The Burning Shadow by Michelle Paver Page A

the marrow. The boar fell dead a cubit from where he knelt.
    He gave a jittery laugh. This was his fourth boar—he had to kill twelve before he’d have enough tusks to make a helmet—but it was by far the biggest. He couldn’t believe he’d killed it by himself.
    He tried to stand, but was annoyed to find that his legs didn’t work. He was shaking like a girl. Thank the spirits there was no one to see.
    Moments later, two goatherds came down the track, idly slashing the bracken with sticks.
    Telamon lurched to his feet.
    The goatherds recognized the son of their Chieftain, and dropped their sticks.
    Curtly, Telamon ordered them to carry the carcass back to Lapithos.
    â€œWhat about our goats, my lord?” said one.
    â€œDo as I say,” he snapped.
    As he strode off, he heard them snigger. The blood rushed to his face. They’d seen him shaking.
    Suddenly, Telamon despised himself for his weakness. With a stab of envy, he reflected that if it had been Hylas facing that boar,
he
wouldn’t have gone all shaky. Hylas was brave and tough. No one dared laugh at him . . .
    Shut
up,
Telamon told himself fiercely.
    By the time he reached his father’s stronghold at Lapithos, he was feeling a bit better. Thestor was delighted with his son’s kill, and insisted that he sit beside him on his bench. Fire, roast venison, and strong wine mixed with honey and barley meal did the rest. Telamon sat warming himself before the great round ancestral hearth, enjoying the approval of his father’s warriors and the pleasure in Thestor’s eyes.
    His new friend Selinos refilled his cup. “I hear it’s the biggest boar in Lykonia,” he said with an ingratiating smile.
    Telamon shrugged.
    Hylas would never have flattered me like this, he thought with a pang. He’d have grinned and said,
So how many more till you can call yourself a man, eh?
Then he’d have dragged me off to the forest and we’d have roasted a hedgehog in river clay and washed it down with a skinful of barley beer stolen from the village . . .
    â€œYour father’s very proud of you,” said Selinos in an undertone. “I’ve no doubt High Chieftain Koronos will be too.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve not been to Mycenae, have you? Or met your grandfather? I’m sure he’ll want to change that very soon.”
    Telamon forced a smile. Selinos came from Mycenae. Telamon suspected that Koronos had sent him to take a look at his grandson, and report back.
    This pleased and frightened Telamon in equal measure. Koronos was the most powerful Chieftain in Akea. And the most feared.
    The heat and noise of the feast faded, and Telamon remembered last summer, when he’d stood in this very hall with the dagger of Koronos in his hands.
    Proudly, he’d told his father how he’d taken it from the dead grip of his uncle Kratos. By retrieving the most precious heirloom of his clan, he’d gained great honor. And yet, Thestor’s praise had been stilted, for with him were his terrible siblings: his two surviving brothers, Kreon and Pharax, and their cold-eyed sister, Alekto.
    Apart from them, the hall had been empty. Earlier, Thestor’s entire household had gathered to see the dagger that held the power of the House of Koronos—but after that, they’d been sent away. None but Koronos’ closest blood kin must know of the perils their House faced. None must know what the Oracle had predicted: that an Outsider could bring them down . . .
    â€œSo tell me all about it,” said Selinos, wrenching him back. “
How
did you kill such a huge beast on your own?”
    â€œYes, how?” cried Thestor. Then to his warriors, “Listen to this, lads!”
    Dutifully, Telamon embarked on his story. But somehow, it didn’t feel real.
    He was walled in by secrets.
    The Oracle was a secret known only to Koronos and his