Spirit Walker by Michelle Paver Read Free Book Online Page B

Torak, things are different. The trees are more watchful; the clans more suspicious. If you ever venture in, be careful. And remember that in summer, the World Spirit walks in the deep valleys, as a tall man with the antlers of a deer. . . .
    In the late afternoon, with the rain still falling, Torak paused at a stream to rest. Hanging his gear on a holly tree, he went to refill his waterskin. In the mud he found fresh tracks. The boar had been here before him, and recently: the tracks were
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sharp, their dewclaws deeply indented. It was good to know that his friend was close. As he knelt to fill the waterskin, he caught the familiar mustardy scent, and grinned. "I was wondering where you'd gone."
    On the other side of the stream, the bracken parted--and there was the boar.
Something was wrong. The coarse brown fur was matted with sweat. The small eyes were dull, and rimmed with red.
Torak let fall the waterskin and backed away.
The boar gave a squeal of rage.
And charged.
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Chapter NINE
Torak leaped for the nearest tree as the boar crashed toward him.
Panic lent him strength. He caught at a branch and hauled himself up, swinging his legs out of reach as the tusks gouged the trunk where his foot had been. The tree shuddered. Torak clawed bark.
Hooking his leg over the branch, he hoisted himself into the fork. He wasn't even two paces above the boar, but he couldn't go any higher, the tree was too spindly. He'd lost his boots, and his feet were slippery with mud; he clutched branches to steady himself. One
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broke with a crack. The boar threw up its head and glared.
The brown eyes that had been so steady and wise were bulging and bloodshot. Something had happened to turn it into a monster. That reminded him horribly of Oslak.
    "But I'm
youy friend"
he whispered.
The boar gave a wheezy roar and thundered off into the Forest.
When it did not come back, Torak blew out a shaky breath. But he knew it was too soon to climb down. Boars are cunning; they know how to lie low. This one could be anywhere.
     
His legs were cramped, and as he shifted position, pain shot through his right calf. Glancing down, he was startled to see that it wasn't mud that had made him slip, but blood. The boar's tusk had caught him on the calf, but in the shock of the attack he hadn't felt it. Nothing he could do about it now.
    The rain eased, and the sun came out. Around him he saw holly and oak trees, with an undergrowth of bracken and foamy meadowsweet. It all looked so peaceful. The boar's mustardy scent hung in the air. It could be five paces away and he'd never know it. Not till it was too late.
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Below him a redstart alighted on a clump of burdock, scattering raindrops. He thought, if
wouldn
't
have come if the boar were near.
To make sure, he drew his knife and, with a quick apology to the willow's spirit, lopped off a small branch and tossed it down.
The redstart flew off. The bracken exploded.
Clasping the tree, Torak watched the boar savage the branch he'd let fall: tusking and trampling it to a mess of pulped fibers. If he'd jumped down, that would have been him.
    The boar tossed the shredded stick into the bracken, wheeled around, and lowered its head. Then it threw itself against the tree.
Its shoulder hit the trunk like a boulder thudding to earth. Willow leaves fell like rain. Grimly, Torak clung on.
Again the boar struck.
And again.
In a flood of panic, Torak saw what it was doing. It was trying to knock down the tree.
And it could do it, too, because--he realized with mounting horror--he'd climbed the wrong tree. Instead of the sturdy oaks and hollies that could have withstood a rampaging boar, he'd chosen a slender willow with a trunk only slightly thicker than he was.
    Oh, very clever, Torak, he snarled inside his head.
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Another thud--and this time, a loud splintering. Below him, a wound gaped in the bark. He saw pinkish-brown wood, and glistening tree-blood. . . . Do something. Fast.
The nearest oak was
maybe within
reach, if he