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northern shore. At the eastern end of the bay, he found more.
It was Renn's--he would know her footprint anywhere--but she hadn't been alone.
Another track overlaid hers: slender, high-arched, the same shape as Renn's--but
longer. Seshru. Torak rubbed a hand over his face. Renn had confronted the Viper
Mage alone and at night, in this haunted place. "What happened to her?" said Bale
in a low voice. "Did Seshru--" "I don't know," snapped Torak. "Let me think!"
They'd hardly spoken all night, except for brusque exchanges to determine where to
search next, but Torak could feel Bale blaming him. He forced himself to
concentrate on the tracks.
The trail of the Viper Mage led back into the Forest, then disappeared. More
encouragingly, the upper part of the shore was crisscrossed with paw prints. From
the look of it, Wolf had been casting for scents.
"Wolf was with her," said Bale. "That must be a good sign."
"Maybe," muttered Torak. He scanned the shore. Oh, Wolf, where are you?
He didn't dare howl, for fear of drawing Seshru. Her presence hung in the air, like
the smell of smoke which lingers after a fire.
"But if Renn was here," said Bale, "where did she go?"
Head down, Torak traced her trail from the trees at
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the eastern end of the bay to where it ended. Then he did it again. Same result. The
trail ended in the Lake.
Shutting his mind to the worst, he continued his search.
Over here something had scraped through the mud into the shallows. Near it he
found an alder sapling, its bark slightly worn in a narrow band, as if by rope. "A
boat. She found a boat moored to this tree."
Bale blew out a long breath. "That means she could be anywhere." He flexed his
shoulders. "We need to rest. Start again when it's light. Otherwise we'll make
mistakes."
I started doing that a while back, thought Torak.
To get away from the guardian posts, they took the skinboat around a spur of pines
and put in at the next bay, then carried the boat a good distance up the wooded
slope beyond the shore. Bale shared out a few strips of dried duck meat, and they
ate in prickly silence.
Dawn wasn't far off, but the Forest was strangely hushed. No frogs, no crickets.
And no birds, thought Torak uneasily. Only Rip and Rek, who were making
nuisances of themselves picking at his gear.
From where he sat, he saw the flicker of campfires on the western shore. He
guessed that the Raven Clan would be among them. Fin-Kedinn would have come
in search of Renn.
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"Torak," said Bale, cutting across his thoughts. "What," he replied.
"I know she should've told you sooner."
Torak set his teeth. For Bale to mention Renn was like ripping off a scab.
"But the fact that her mother is ... I mean, it doesn't change that she's your friend."
"What changes everything," said Torak, "is that she didn't tell me." But inside, he
was finding that harder and harder to believe.
"To carry such a secret." Bale shook his head. "What a burden."
Torak picked up a stone and threw it at a tree-trunk. He missed. The ravens raised
their heads and gave him reproachful stares.
"Although," Bale went on, relentless, "she's tough. Brave, too."
Torak turned on him. "Allright!You've said what you want--now leave me in
peace!" Snatching up his things, he moved off a few paces, then threw himself
down with his back to Bale.
Wisely, the Seal boy left him alone.
Torak wasn't hungry anymore, and although he was exhausted, he knew he
wouldn't sleep. To make matters worse, Rip and Rek were being particularly
annoying. Rek kept fluttering her wings, pretending to be a fledgling in desperate
need of food, and Rip was
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pecking at his knife-hilt.
"Stop it," Torak told him. Of course that didn't work.
He tossed Rip a scrap of meat. The raven ignored it and made another attack on the
knife.
"Stop it!" said Torak in a hoarse whisper. "What's the matter?" Bale called softly.
Torak didn't reply. Rip was staring up at him: not asking for food, just staring. His
eyes were black as the Beginning, and his raven souls reached out to Torak's. Torak
glanced from Rip to the sinew binding on the hilt of his knife, then back to Rip. He
turned his head and stared at Bale. He tried to speak, but no sound came. The Seal
boy saw his expression and came toward him.
Still without speaking, Torak drew the knife from its sheath and picked feverishly
at the binding. It was tight--Fa had renewed it the summer before he was killed--
and not even raven beaks had made much impression.
Without asking for an explanation, Bale handed him his own knife. "Gut it," he
said. Once the sinew was cut, it was easier to unpick. Torak's heart raced as he
peeled back the final layer. The trees stilled. 284 The Lake held its breath.
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