm.
Soul Eater by Michelle Paver. Pages clean, no library stamps, no annotations, no marks.
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