The Tiger and the Wolf (32 page)

Maniye had not looked back: the absence of her father in immediate pursuit was not enough to make her slow. He would be
there right behind, she knew, or some of his people. If she
slowed – if she let curiosity best her – then he would take her.

But then she was seeing the murkiness of the marsh ahead of
her, the heaped earth of the island running out, and her straight
course became a curve that brought others into her sight. She
had thought that they would be looking at her: she had pelted
between the stones, stirred up the gods. But no, they were still
looking towards the circle, and a single fleeing Wolf girl was
nothing to them.

And then she could not stop herself. She looked back, and
saw that none of the Winter Runners was there. Instead they
were gathered before the stones, and within . . .

She witnessed the last moments of the fight. She saw Akrit
Stone River triumph over his enemy, and then throw his bloody
muzzle up to the sky to give vent to his victory.

The other throats that joined with him took on a single voice
that stabbed at the crowded sky and made it something that
usurped all that it touched, driving the gods and spirits before it,
pushing them away from their own place until only Wolf was
left, ringing in every ear.

She felt it deep inside her, where her wolf soul was. She
wanted to add her own howl to that chorus, to become part of
the pack that she had just forsworn. The need was something
external to her, and yet it was strong. She felt herself being
shaken in its jaws.

But she put her head down and forced herself on through it,
knowing only now:
I am my only master.
Around her she saw the more timid of the others already
moving for the causeway. The Coyote and the Deer, the stocky
men of the Boar, they packed their tents and left, or else just fled
and abandoned what they could not pick up in that moment.
She could smell their fear, the rich savour of it. The Wolf was
loose and gone mad, after a generation where they had lived
mostly in peace even under the Wolf’s Shadow. She saw a handful of men of the Eyrie simply take flight, Stepping up into the
air in a clap of wings.
And she dashed past them all and through their camps, leaping over their fires and darting around their sleds and piled
packs, and not one of them called after her or tried to stop her.
She was Wolf, for all she was no part of what Akrit had done.
She breathed out dread and trailed fear behind her.
Then there was another camp ahead, and she saw a sudden
flurry of activity there: men and women in bronze-scaled mail
spreading out, bearing short, curved knives and hatchets, hefting slender javelins. They did not scatter, nor did they reek of
fear. The Tiger, she saw. This was the camp of the Tiger.
My people
, and it was only when the first javelin flew that she
realized they did not know her: they saw only Wolf, that had
been their enemy before – and would be so again.
She twitched aside from the cast, and Stepped – knowing
already that she was too close, that the next throw might pin her
to the earth. Her panic sent her straight into her human form,
abruptly running far faster than she was capable of on two legs,
stumbling and tripping, hurtling head over heels.
Instinct took over then, and she realized only that she had
landed on her feet, and that they were the feet of a tiger.
The Tiger warriors were staring at her, most of them, save for
a couple still gazing out towards the circle. She forced herself
into her human shape again, desperate to speak. ‘Please! I’m
you!’ She had meant to say,
One of you
, or
One of yours
, but it
came out muddled. ‘Please –’ and the irrevocable step – ‘take me
with you.’
There was a woman there, the same tall priestess Maniye had
seen in the circle. The others deferred to her, and her green eyes
bored into Maniye’s soul. There was a moment of stillness
between them, each studying the other. Like the Bear, the
people of the Tiger looked different to the rest of the Crown of
the World. Their eyes, their sharp chins, their skins with just a
touch of the coppery Plains colour. They wore their hair pulled
back and braided into long tails, laced with gold and gleaming
stones.
‘We leave now,’ the Tiger priestess declared. ‘She comes with
us.’ And, at the snarling looks from some of her followers,
‘There is a story here, and I will know it.’ Not the most reassuring of words, but better than her turning Maniye away.
She was bitterly aware that she was abandoning Hesprec. She
could only hope that he would be safe with the Bear tribe –
surely they were proof against the depredations of the Wolf? If
she could have carried him with her, she would, but there was
no chance, no choice. The world brooked no delay.
The Tiger carried what she had taken for large shields or
curved drums, but when they reached the water’s edge, they
turned them upside down and made boats of them. The eggshell
things seemed far too fragile to trust her weight to, but everyone
else there was larger than she was, and none of them hesitated.
She did, just for a moment, a heartbeat, looking back at the
island, at the stones, at the unseen roiling host of spirits that was
rising up like startled birds. She looked for something slender
and serpentine, sliding towards her. She looked for a haggard
old man with his bald head covered. She saw neither.
So she let herself be steadied in one of the craft, the priestess
squeezing up beside her, embracing her close against the chill of
her mail. Then the woman had taken up a short paddle, and she
– and all the Tigers there – were making their way across the
cloudy waters of the marsh, away from the howls of the Wolf.

With the taste of Water Gathers’ blood in his mouth he had
been exultant, defiant. He had faced down the whole invisible
world. He had howled, and the Wolf had howled back.

Now Akrit Stone River sat and stared into the fire, and felt
the same leaden despondency that often came to him after his
fights and rages. The world seemed a dark and uncertain place
again. He had done a terrible thing. It had been a bold thing,
when he was doing it. It had been what a Wolf warrior should
do. But now it seemed more and more a terrible thing, and he
wasn’t sure what to do about it.

‘The signs are . . .’ Kalameshli looked grave and drawn, and
yet with a new edge to him. ‘The spirits of this place are in turmoil.’

We are all in turmoil. Let them for once experience how a man
lives.
‘I don’t care about them,’ Akrit made himself say. It was
not true, but if he said it often enough then it might become
true. ‘I don’t care about them, and they’re too big, too far away,
to really care about us. Isn’t that what you’ve said? They’ll just
forget.’

The priest’s shoulders rose and fell. ‘This is where they come
closest to the earth, where they can hear our voices. A deed
done here in their full view cannot but bring repercussions. You
are marked, Akrit Stone River. The powers of the world have
marked you.’

‘Let them. They mark great men, do they not? Every hero of
our stories was marked out by the world as a man apart.’
And
how many of them came to a happy end?
But it was true: the wise
man avoided the attention of the invisible world, but it was a
sharp-edged knife, if he could only avoid the blade and grasp
the hilt.

Kalameshli’s thoughts had probably run through the same
twists. ‘The gods—’ he started.
‘Only one of them matters,’ Akrit said forcefully. ‘Do I care
that the Deer resents me? Do I care if the Boar carries ill will?
Or even the Bear? How do I stand with the Wolf, Takes Iron? I
thought . . . when it happened, I thought I felt him. I was inside
the circle and I felt him there. And I had done the right thing, I
knew it.’ That blessed moment without doubts . . . but doubts
always crept in, in the end.
‘The Wolf is watching you,’ Kalameshli told him. The priest
had been seeking the future ever since Water Gathers’ death,
and it was almost evening now. They had the island to themselves, the people of the Wolf, for the other tribes had left with
speed. And
that
had felt good, too. They had all been reminded
who the true masters of the Crown of the World were. The Wolf
had grown soft and slack, before. Now the message would go
out to every village: that those born within the Jaws of the Wolf
did not fear even the great spirits.
‘Watching me? What does that mean?’
‘He is following your tracks,’ old Takes Iron said. ‘He is following to see where you will take him. If he finds you wanting,
he will bring you down.’
‘Or?’
The old priest’s gaze was level. ‘Or he will hunt alongside
you.’
Akrit forced a smile. ‘So: this is good, is it not?’ He cast the
priest an exasperated glance.
‘Before this happened, I had spoken with other priests from
other tribes,’ Kalameshli advanced carefully. ‘There have been
many omens in this last year: of a great time of strife, the overturning of many things. It seems a testing will come to the
people and to the land.’
‘Are we to be that testing? Is it the Tiger war?’
Kalameshli took a deep breath. ‘I think that there are only two
ways to meet a test: swift feet, strong jaws.’
‘Let the Coyote run.’
The priest smiled slightly. ‘I think that we are already at the
heart of the trouble. I think that to run is not a choice we can
make. Doing what you have done, you have turned us all to
face the storm. If the other tribes will follow you, then they will
face it along with us.’
‘Speak plainly,’ Akrit directed.
‘Before this day, you wanted to become High Chief because
it was a role fit for you, and because you are a man who saw it
within his reach.’ He held up a hand to forestall Akrit’s interjection. ‘Before this day, you wanted to bring Tiger into the Wolf’s
Shadow, because you have never stopped hating the Shadow
Eaters.’
‘And now?’
‘And now you
must
accomplish these things, or fall,’ Kalameshli told him flatly. ‘Now the future will weigh upon your
shoulders and make a trial of your strength. If you are the man
who can do what he boasts, then you shall bear the future aloft.
You shall wrestle it and cast it down. And if you fail at these
things, if you are no more than just Akrit Stone River of the
Winter Runners, then the spirits that marked you here will
destroy you.’
‘Do not fear for me.’ But Akrit could not keep his voice
entirely steady. Hearing his own uncertainty, he snarled. ‘Fear
instead for whoever took my daughter. Tell me you have news of
her.’
‘All streams lead to the same river,’ Kalameshli said, with an
almost-exasperated twitch of his hands. ‘The Coyote saw her go.
She left with the Shadow Eaters. They will make for their
strongholds in the highlands, and hide her there.’
‘But?’
‘Broken Axe has gone after her. He will track her, wherever
she goes. He will steal her back or else he will tell you where she
is, so that you can start your war.’
Akrit felt the world had become a torrent of water, carrying
him along, carrying them all. ‘And the other tribes?’
‘Like the Wolf, they watch,’ Kalameshli confirmed.
‘But they must remember the war with the Tiger. Every tribe
will have its warriors who fought in it.’ Akrit stood up suddenly.
‘You’re right. This is the time to act, to seize the moment in our
teeth and see if we can tear it free. Fail at this, fail at it all: that
is what you’re telling me.’
The priest nodded, gaze fixed on him.
‘Tell them to gather their warriors. Tell them the Shadow
Eaters have stolen my daughter. Tell them this is an insult to the
Wolf, a sign that they mean to come down from the high places
and rule over us again. Tell the people of the Wolf to ready
themselves for a summer war.’

The Tiger priestess was called Aritchaka, and this was how her
fellows addressed her. Later, Maniye learned that she had
earned herself a proper name, what a Wolf would call a hunter’s
name, but amongst the priests of the Tiger such names were
kept secret and used only within their own clandestine rites. She
travelled with two male servants or guards, and she called them
Red Jaw and Club Head. They spoke seldom and stayed very
close to her. Red Jaw had a sheath of javelins and a spearthrower, and Club Head bore a knotted length of polished wood
studded with bone and teeth. They wore sleeveless armour of
square leather panels stitched together, which fell to their knees,
while their lower legs were wrapped in cloth. There were livid
marks striping their forearms.
Burns
, Maniye realized.

Aritchaka herself was clad in a cuirass of bronze scales, and
she had donned a helm of the same metal with a red feather
cresting it. At her belt was a curved knife and a short-hafted axe
with a spike jutting backwards from the head. Altogether, the
three of them cut as alien a trio as any Maniye had ever seen.
She reckoned that even Hesprec would seem familiar and safe
when compared to them.

There were others of the Tiger fleeing the Stone Place, but
they were well spread out, each carrying a little boat on his or
her back, and each ranging wide in search of enemies. They
occasionally ghosted out from between the trees or from behind
rocks, to give Aritchaka a brief signal by nod or gesture before
vanishing off again.

Maniye had admitted only to the name ‘Many Tracks’.
They travelled hard for the first day, pushing north and east,
taking higher ground whenever it was offered. When necessary,
they Stepped in order to climb, with one or other of the men
clawing his way up with a cord about his shoulder, then hauling
the boats up after them. Maniye Stepped with them, without
hesitation. Amongst other tigers, her tiger soul was like a comfortable garment. The idea of carrying a wolf body on her bones
grew swiftly strange and unlikely to her.
They took the water road whenever it was offered, their progress following a string of lakes like stones on a necklace. Each
time they did so, Maniye knew, they would be laying their scent
to rest, forcing any keen-nosed pursuers to dither about the
shore in order to hunt them down.
Still, there was one moment that she looked back, as they
scaled a jagged-edged scarp of rock, and she spotted him: a pale
wolf with dark shoulders, effortlessly keeping pace. She did not
see him again, but after that she knew that Broken Axe would be
there marking their trail.
She did not say anything to Aritchaka, for she was terrified
that they would turn on her and drive her away if they thought
she was a liability.
They pushed on hard like this for two days, putting much
distance between them and any pursuers, before Aritchaka
seemed to relax a little. On the night of the second day they lit a
fire, rather than the four of them just Stepping to their feline
shapes and huddling close together for warmth. Club Head built
what looked like an altar over the little patch of flames, with a
flat stone crowning it, laid out some fish on it and let them cook.
Aritchaka now regarded her impassively, loosening the sash at
her waist and beckoning Red Jaw over to lift off her cuirass.
‘Tiger girl,’ she began, ‘Wolf girl. What does the chief of the
Winter Runners want with you, that he would tear down the
gods to get to you?’
Maniye felt her chest clench. She had expected questions, of
course, but not that they would be so well informed. A hundred
lies squirmed in her mind: she had been a sacrifice; she had
been caught spying or stealing; she was promised to the Horse
Society and must return to them . . . But who could say how
much this priestess already knew?
She took a deep breath, aware that she had already been
silent for too long, and that her silence was the only sound aside
from the crackling of the flames and the sizzling of the fish. All
three of them were studying her intently, their eyes glittering in
the firelight.
Without speaking, without acting, they stripped her of layer
after layer of lies-that-might-have-been until she was left only
with telling the truth. Or the truth as she knew it, which was all
the truth she had.
‘I am Stone River’s daughter,’ she informed them, seeing
Aritchaka’s eyes go wide in shock. The two men shifted posture
slightly – first as if to ward against a threat, but in the next
moment ready to seize her, her role now transformed from refugee to enemy. And of course the Wolf told many stories about
what the Shadow Eaters did with those they captured during
their raids.
‘He said that he got me on she who was once the Tiger
Queen,’ she forced herself to say.
Red Jaw hissed, baring his teeth, and Aritchaka cuffed him
across the face – a movement so swift and without thought that
it seemed mere force of habit. Then her hand lashed out and
had Maniye by the throat – no, by the chin, turning her face
slowly in the firelight, staring, staring . . .
Then the grip slackened, leaving Maniye gasping out, and
still pinned by that green gaze.
‘There is not much of her in your face. You look like a Wolf.’
And yet Aritchaka was thoughtful, clearly troubled.
‘Did you know her?’ Maniye pressed.
‘
Know
her?’ The priestess weighed the words in her mouth
before voicing them. ‘She who rules the Fire Shadow People is
also closest to the Tiger spirit. Whose will else should I obey?’
It took Maniye surprisingly long before she could say it. ‘Will
you tell me about her?’
‘No,’ came the swift answer. ‘Or not now. There will come a
time for many things.’