Wolf Captured (19 page)

“Who would not in this place?”
the wolf replied.
“Ask him when we will be let out of this place
.
I must run or go mad with chasing my own tail.”

Firekeeper did as requested.

“Do this mean we go from here?” she asked. “I would run more than a few paces, and Blind Seer with me.”

Harjeedian looked uncomfortable.

“Yes, you will go from here, but not quite yet. My teachers have asked that your first coming forth be to the reception I mentioned earlier. There is …”

He frowned, not because he didn’t know the word, Firekeeper was certain, but because he did not like telling them his thoughts.

“There is great interest in meeting you,” Harjeedian finally said, “and rivalry that no one be given advantage over the others. Already the heads of other temples are less than pleased that you dwell within these walls, but they trust our word that you have not been seen by any but me, my sister, and a few servants.”

“And I think Rahniseeta is not considered of much more account than those servants,”
Firekeeper said to Blind Seer.

To Harjeedian she said, “How long until this reception?”

“Omens indicate that tomorrow at midmorning would serve,” he replied. “Will you wait until then?”

“Yes,” Firekeeper said.

“But only,”
Blind Seer added,
“until then.”

VIII

TRUTH LOUNGED ON HER LEDGE ABOVE the gathering crowd, amusing herself by thinking about how easy it would be to break necks and get away with it. It wasn’t that she hated humans. There were several she rather liked, but it was a heady thing being invited into their presence, being what she was, knowing what she could do. With this a jaguar year, she could get away with even more than usual.

Yes. Such thoughts were amusing, but an amusement Truth did not plan to pursue beyond the realm of thought. The omens were against it, after all, and who should know better than she?

So she lay on the wide ledge, paws hanging over the edge, watching the eddy of the human herd. They were interesting in their dynamics, bouncing off of each other like ripples in a pond. Wise Jaguars were more social than their Cousin-kind, but even so, most adults ranged alone for moonspans on end without missing companionship at all. Humans were more like deer or fish, gathering in succulent groups, vying for domination within their group, never seeming to realize that their very grouping showed how expendable the individual was. This was not the way of her people.

Yes, like deer or fish …

Motion in the crowd at the far end of the vast assembly chamber indicated the entrance of important new arrivals. Truth caught their scent as they came through the large double doors. Two humans, two wolves. Omen scent mingled with actual scent, muddying the impressions in Truth’s highly sensitized mind. She sniffed again, forcing away the omen scent so she could concentrate on the odors riding the currents of the air.

Three humans, one wolf, the last large enough and confident enough that Truth did not need to further isolate his scent to know he was of the yarimaimalom, but she did not think he was among the yarimaimalom she knew.

Scent again. No. Definitely not.

She focused in on the newcomers, isolating the one whose scent had been so confusing. It was the smallest of the three, a dark-haired and a dark-eyed female. Despite her size, she walked with quiet treading confidence, her hand resting lightly on the wolf’s back.

This wolf-woman was afraid, Truth decided, but hid that fear admirably well. Truth did not disdain her for her reaction. It made good sense to dislike being so surrounded by strangers. This one bore watching. Around her swirled those uncomfortable omen scents that had so disquieted Truth some days before. They still refused to isolate themselves into omens for good or ill, and Truth growled and rasped her tongue between her toes.

But she did not stop watching.

The crowd parted to admit the newcomers. Individuals Truth recognized as important within the human community—individuals who had bowed and scraped before her just a few moonspans before, when she had been selected as the representative of this year—now made themselves known to the four newcomers. They did not bow or scrape, but they were hotly interested.

Truth scented again as she watched these interactions, so very different from her own regal isolation. These newcomers were more of the herd: deer or fish or …

She twitched her tail in amusement as she thought how most certainly offended the newcomers would be by her assessment, but they really were all one, all the same: deer or fish … or wolves.

DERIAN WISHED THE ELABORATE COSTUME with which he had been provided made him feel less like he’d been attired to play a role in a society pageant. It didn’t help his feeling that he was dressing up that his entire ensemble was liberally embroidered with horses. He wished with all his heart for decent trousers and waistcoat, for brass-buckled shoes and fine knit stockings, and, lastly, a sharply creased tricorn hat.

However, wishing would not do him any good. It had been hard enough to convince Rahniseeta to let him tie his hair back into its accustomed queue. Apparently, men might do so for work, but left their hair loose for formal occasions.

Loose and bejeweled was the style for men’s hair, it seemed, at least if the hair was very long and might interfere with sight. If not held back from the face with a neat clip, then longer tresses were adorned with a hat. Some of these would have been considered outrageous for either gender at home. Derian suspected they were meant to indicate the wearer held some particular office—at least he hoped so.

To Derian’s right, Barnet wore his own whale-adorned costume with apparent aplomb. He’d even left his hair loose, and his pale blue eyes darted from face to face, outfit to outfit

Collecting story material,
Derian guessed sourly.
Barnet Lobster hasn’t resigned himself to staying here, not one bit. I wonder if he thinks he has something to barter for his freedom—or if he’s already writing the ballad about his daring escape.

Derian grinned to himself, knowing he was being sour in order to cover his apprehension regarding this reception. Not only was he unnerved to be at the center of so much attention, but he had Firekeeper to worry about. The wolf-woman was much better about crowds than she had been when they first met, but he couldn’t help but notice how one hand never strayed far from her knife, while the other rested on Blind Seer—both sure signs that she was ill at ease.

He watched her noting the exits. There were four, massive double doors, one to each side of the huge step pyramid within whose base the large room was built. Following Firekeeper’s gaze, Derian noted that the building only had the appearance of a pyramid. The room they were within was clearly built along more conventional lines. The steps must be a cosmetic shell without.

Probably a great way to save on weight,
Derian thought,
though I wonder what they made the outer shell out of?

He shrugged the thought off. Architecture only interested him to the extent that it was either useful or particularly beautiful. What did interest him was how the huge room was decorated. Elaborate mosaics covered the lower walls, catching and giving back the light from both lanterns and openings higher up the tiers. High, wide shelves, many with ramps leading up to them, held vases, statues, and other items, probably of symbolic value.

Derian recognized depictions of the four elements done in gold, silver, and precious stones. Two other shelves set in places of similar prominence held items whose significance he could not work out on his own. One held a large lumpy rock—or maybe it was a chunk of partially melted metal. It was hard to tell at a distance. The other shelf held an amazingly realistic statue of a feline with a golden-yellow coat adorned with spots, like but unlike the spots on a young puma’s coat. The feline was quite large and surveyed the gathering below with regal indifference.

Derian didn’t have much more time to continue his inspection, for his line of sight was being interrupted by an orderly throng of elaborately costumed men and women, all of whom were clearly people of importance.

Harjeedian acted as translator, handling the introductions with more humility than Derian had glimpsed from him thus far. Names and titles flowed and blurred into each other: This One of the Temple of Flyers. That One of the Temple of Felines. There were kidisdum for just about any animal of which Derian could think: bears, deer, rabbits, horses, raccoons, deer, owls, mice.

Derian lost track rather quickly, just nodded, smiled, and exchanged bows. Barnet did the same. Firekeeper and Blind Seer merely stared. Even the man who introduced himself as the keeper of wolves did not press for acknowledgment.

Gradually it came to Derian that all of this was somehow associated with deified elements that had been mentioned in Rahniseeta’s story. He wished he’d had time to hear other stories. The more names and titles he heard, the more elaborate costumes, each with their hint of meaning he viewed, the more confused he became.

Snakes, it appeared, were very important in the worship of Earth, though they had some secondary association with Water. The Temple of Flyers was interested in divining the will of Air. For some reason felines were associated with Fire. Nor were these divisions absolute. Derian’s head began to spin as he tried to keep it all straight. Birds were associated with Air, unless they were water birds, like ducks or egrets. Horses were apparently associated with both Earth and Air.

It was as he was trying to figure out why the woman he’d just been introduced to was carrying a snake, though her clothing was embroidered with bears and wolves, that he made a startling discovery.

The enormous spotted feline he had seen lying on a ledge a few feet above the heads of the crowd was now sitting upright, licking its shoulder. Derian froze, forgetting to even pretend to acknowledge the person to whom he was being introduced. His eyesight was good, and he was certain this was no dog dressed up in an elaborate costume as he had seen in New Kelvin. Nor was it a puma, dyed and painted. This feline had a stockier build, more compact. Its head was rounder, the shape of the ears different.

Moreover, there was something in how it seemed to notice his gaze, how its golden-orange eyes met his own, direct and appraising. He’d met such eyes before, though they were blue.

He tapped Firekeeper’s shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Did you see the cat up there?”

Her soft snort meant “of course,” but what she replied was “Yes. And, yes, as you think, it is Royal. Harjeedian did not lie. They keep some of my people captive as they keep me.”

Derian was about to respond when a hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned and found a man of almost his own height standing to one side.

“Derian Counselor? I am Varjuna,” the man said, “senior keeper of the Horse. I understand you have an interest in horses.”

Derian blinked. He remembered thinking there was something familiar about the man when they had been first introduced. Now he realized that coloring and clothing aside, Varjuna reminded him somewhat of his father, Colby Carter. There was the same strength and stillness, the same broad shoulders and powerful legs. Varjuna might even be about the same age as Colby, maybe a little older, but about that Derian was not certain.

Derian gave a neat bow.

“You named me Derian Counselor,” he said, searching for the words, “but that name is still new to me. For most of my life, I was called ‘Carter’—a word that in my language indicates working with horses and the things they pull.”

It wasn’t a very good translation, but Varjuna seemed to understand. His expression brightened, and Derian had the sudden unshakable conviction that someone had suggested Varjuna come and talk with Derian—and that Varjuna had feared they would have little in common.

Derian glanced over at Firekeeper, but the wolf-woman seemed in control of both herself and the situation. She was handling the efforts at small talk directed toward her by giving either short answers or none at all, taking refuge in her presumed ignorance of the language.

He returned his attention to Varjuna.

“What does the keeper of the Horse do, exactly?” Derian asked, aware he was mangling the phrase.

Varjuna put one finger to his chin, and closed his eyes for a moment in thought.

Trying to find easy words to explain a complicated job,
Derian thought.
I can be patient.

Again he glanced over to check on Firekeeper. She had now moved to where she could look more closely at the big spotted cat lying on the ledge. Her interest was attracting a fair amount of attention from those gathered in the huge room, but no one was moving to interfere.

“A kidisdu, what I have heard translated as a ‘keeper,’” Varjuna said with a childlike pride in his few words of Pellish, “is one who is specially dedicated to the well-being of a particular type of animal.”