Ghost Hunter by Michelle Paver, Geoff Taylor Page B
Authors: Michelle Paver, Geoff Taylor
Tags: General, Historical, Juvenile Fiction, Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic, Horror & Ghost Stories, Prehistory
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over, hitting his back, ears, paws. It was coming from the Up. He raised his head. It hit him in the eye. He shot under a willow.
The pattering grew to a thunder. The Bright Hard Cold was roaring from the Up, snapping branches, pummeling the cub.
The Den. Get inside the Den.
Seizing his courage in his jaws, he made a dash for it.
Ha! The Bright Hard Cold couldn't get him in here! He heard it snarling, furious at not being able to reach him.
81
The Den was only a bit bigger than he was, but at the back, that interesting smell was much stronger. The cub remembered it now. Wolverine.
Wolverines are extremely fierce, but luckily, this one wasn't moving. The cub sniffed. He extended a wary paw. The wolverine was Not-Breath.
The cub was used to eating soft, chewable meat which his mother and father sicked up; he had to struggle to get his jaws around a part of the wolverine. The meat was so tough, it was like chewing a log, but after much gnawing, he tore off a chunk and gulped it down.
He ate till his jaws ached and his belly felt full. Then he rolled in the rotten smell and went to sleep.
When he woke up, the Bright Hard Cold was still pounding the hillside, so he ate some more wolverine and slept. And woke. Ate. Slept....
When he woke again, all was quiet.
In the Now that he'd gone to in his sleep, he and his pack-sister had been clambering over his mother, play-biting her tail while she nuzzled their bellies.
In this Now, he was alone.
He whimpered. The noise he made in the stillness frightened him, so he stopped, and gnawed some more wolverine. Then he padded to the mouth of the Den.
The glare hurt his eyes. No smells. The only sounds were a strange crackling, and the hissing of the wind.
Blinking, he saw that the willows lay broken beneath
82
the Bright Hard Cold. The whole world lay beneath the Bright Hard Cold.
He ventured out. His paws shot from under him and he fell. He scrambled upright, digging in his claws.
Above him rose the white hill. Below him it swooped down, then up again. The cub didn't dare move. There was nowhere to move to. He lifted his muzzle and howled.
It was the strongest, least wobbly howl he'd ever managed--but no wolf answered.
Instead, a raven flew down, landing a few lopes away from him. Then another.
The cub lashed his tail and yowled with joy. These were his ravens, they belonged to the pack! Sleeking back his ears, he bounded toward them, slithering about on the Bright Hard Cold.
The ravens flew off, laughing. The cub didn't care, he was used to their tricks: they often pecked his tail and stole his meat. He raced after them--forgot about digging in his claws--and slid down the hill.
Still cawing with laughter, the ravens flew after him.
Crossly, the cub got up and shook himself.
The ravens lifted into the sky and flew away.
He barked. Come back!
The ravens circled over him, then flew off again, waggling their tails as they disappeared over the hill. Quork! Follow!
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The cub labored after them. When he reached the top of the hill, what he saw made him whimper in terror.
Above him rose the biggest rocks he'd ever seen; far bigger than even the boulder beyond the resting place.
Quork! croaked the ravens.
The cub was terrified. But he didn't want to get left behind.
Narrowing his eyes against the wind, he started after the ravens, toward the Mountains.
84
FOURTEEN
"How many day walks to the Mountains?" said Torak.
Renn shook her head.
They stood with the Forest at their back, staring over the rolling, snowbound fells. Far in the distance--yet dreadfully present--rose the shining peaks of the High Mountains.
Torak's spirit quailed. From where he stood, he made out thousands of tiny pinnacles. Any one could be the Mountain of Ghosts. And his only hope of finding it lay with the Mountain clans.
Renn seemed to hear his thoughts. "The reindeer will
85
be heading for the shelter of the Forest. Fin-Kedinn says the
The pattering grew to a thunder. The Bright Hard Cold was roaring from the Up, snapping branches, pummeling the cub.
The Den. Get inside the Den.
Seizing his courage in his jaws, he made a dash for it.
Ha! The Bright Hard Cold couldn't get him in here! He heard it snarling, furious at not being able to reach him.
81
The Den was only a bit bigger than he was, but at the back, that interesting smell was much stronger. The cub remembered it now. Wolverine.
Wolverines are extremely fierce, but luckily, this one wasn't moving. The cub sniffed. He extended a wary paw. The wolverine was Not-Breath.
The cub was used to eating soft, chewable meat which his mother and father sicked up; he had to struggle to get his jaws around a part of the wolverine. The meat was so tough, it was like chewing a log, but after much gnawing, he tore off a chunk and gulped it down.
He ate till his jaws ached and his belly felt full. Then he rolled in the rotten smell and went to sleep.
When he woke up, the Bright Hard Cold was still pounding the hillside, so he ate some more wolverine and slept. And woke. Ate. Slept....
When he woke again, all was quiet.
In the Now that he'd gone to in his sleep, he and his pack-sister had been clambering over his mother, play-biting her tail while she nuzzled their bellies.
In this Now, he was alone.
He whimpered. The noise he made in the stillness frightened him, so he stopped, and gnawed some more wolverine. Then he padded to the mouth of the Den.
The glare hurt his eyes. No smells. The only sounds were a strange crackling, and the hissing of the wind.
Blinking, he saw that the willows lay broken beneath
82
the Bright Hard Cold. The whole world lay beneath the Bright Hard Cold.
He ventured out. His paws shot from under him and he fell. He scrambled upright, digging in his claws.
Above him rose the white hill. Below him it swooped down, then up again. The cub didn't dare move. There was nowhere to move to. He lifted his muzzle and howled.
It was the strongest, least wobbly howl he'd ever managed--but no wolf answered.
Instead, a raven flew down, landing a few lopes away from him. Then another.
The cub lashed his tail and yowled with joy. These were his ravens, they belonged to the pack! Sleeking back his ears, he bounded toward them, slithering about on the Bright Hard Cold.
The ravens flew off, laughing. The cub didn't care, he was used to their tricks: they often pecked his tail and stole his meat. He raced after them--forgot about digging in his claws--and slid down the hill.
Still cawing with laughter, the ravens flew after him.
Crossly, the cub got up and shook himself.
The ravens lifted into the sky and flew away.
He barked. Come back!
The ravens circled over him, then flew off again, waggling their tails as they disappeared over the hill. Quork! Follow!
83
The cub labored after them. When he reached the top of the hill, what he saw made him whimper in terror.
Above him rose the biggest rocks he'd ever seen; far bigger than even the boulder beyond the resting place.
Quork! croaked the ravens.
The cub was terrified. But he didn't want to get left behind.
Narrowing his eyes against the wind, he started after the ravens, toward the Mountains.
84
FOURTEEN
"How many day walks to the Mountains?" said Torak.
Renn shook her head.
They stood with the Forest at their back, staring over the rolling, snowbound fells. Far in the distance--yet dreadfully present--rose the shining peaks of the High Mountains.
Torak's spirit quailed. From where he stood, he made out thousands of tiny pinnacles. Any one could be the Mountain of Ghosts. And his only hope of finding it lay with the Mountain clans.
Renn seemed to hear his thoughts. "The reindeer will
85
be heading for the shelter of the Forest. Fin-Kedinn says the
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