Worldsoul

Eight

Life was full of irony, Deed thought in frustration. He studied the message that lay before him on the desk, marked with a top-secret sigil. It had come in that morning, from one of the Library moles.

The Library. Trust Loki to manage to send something in through the Library. The disir had been disruptive, apparently, which came as no surprise. Mind you, Deed thought sourly, to the old codgers who ran the place, “disruptive” probably meant putting a book back in the wrong place or abusing your lending rights. The disir had not remained long in the place, anyway. She had fled, somewhere in the city. But where? They were likely, Deed thought, to find out reasonably soon. Wild disir were not unobtrusive.

He turned again to the report. The Librarian who had made the discovery had a name: Mercy Fane. Well, Deed thought, let’s see what we can find out about Miss Fane, shall we?”

The curse hung from the lower branches of a pine tree, about head height. It was made of feathers and bone, tied together with sinew. A shrew’s skull, the jaws curved in an elegant arc and ending in small razor teeth, surmounted it and it carried the rune for winter.

The shaman of the wolf clan studied it for some time in silence. He took a rattle from his pouch and shook it, making a dry sound of falling seeds in the still air. His grey pelt was starred with snow, as stray flakes drifted down from the pines. Then he turned to Mercy, dreaming, and said, “Of course, it’s an enemy’s work. The question is, which one?”

“No shortage of those,” Mercy heard herself reply. As with all dreams, she did not question how she knew this. “The White Owl Tribe, or the Shinbone People.”

“Not quite their style,” the shaman said. His lips drew back over his long teeth. “Look at the back of it.”

Mercy did so. The back was a small flayed skin, stretched out. She could see the remnants of black fur. “What does that mean?”

“It’s hunters’ work.”

“We’re all hunters, aren’t we?”

“Who hunts everything? Including the wolf clans?”

Mercy thought. “Death?”

“Nightmares. Everything is hunted by nightmares.”

“I don’t understand,” Mercy said.

“You don’t have to understand. All you have to do is remember,” the shaman said. Mercy once again surged down into sleep.