He woke several times during the night, and kept the fire going. It was good, dry wood, and there was little smoke. Even so his eyes felt gritty. In the firelight he gazed at the sleeping boy. He had his thumb in his mouth. Kaelin smiled. He would forever be Uncle Kaelin now. The thought was a sobering one. He wondered if this was how Jaim had felt about him, when he was the orphan child.
‘Ah, Jaim, but I do miss you,’ he said aloud.
Then came a crunching sound, followed by a roar. Kaelin rolled to his feet and ran to the cave entrance. Ten feet below the bear was tearing at the sled, his teeth crunching down on the wood. Rearing up, he flung the ruined pieces to the snow. Kaelin drew both pistols from his belt, cocked them, and called out: ‘Eat this, you scum-sucking bastard!’ He shot the right-hand pistol first, aiming at the bear’s throat. The ball tore into the beast’s shoulder. Hang-lip let out a fearsome roar, dropped to all fours and ran for the trees. Kaelin sent a second shot into him.
Little Feargol was sitting up, eyes wide and fearful. Kaelin moved back to the fire and sat down to clean his pistols before reloading them. Feargol was looking at him, but Kaelin could think of nothing to say.
‘Did he break Basson’s sled?’ asked Feargol.
‘Aye. With a vengeance. I put two shots into him though. Bet he’s not happy now.’
‘What are we going to do, Uncle Kaelin?’
‘Tomorrow I’ll sit in the cave mouth, lure him out, and keep shooting him until he is dead.’
‘He wants to kill me,’ said Feargol.
‘Not just you, my friend. He just wants to feed.’
‘No, he wants to kill me. He told me. I told Daddy. Daddy didn’t believe me either. Can you see his face, Uncle Kaelin?’
‘Whose face?’
‘The bear’s.’
‘Yes. His lip was torn in a fight when he was young.’
‘No. His other face,’ said the boy. ‘The one with scales like a snake. The one with red eyes.’
‘No,’ said Kaelin, carefully. ‘I can’t see that face.’
‘Not even with your magic eye?’
‘I think you’ve had a bad dream, Feargol. Do you trust me?’
‘Yes, Uncle Kaelin.’
‘Then trust that I will kill the beast. If necessary I’ll put shots into both its damned faces.’
The Wyrd of Wishing Tree woods watched as the three clansmen climbed the tree to retrieve the frozen body of Basson Ustal. She felt sick at heart. Of all the sad sights her eyes had witnessed during her long life she knew this one would stay with her to her dying day. A dead child in a thin nightshirt, clinging to a tree branch. Even in death his face was still contorted with terror. She glanced back at the cabin. The boy had seen the bodies of his parents dragged out, and then the bear had come for him, clawing furiously at the trunk of the tree.
The white-haired woman shivered, though not with the cold. The iron afterglow of evil hung in the air.
The figure of Rayster emerged from the tree line. Seeing the tall, fair-haired clansman lifted her heart momentarily. Moving past the Wyrd he walked to the tree and helped as Basson’s body was lowered to the ground. Rayster’s pale blue eyes met the Wyrd’s green gaze. ‘There’s not much of them left to bury back there,’ he said. ‘I’ve gathered what I could upon a canvas sheet. We’ll need to light fires to soften the earth before digging. You are sure the bear is gone?’
‘Aye, clansman, the bear is gone. He hunts other prey now.’
‘I cannot find trace of the youngest,’ said Rayster.
‘He is alive,’ said the Wyrd. ‘And with Kaelin Ring.’
‘Ah, but that is good news,’ said Rayster, with a broad smile.
‘Aye. It was fortunate that Ravenheart chose this day to visit. Set the grave fires, Rayster, for the light is failing and I have much to do.’
She walked away from him then, and entered the ruined hut. The clansmen had relit the fire and, removing her wool-lined, hooded cloak, she sat before the flickering flames. Closing her eyes she thought of Kaelin Ring. ‘Be true to your blood, Ravenheart,’ she whispered. ‘The bear is coming for you.’