HotmailGo on a mystical adventure with ‘Wolf Brother’
Al’s Book Club for kids: ‘Mountain Meets the Moon’ The latest book club pick tells the story of a young girl who, inspired by her father's folktales, journeys to find the Old Man on the Moon and ask him to help her struggling family. An excerpt. |
Fa swallowed. “Head north. Many daywalks. Find — the Mountain — of the World Spirit.”
Torak stared at him. What?
His father’s eyes opened, and he gazed into the branches overhead, as if he saw things there that no one else could. “Find it,” he said again. “It’s the only hope.”
“But — no one’s ever found it. No one can.”
“You can.”
“How? I don’t —”
“Your guide — will find you.”
Torak was bewildered. Never before had his father talked like this. He was a practical man; a hunter. “I don’t understand any of this!” he cried. “What guide? Why must I find the Mountain? Will I be safe there? Is that it? Safe from the bear?”
Slowly, Fa’s gaze left the sky and came to rest on his son’s face. He looked as if he was wondering how much more Torak could take. “Ah, you’re too young,” he said. “I thought I had more time. So much I haven’t told you. Don’t — don’t hate me for that later.”
Torak looked at him in horror. Then he leaped to his feet. “I can’t do this on my own. Shouldn’t I try to find —”
“No!” said his father with startling force. “All your life I’ve kept you apart. Even — from our own Wolf Clan. Stay away from men! If they find out — what you can do ...”
“What do you mean? I don’t —”
“No time,” his father cut in. “Now swear. On my knife. Swear that you will find the Mountain, or die trying.”
Torak bit his lip hard. East through the trees, a gray light was growing. Not yet, he thought in panic. Please not yet.
“Swear,” hissed his father.
|
His father breathed out. “Good. Good. Now. Put the Death Marks on me. Hurry. The bear — not far off.”
Torak felt the salty sting of tears. Angrily he brushed them away. “I haven’t got any ochre,” he mumbled.
“Take — mine.”
In a blur, Torak found the little antler-tine medicine horn that had been his mother’s. In a blur, he yanked out the black oak stopper, and shook some of the red ochre into his palm.
Suddenly he stopped. “I can’t.”
“You can. For me.”
Torak spat into his palm and made a sticky paste of the ochre, the dark-red blood of the earth, then he drew the small circles on his father’s skin that would help the souls recognize each other and stay together after death.
First, as gently as he could, he removed his father’s beaver-hide boots and drew a circle on each heel, to mark the name-soul. Then he drew another circle over the heart, to mark the clan-soul. This wasn’t easy, as his father’s chest was scarred from an old wound, so Torak managed only a lopsided oval. He hoped that would be good enough.
Last, he made the most important mark of all: a circle on the forehead to mark the Nanuak, the world-soul. By the time he’d finished, he was swallowing tears.
“Better,” murmured his father. But Torak saw with a clutch of terror that the pulse in his throat was fainter.
“You can’t die!” Torak burst out.
His father gazed at him with pain and longing.
“Fa, I’m not leaving you, I —”
“Torak. You swore an oath.” Again he closed his eyes. “Now. You — keep the medicine horn. I don’t need it anymore. Take your things. Fetch me water from the river. Then — go.”
I will not cry, Torak told himself as he rolled up his father’s sleeping sack and tied it across his back; jammed his axe into his belt; stuffed his medicine pouch into his jerkin.
He got to his feet and looked about for the waterskin. It was ripped to shreds. He’d have to bring water in a dock leaf. He was about to go when his father murmured his name.
Torak turned. “Yes, Fa?”
“Remember. When you’re hunting, look behind you. I — always tell you.” He forced a smile. “You always — forget. Look behind you. Yes?”
Torak nodded. He tried to smile back. Then he blundered through the wet bracken toward the stream.
The light was growing, and the air smelled fresh and sweet. Around him the trees were bleeding: oozing golden pine-blood from the slashes the bear had inflicted. Some of the tree-spirits were moaning quietly in the dawn breeze.
Torak reached the stream, where mist floated above the bracken, and willows trailed their fingers in the cold water. Glancing quickly around, he snatched a dock leaf and moved forward, his boots sinking into the soft red mud.
He froze.
Beside his right boot was the track of a bear. A front paw: twice the size of his own head, and so fresh that he could see the points where the long, vicious claws had bitten deep into the mud.
Look behind you, Torak.
He spun round.
Willows. Alder. Fir.
No bear.
A raven flew down onto a nearby bough, making him jump. The bird folded its stiff black wings and fixed him with a beady eye. Then it jerked its head, croaked once, and flew away.
Torak stared in the direction it had seemed to indicate.
Dark yew. Dripping spruce. Dense. Impenetrable.
But deep within — no more than ten paces away — a stir of branches. Something was in there. Something huge.
He tried to keep his panicky thoughts from skittering away, but his mind had gone white.
The thing about a bear, his father always said, is that it can move as silently as breath. It could be watching you from ten paces away, and you’d never know. Against a bear you have no defenses. You can’t run faster. You can’t climb higher. You can’t fight it on your own. All you can do is learn its ways, and try to persuade it that you’re neither threat nor prey.
Torak forced himself to stay still. Don’t run. Don’t run. Maybe it doesn’t know you’re here.
A low hiss. Again the branches stirred.
He heard the stealthy rustle as the creature moved toward the shelter: toward his father. He waited in rigid silence as it passed. Coward! he shouted inside his head. You let it go without even trying to save Fa!
But what could you do? said the small part of his mind that could still think straight. Fa knew this would happen. That’s why he sent you for water. He knew it was coming for him. . . .
“Torak!” came his father’s wild cry. “Run!”
Crows burst from the trees. A roar shook the Forest — on and on till Torak’s head was splitting.
“Fa!” he screamed.
“Run!”
Again the Forest shook. Again came his father’s cry. Then suddenly it broke off.
Torak jammed his fist in his mouth.
Through the trees, he glimpsed a great dark shadow in the wreck of the shelter.
He turned and ran.
Excerpted from “Wolf Brother” by Michelle Paver. Copyright (c) 2004, reprinted with permission from HarperCollins.
- Discuss Story On Newsvine
-
Rate Story:
View popularLowHigh - Instant Message
MORE FROM AL'S BOOK CLUB |
 Al's Book Club Section Front |
| Add Al's Book Club headlines to your news reader: |
Sponsored links
Resource guide