periods without food or rest or warmth to find a vision. Had Carp told him to seek this place? He slapped a mosquito on the back of his neck, then suddenly battered angrily at the shrilling swarm that hung about his face and ears. He ran to escape them, then stopped again to stare at the great, gray stone. Would he find his vision here? Would he find his spirit brother and be a true shaman?
He chewed his lips, worrying at the idea. He knew it distressed Carp that he had no spirit guardian. Lately the old man talked of nothing else. He nagged almost as much as Tillu, telling him over and over again that he must have a spirit brother before he could be a full shaman. Was that why he had sent Kerlew into the night and the cold? To find this place?
He shivered, and wished suddenly for fire. But he didn't know how to make fire in the open. He only knew how to make fire inside the tent with Tillu's fire bow, and how to keep fire burning once it was started. He wished that Tillu were here to make a fire.
Or Heckram. Heckram was nicer. He didn't nag the way Tillu did when Kerlew couldn't do something. Usually Heckram just did it himself and let Kerlew do something else that he could do. He didn't scream at him for letting the fire go out, or nag him to go out and find a spirit brother. 'Heckram?' he called plaintively to the night.
But even he didn't answer.
Kerlew's eyes had adjusted to the waning light so gradually that he was scarcely aware that it was full night now. He noticed only the increasing cold that made him shiver in his thin summer shirt, and the swarms of mosquitoes that were attracted to his body heat and blood. Every few moments he would dash a few steps to escape the humming insects, and then pause to once more ponder his situation. But he never went far from the rock. He orbited the great gray stone as the night grew deeper and colder.
Details faded from the world with the passing of the light. There was the vast blackness of the tundra, the great arch of star-sparked sky overhead, and the looming grayness of the stone. That was all. The humming of the mosquitoes filled his ears.
Kerlew muttered angrily at them and at the unfairness of the world in general, and circled the stone. He was cold. He was hungry. He was sleepy. And he was alone, and beginning to be a bit frightened of the empty darkness and the ominous powerstone.
And then he was not alone.
He became aware of a brush of sound, of darker moving shadows in the surrounding dark, and then the sudden flash of a glistening eye. He stopped batting at the gnats that screamed so incessantly in his ears and froze. The shapes gathered and drew closer, but stayed beyond the reach of his eyes. He backed closer to the rock, forgetting his awe of it in his new fear. Its harsh cheek rasped suddenly against his back, and he felt his body steal warmth from the stone. His arms fell to his sides and he pressed his palms back against the stone's rough surface as he faced the night creatures that ringed him.
He heard their breathing, their curious snuffling of his scent, and sensed how they shifted positions as they studied him. For long moments he could not think or move, could only stand at bay. He clamped his jaws shut against his own hoarse panting. He took a deep, shuddering breath through his nostrils and became aware of their scent.
Less rank than a dog's smell, hotter and sharper somehow, so that in his awareness it stung the back of his throat.
Wolves.
The mosquitoes still sang in his ears, and beneath their high whine was a deeper thundering. He was no longer cold, but his legs shook beneath him. What to do, what to do? The question rattled in his head. If they were bears, he would have dropped everything and run, run back to Tillu. No. Tillu was lost. Climb a tree, some vague instinct whispered. No. The trees here were no taller than he.
Go toward them. Touch one between the eyes and claim Wolf as his spirit brother.
Kerlew closed his eyes in sudden sickening tenor. He swallowed. But behind his closed eyelids, he could see Carp's image, hear his insistent voice. 'A shaman must have a spirit brother. The most powerful shamans have many guardian spirits in the shadow world. But most important is your spirit brother, the one first to choose and be chosen by the shaman. He is the shaman's strength. If he forsakes the shaman, the shaman dies.
Without a spirit brother, you cannot be a shaman. Without a spirit brother, you are barely a man at all.'
And here was Wolf, come to claim him. And here he was, sent out to seek a vision by his master. All he had to do was step forward and boldly set a hand between the eyes of the Wolf and claim him. 'Show no fear,' Carp had warned him. 'If you flee or show fear, you will be torn to pieces.' He opened his eyes.
They had drawn closer. He could see them now, or parts of them. Sharp ears, lolling tongues, gray coats with edgings of black, black sleeker than the night, glistening. He saw eyes that watched him intently, and some that took little notice of him at all. One bitch with sagging teats lay down suddenly and began licking at the dark blotches that spotted her light forepaws. A young male stood, neck and tail stretched out flat as he stared at the boy. He took a cautious step forward, but an old male with a hairless scar down the side of his muzzle growled a warning. The younger wolf froze, and then lowered his head and slunk abashedly back amongst the pack. The scarred male sat down, and curled his tail neatly around his forefeet. Kerlew looked at him carefully.
'Are you come to be my spirit brother?' the boy asked softly. The sharp ears pricked at his words, but the wolf gave no other sign. Kerlew lifted a hand free from the stone, slowly extended it toward the Wolf. 'I come to touch you,' he announced hoarsely. As the boy's hand moved, several of the wolves bounded into the shadows, but the scarred male only stared. He lifted his writhing black lips in a silent snarl. 'I must not be afraid,'
Kerlew told himself. But he could not remember how to take the two steps that would put him within reach of the Wolf.
Then, from some incredible distance beyond the stars, the lone howl of a wolf rose.
The scarred wolf swiveled his head sharply, stared off into the night. The howl rose and fell, paused breathlessly, and began again, to climb higher still. Tension suddenly tightened among the wolves that circled Kerlew. They moved in small anxious movements, glancing from one to another as the howl filled the night. The boy was forgotten. The young wolf lifted his voice in a whining plea, but when the old bitch leaped at him, snarling, he broke off with a yelp and rolled on his back before her. She stood over him, teeth bared, and once more the howl paused. This time it was taken up by other distant voices, wildness blending into a single tongue.
The scarred wolf bayed once, briefly, a short sound as unlike a dog's bark as a man's voice might be. Almost, Kerlew understood him. The other wolves did, for when he wheeled away from the boy and trotted off purposefully, they followed in twos and threes. The old bitch gave him a last baleful glare, and then trotted off after the leader.
Even the young wolf rolled to his feet, and, tail tickling his belly, hastened after them.
Kerlew remained flattened against the rock, watching the shapes vanish into the darkness. Then, with a wailing cry, he flung himself away from the stone and ran after them. 'Wolf!' he cried into the night, beseechingly. 'Wolf!' He ran, heedless of the coarse bushes that caught at his feet and the sudden hummocks of grass he stumbled over. He might yet catch up with them. He might yet have the chance to place his hand between those yellow eyes and claim a spirit brother. He could still hear the rising howls, the chorus swelling as voices joined it. He lifted his own voice in a pitiful wail, heard it blend for a moment with those other cries in the night. Then he tripped and fell, landing full length upon the ground. As suddenly as the howling had begun, it ceased. His beacon had been extinguished. Kerlew rose to his knees, blind in the absolute darkness, bereft of sound or sight to guide him. He had failed again in his quest for a spirit brother. In despair he howled again, listened vainly for some reply in the vast night.
And when none came, he fell forward into the hollow that had tripped him, and gave himself up to the empty night.
CHAPTER SIX
There was so little to go on. Heckram touched a patch of crushed forget-me-nots.
Was it the size and shape of a small boy's foot? Or had some rabbit crouched here? He squeezed his weary eyes closed, shook his head, and then opened his eyes again, to concentrate doggedly on what might be Kerlew's
