‘Are bear and wolven friends, then? Would they share a meal one with the other?’
‘They’d most likely fight,’ Drem answered. ‘Or maybe one would walk away, depending on how hungry they were, how big the bear was, and how many wolven in the pack.’
‘Aye, you have the right of it, lad. Things are rarely clean cut, black and white, right or wrong. Life’s more complicated than that. And so it is between the Ben-Elim and human-kind. Or so it should be . . .’ Olin’s hand dropped to the knife at his belt, fingertips brushing the worn leather hilt. ‘Besides, the Ben-Elim are not the only ones who hunt the Kadoshim.’
‘Who else does, then?’ Drem asked, leaning forwards.
‘Is there no end to your questions?’ his da muttered. ‘You’ll get no more out of me tonight. We’ve an early start and a long walk on the morrow. I’d recommend getting some sleep.’ And with that he rolled over.
What’s wrong with questions? Drem thought, feeling frustrated. They are all I have. Absently he lifted two fingers to his throat, searching for his pulse. Something about its steady rhythm soothed and calmed him when he felt anxious or troubled. He counted the beats, a whisper of breath.
‘Drem,’ his da said. ‘Stop taking your pulse, or at least, count in your head.’
‘Aye, Da.’
‘There it is,’ Drem said, pointing as the elk pit became visible on the path ahead of them. It was closer to sunset than highsun, both of them slowed by their injuries from the day before. They separated, slipping into the cool shadows of pine trees either side of the track, moving forwards slowly and searching for any signs of the white bear. There was none and they met beside the elk pit.
The elk was gone, snagged fur and dried blood staining the bottom of the pit, the earth churned and scattered, great gouges from the bear’s claws and ruts in the soil from the elk’s death-throes.
‘Taken it back to its den – some cave or safe place,’ Olin said. ‘Where it can eat in peace.’
Must be a cave the size of a mead-hall, Drem thought, looking at an imprint of one of the bear’s paws.
‘Well, as long as it’s far from us, I’m not caring,’ his da said. He sniffed and looked around; the hillside was quiet and still.
‘Let’s go see what’s left of our camp.’
Their path wound into the pine trees close to the river, and Drem saw the spot where he’d fallen, where his da had stood over him. For a moment he felt his blood run chill at the memory of it . . .
I wish I had Da’s courage.
A patch of blood and Drem’s axe lay amongst the forest litter close to where he’d fallen, beside it a claw, long and curled, a tuft of fur and flesh still attached to it where the axe had severed it from the bear’s paw.
‘There’s a keepsake for you,’ Olin said as he crouched and passed the claw to Drem, who whistled while turning it in his hand, the claw measuring from the tip of his finger to his wrist.
‘Not that you’ll need reminding of that beast,’ his da said.
‘Not likely,’ Drem muttered, the claw bringing back a kaleidoscope of memories of him lying on his back staring at the onrushing bear.
They found his da’s axe close by, its blade blood-crusted black.
‘Good axe, that,’ his da said with a smile, ‘Glad not to have seen the last of it.’
Their camp was mostly untouched, the piles of furs where they’d left them. One of their packhorses had slipped its rope but they found it only a few hundred paces away, contentedly eating grass. Something had been through the leftovers of their supper and ripped open a bag of cheese but, judging by the teeth marks, it was more the size of a weasel or stoat than a giant bear. It did not take long for them to break camp and soon they were winding their way back down the hillslope, leading three ponies, all piled high with bundled furs and kit. It was close to sunset but they’d agreed to get as far away from this spot as possible before darkness forced them to stop. Drem felt much better for a thick cloak about his shoulders, the spear he held in his hand and the axe hanging at his belt, not that weapons had done him or his da much good yesterday.
When they reached the elk pit Drem marvelled again at the carnage caused by one beast. Looking into it, something else caught his eye. Not a gleam, more the opposite: a matt darkness. Something black and solid.
Drem scrambled into the pit, careful not to take any weight on his injured ankle as he dropped the last few handspans, then crouched in the soil.
‘What is it?’ his da called from at the pit’s rim.
‘I don’t know,’ Drem answered as he scraped and dug at his feet. Then he sat back, frowning.
It looked like a slab of rock, black and pitted. It was roughly the length of his forearm, loosely shaped like a teardrop, cold to the touch. As Drem tried to pull it free of the soil around it, he realized it was heavy, much heavier than he would have expected of a slab of granite, or iron ore of a similar size.
Feet thumped to the ground beside him as Olin joined him.
‘What is it?’ his da asked again.
‘You remember I hit something hard when I was digging the pit – you called it the mountain’s roots,’ Drem said.
‘Aye. It was a joke,’ Olin muttered.
‘I think this is what I hit. The bear’s claws have raked around it, dug it free.’ Drem shuffled aside to show his da, who crouched down and reached out to touch the rock. He pulled his hand away, hissing as if he’d been burned or bitten.
‘What’s wrong?’ Drem asked.
Olin looked pale. ‘Get me my shovel,’ he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
SIG
Sig sat in her saddle, hunched over from the rain, and stared into the darkness. Beneath her, Hammer shifted her huge paws and gave a low, grumbling growl, more a vibration in the great bear’s belly that shivered up through Sig’s bones than an audible sound. Horses whinnied and stamped, no doubt unsettled by the great mass of muscle and teeth that they were standing with, too close for their liking.
It is not so easy for a giant such as I to stay hidden, but silence is at the heart of it, and I am making a better job of it than they are!
Sig frowned admonishingly down at the men gathered about her, even if the closest rider to her was Elgin, Battlechief of Ardain. He looked old to her in the darkness, deep lines in his face, though his straight back and the strength of his grip when she had arrived had told her all she needed to know.
It is not the first time we have hunted and fought together. Not many that I’d trust at my side beyond my sword-kin, but he is one of them.
Once this would have been unthinkable to her: a giant of the Jotun Clan, standing amongst the race of men in companionable silence. But now the giant Clans were reunited, and peace had been made with mankind.
Although the Banished Lands are not yet at peace.
‘How much longer,’ Sig heard someone whisper, a bodiless voice in the gloom.
‘Whisht,’ Elgin silenced the voice.
Sig sniffed the air and looked up at the sky, though there was naught to see except darkness and the sensation of rainpatter upon her face.