Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Omnibus by Michelle Paver & Geoff Taylor

Author:Michelle Paver & Geoff Taylor
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Prehistoric Peoples, Bears, Battles, Fiction, Voyages and travels, Death, Magic, Murder, Philosophy, Science Fiction, Horror & Ghost Stories, Adventure Fiction, Children's Stories, Values & Virtues, Social Issues, Animals, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Enemies, Historical, Wolves, Friendship, Prehistory, Action & Adventure, Wolves & Coyotes, General, Fantasy, Good & Evil, Demoniac Possession, Good and Evil
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Outcast (Chronicles of Ancient Darkness #4)

Michelle Paver

ONE

The viper glided down the riverbank and placed its sleek head on the water, and Torak stopped a few paces away to let it drink. His arms ached from carrying the red deer antlers, so he set them aside and crouched in the bracken to watch. Snakes are wise, and know many secrets. Maybe this one would help him deal with his.

The viper drank with unhurried sips. Raising its head, it regarded Torak, flicking out its tongue to taste his scent. Then it coiled neatly back on itself and vanished into the ferns. It had given him no sign.

10

But you don'tneeda sign, he told himself wearily. You know what to do. Just tell them. Soon as you get back to camp. Just say, "Renn. Fin-Kedinn. Two moons ago, something happened. They held me down, they put a mark on my chest. And now ..."

No. That wasn't any good. He could picture Renn's face. "I'm your best friend--and you've been lying to me for two whole moons!"

He put his head in his hands.

After a while he heard rustling, and glanced up to see a reindeer on the opposite bank. It was standing on three legs, furiously scratching its budding antlers with one hind hoof. Sensing that Torak wasn't hunting, it went on scratching. The antlers were bleeding: The itch must be so bad that the only relief was to make them hurt. That's what I should do, thought Torak. Cut it out. Make it hurt. In secret. Then no one need ever know.

The trouble was, even if he could bring himself to do it, it wouldn't work. To get rid of the tattoo, he'd have to perform the proper rite. He'd learned that from Renn, whom he'd approached in a roundabout way, using the zigzag tattoos on her wrists as an excuse.

"If you don't do the rite," she'd told him, "the marks just come back."

"They come back?" Torak had been horrified. "Of course. You can't see them; they're deep in the 11 marrow. But they're still there." So that was the end of that, unless he could get her to tell him about the rite without revealing why he needed to know.

The reindeer gave an irritable shake and trotted off into the Forest, and Torak picked up the antlers and started back for camp. They were a lucky find, big enough for everyone in the clan to get a piece, and perfect for making fish-hooks and hammers for knapping flint. Fin-Kedinn would be pleased. Torak tried to fix his mind on that. It didn't work. Until now, he hadn't understood how much a secret can set you apart. He thought about it all the time, even when he was hunting with Renn and Wolf.

It was early in the Moon of the Salmon Run, and a sharp east wind carried a strong smell of fish. As Torak made his way beneath the pines, his boots crunched on flakes of bark scattered by woodpeckers. To his left,

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