“Something’s coming,” he said.
He pointed ahead, through the trees. They stood in a clearing ringed by old-growth cedars and firs, now high enough up in the foothills that the outlines of the peaks ahead were clearly visible. They were not far from the shape-shifter habitat that Bek had suggested they go to, and the boy thought at first that perhaps the mountain creatures were coming to meet them.
But Truls did not seem to think so. “It’s tracking us,” he said quietly, as if trying to make sense of the idea.
Indeed, it made no sense. Whatever it was, it was ahead of them, not behind. It was upwind, as well. It couldn’t be following their footprints or their scent.
“How can that be?” Bek asked.
But the shape-shifter was already moving, taking them through the trees, perpendicular to the route they had been following and away from whatever was ahead. They worked through the deep woods, then across a narrow stream, backing down for almost a quarter of a mile before coming ashore again. All the while, Truls Rohk stayed silent, concentrating on what his senses could tell him. When Bek tried to speak, the shape-shifter motioned him silent.
Finally, they stopped on a wooded rise, where the shape-shifter set down Grianne, faced back in the direction they had been heading, then slowly pivoted to his right on a line parallel to the one they had been taking.
His rough voice was dark and hard. “It’s moving with us, staying just ahead. It’s waiting. It’s waiting for us to come to it.”
Bek had not missed the repeated use of the pronoun it in reference to whatever tracked them. “What is it, Truls?” he asked.
The shape-shifter stared into the distance for a moment without replying, then said, “Let’s find out.”
He picked up Grianne and started toward their stalker. Bek wanted to tell him that this was a bad idea and they should keep moving away. But trying to tell the shape-shifter what to do in this situation would just enrage him. Besides, if whatever tracked them could do so without following their scent or prints, it was not likely to be thrown off by a simple change of direction.
They moved ahead for a time, listening to the sounds of the forest. Slowly, those sounds died away. Within minutes, the woods had gone silent. Truls Rohk slowed, sliding noiselessly through the trees, stopping now and then to listen before continuing on. Bek stayed close to him, trying to move as quietly as the shape-shifter did, trying to be as invisible.
In a shallow vale through which a tiny stream meandered, the shape-shifter brought them to a halt. “There,” he said, and pointed into the trees.
At first, Bek saw just a wall of trunks interspersed with clumps of brush and tall grasses. It was dark where they stood, the light shut away by a thick canopy of limbs. The floor of the vale sloped down to the stream, where a patchwork of shadows and hazy light carpeted the forest floor. The air was cold and still, unwarmed by the sun, unstirred by the wind.
Then he saw a shadow that didn’t quite fit with everything else, squat and bulky, crouched back by the treeline where the dark trunks masked its features. He stared at it for a long time, and then it moved slightly, shifting position, and he saw the yellow glitter of its eyes.
A moment later, it detached itself from its concealment and padded into view. It was a massive creature, hump shouldered and broad chested, covered with coarse gray hair that stuck out in wild clumps. It had a wolf’s head, but the head had mutated into something dreadful. The snout was long and the ears pointed like a wolf’s, but the jaws were massive and broad, and when they split wide in a kind of panting grin, they revealed double rows of finger-long serrated teeth. Down on all fours, it moved with a shambling gait, its long forelegs disproportionate to its rear, which were short and powerful and sprouted from hindquarters dropped so low it appeared to be crouching.
It eased its way down into the vale until it was almost to the stream. There, it stopped, lifted its head, and emitted the most terrible mewling sound Bek had ever heard, a combination of wail and snarl that froze the woods into utter silence.
“What is it?” Bek whispered.
Truls Rohk’s laugh was low and wicked. “Your sister’s destiny, come back to claim her. That’s the thing she made to track us when we fled from her before, the thing the shape-shifters saved me from. I thought it dead and gone, but they must have set it free outside their boundaries. It’s a caull, but look at it! It’s mutated beyond what even she had intended. It’s become something even more monstrous. Bigger and stronger.”
“What does it want with us?” Bek looked at him. “It tracks us, you said. What does it want?”
“It wants her,” the shape-shifter answered softly. “It’s come for her. See how it looks at her?”
It was true. The hard yellow eyes were fixed not on the men, but on the sleeping girl, locked on her as she slept in the shape-shifter’s arms—focused on her with such intensity that its purpose was unmistakable.
“There’s true madness,” Truls whispered, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Captured, mutated, driven out, lost. It seeks only one thing. Revenge. For what has been done to it. For what has been stolen. A life. An identity. Who knows what it thinks and feels now? It must have tracked her through the connection of their magic, a joining of kindred. She created it, and it remains connected to her. It must be able to read her pulse or heartbeat. Or the sound of her breathing. Who knows? It sensed her and came.”
The caull cried out again, the same high-pitched wail. The skin on the back of Bek’s neck prickled and his stomach clenched. He had been afraid before on this journey, but never the way he was now. He couldn’t tell if it was the look of the caull, all crooked and bristling, or the sound of its cry, or just the fact of its existence, but he was terrified.
“What are we going to do?” he asked, barely able to get the words out.
Truls Rohk snorted derisively. “We let it have her. She made it; let her deal with the consequences.”
“We can’t do that, Truls! She’s helpless!”
The other turned on him. “This might be a good time for some rational thinking on your part, boy.” He emphasized the word. “There are so many things waiting to kill your sister that we can’t even begin to count them! Sooner or later, one of them will finish the job. All we do by interfering now is to prolong the process. You think you can save her, but you can’t. Time to let go of her. Enough is enough!”
Bek shook his head. “I don’t care what you say.”
“She is the Ilse Witch! Your sister is dead! Why are you so stubborn about it? Bah, I’ve had enough of this! You do what you wish, but I’m leaving!”
Bek took a deep, calming breath. “All right. Leave. You don’t owe me anything. It isn’t fair to ask you to do more than you have. You’ve done enough already.” He looked over at the caull as it hunched down at the edge of the stream. “I can take care of this.”
Truls Rohk snorted. “You can?”
“The wishsong was powerful enough to stop Antrax’s creepers. It can stop that thing.” He stepped close to the shape-shifter. “Give her to me.”
Without waiting for the other to respond, he reached in and took Grianne right out of his arms. Cradling her, he stepped away again. “She’s my sister, Truls. No matter what you say.”
Truls Rohk straightened and looked directly at Bek. “The wishsong is a powerful magic, Bek Ohmsford. But it isn’t enough here. You still haven’t mastered it. Your sister proved that to you already. That thing over there will be at your throat before you figure out what’s needed.”
Bek looked at the caull and went cold to the bone thinking of how it would feel to have those teeth and claws tearing into him. It would be over quickly, he guessed. The pain would be momentary. Then it would be Grianne’s turn.