Wolf Captured (20 page)

“Like Harjeedian and his snakes?” Derian asked.

“Yes and no,” Varjuna said. “Harjeedian has been honored with snakes, but he has been anointed an aridisdu, as well as a snake holder.”

Derian didn’t understand, but he nodded encouragement.

“I,” Varjuna went on, “wish to be nothing but a kidisdu, though the divine will has ordained that I shall be ikidisdu—that is ‘senior keeper.’ All kidisdu, no matter their rank, deal more with our specific animals than with omens or the wills of the deities. In this way, we become close to the deities.”

“I don’t quite understand,” Derian admitted.

Varjuna didn’t look offended.

“It is hard to explain with so few words between us. Also, I have heard it said that you know nothing of the deities. Is this true?”

Remembering Rahniseeta’s shocked reaction to a similar question, Derian was careful with his answer.

“Perhaps we know them differently,” he said. “I do not quite understand how the deities and the animals are related.”

Varjuna nodded. “It is a long story.”

“Tell me,” Derian urged, trading on his impression that for some reason or other Varjuna was supposed to be talking to him. Rahniseeta had seemed to enjoy telling them a story about the deities; perhaps Varjuna would as well. It beat standing around worrying what Firekeeper would do next, and obviously these stories of the gods were as essential to understanding the Liglimom as the New Kelvinese’s peculiar history had been to understanding them.

Derian glanced around. Firekeeper was still over by the big cat, Harjeedian hovering near and apparently shielding her somewhat. Barnet was over talking with a woman Derian recognized at second glance as the captain of
Fayonejunjal.

I wonder if he’s trying to wrangle a berth?
he thought.

Varjuna seemed to have overcome his indecision as to whether this was an appropriate time to tell a long story. He motioned Derian over to one of the tables set up along the edges of the room.

“Be comfortable,” he said. “I will begin.”

Derian accepted the seat and poured himself a drink from the pitcher of chilled water set there.

“I think you have been told,” Varjuna began, “how the deities came to be, and also the living things on the Earth?”

“Yes,” Derian replied, feeling a little like a student, “right up through how Water attempted to create a daughter and Magic was born and broken almost all at once.”

Varjuna smiled. “This will make my telling easy. You have the beginning of the story.”

“Good,” Derian said. He noticed that several other people had drifted close. A few of the bolder ones had even taken seats.

Well, no wonder, boy,
he thought.
You’re one of the key attractions. If Varjuna doesn’t want them here he’ll send them off. Doesn’t look like he talks to a crowd, often, though. I guess kidisdum really do focus on the animals.

Varjuna seemed momentarily taken aback, but recovered with good grace.

He said to his compatriots, “I am about to tell Derian Counselor about the special relationship between the deities and the animals.”

“A good tale,” approved a fat woman, her outfit embroidered with both bears and raccoons, their forms so stylized that Derian had to study awhile to be sure what the figures were intended to represent. “One that is too often forgotten.”

Others nodded their agreement, and so Varjuna, with every appearance of mild nervousness, began his story.

“You have heard how upon her creation Magic fragmented. Where the parts of her landed, that which they touched became …” He used a word that meant nothing to Derian and quickly struggled to use simpler words. “That is, they became somehow filled with magic. This is why there are both yarimaimalom—the Wise Beasts—and their lesser kin.”

“Cousins,” Derian said without thinking, interested only in helping Varjuna along.

“What?”

Derian colored, but struggled on. Relationship terms had been included in their lessons, because many of the sailors, it had turned out, were kin to each other.

“Cousins,” he repeated. “That is the word Firekeeper—Lady Blysse—uses for the beasts who are not Wise Beasts.”

There was a murmur of discussion about this, and Derian had the feeling that what he had said was thought to be somehow very important. Varjuna did not participate in the general discussion, only smiled.

“I like that way of putting it,” he said, then returned to his story, while Derian resolved to keep his mouth shut. “Now although both the yarimaimalom and humans were blessed with the gifts of Magic, humans did not remain content.

“Some say that this is because humans were created to take comfort from Fire, and so they took from him along with his heat and brightness some of his eternally hungry and dissatisfied nature. Whatever the reason, humans began to strive for magical gifts beyond those they had been given.”

Varjuna’s tone made quite clear that he did not approve of this, and Derian felt a touch of kindred spirit for the otherwise alien Liglimom culture. One of the most unsettling things about his time in New Kelvin had been how the New Kelvinese sought after magic—a force anyone raised in the traditions of Hawk Haven knew was dangerous.

As dangerous as a fire unchecked
, Derian thought.

Varjuna went on, “Humans were successful in gathering and building magical power. What they did with that power belongs to other stories—many other stories. Suffice to say, the deities were not pleased and ceased to speak directly to those who practiced magic beyond those talents with which some are born, and for which they cannot be faulted.

“The animals—both Wise and lesser—continued to hear the will of the deities. Eventually, humans learned humility and looked to the animals to interpret divine will. Thus humans once again drew close to the deities. To this day, we honor the beasts for their role in assisting us to know the will of the deities.”

Varjuna’s tone made clear that he had finished his tale. The nods of approval from the small crowd surrounding them told Derian that the listeners thought he had made a good job of it.

Derian concentrated on Varjuna, willing himself to forget all the other ears that would hear his question.

“So as a kidisdu you are somehow associated with the animals you ask to help you understand what the deities want?”

Varjuna gave a short, approving jerk of his head.

“That is so. Not all animals have the same degree of—call it ‘hearing.’ We check for it when promising young ones are born, and if the omens are good, they join those kept for divination.”

The fat woman leaned forward, eager to participate.

“There are many forms of divination,” she said. “Not all techniques work with all animals—or not even with all animals within a species. It is demanding work, and a kidisdu has much to do assisting the aridisdum.”

Derian held up his hand, smiling broadly and hoping he would not give offense.

“Not too much at once, Kidisdu,” Derian begged, hoping she would not take offense. “My head is alive with new ideas.”

The fat woman did not take offense, but smiled warmly at him.

“It is difficult even for our own acolytes,” she said. The word she used had been translated for Derian as “apprentice,” but he had the feeling that in this context it had a more complex meaning, specific to the priesthood. “There will be time for you to learn.”

Varjuna nodded.

“I have been told you are skilled with horses,” he said, returning to his initial point. “Perhaps you would care to visit the herds I keep. This reception has served its purpose.”

Derian nodded, feeling a sudden, almost violent urge for something as familiar as a stable. The emotion was mingled with anger and sorrow for Roanne, but he felt certain that had Varjuna been sent in Harjeedian’s stead the mare would not have been so lightly killed.

“I would enjoy seeing your horses,” Derian said honestly. “Let me tell Firekeeper.”

He rose to his feet, tall enough to look over most heads and all but the most elaborate headgear. He shifted his perspective and looked again, but there was no doubt about it.

Firekeeper was nowhere to be seen.

DOING HER BEST to ignore the people who crowded close to her, Firekeeper edged closer to where the great cat lounged with such provocative indolence above the human throng. She knew the great cat was aware of her intent, but other than the slow closing and opening of captivatingly round golden-orange eyes, the cat gave no sign it knew she was coming.

Firekeeper hardly knew what she found more annoying, the way the cat ignored her or the way the humans pressed close to her. Both underlined something that troubled her. She had not realized how much she relied on being thought different—someone for whom exceptions were made.

In all the human lands the wolf-woman had visited, that difference had held a note of fear—if not of her specifically, then of her apparent control of Blind Seer. Among the wolves, she was the weak one, but with a few notable exceptions that weakness had been reason to protect and care for her.

Here in Liglim, she was accorded neither fear nor protection, yet she knew these strange people wanted something of her. Thus far none of the humans would tell her what this was. Perhaps the great cat would tell her. In the woodlands where she had been raised, the hunting grounds of the pumas and the wolves overlapped, but on the whole they were not rivals.

Pumas hunted much the same prey that the wolves did, but they were solitary hunters, taking much smaller quantities than would interest a pack—and any lone wolf who tried to steal a puma’s kill rapidly learned the punishing force and lightning-quick power contained in the cat’s forepaws. A wolf would be cut to bloody strips before she could close for a deadly bite at throat or flank.

So Firekeeper approached the great cat with appropriate humility, but also with joyful anticipation that at long last she was meeting one of her own kind.

A few snaps from Blind Seer, wearied of how the humans pressed close and that a few even dared stroke his fur, gave the pair breathing space, and within that space, Firekeeper dared address the great cat.

“What are you?”
she asked
. “In all my life I have never seen a great cat with a coat the rich yellow of a field of summer flowers, nor one so elegantly marked with spots.”

Those spots had initially puzzled her, for most of the creatures she knew about lost their spots once they grew from infancy. However, by now she was certain this was a fully mature representative of whatever species it belonged to, and she took care to accord it appropriate respect.

“And what are you?”
drawled the great cat. “
What type of creature speaks after the manner of the Wise Wolves, but walks as a human, reeking of human scent?”

“I am Firekeeper,”
the wolf-woman replied, keeping her tone respectful though anger flared inside her at the cat’s arrogant rudeness.
“The wolves are my people, though I was born human. Beside me stands my pack mate, Blind Seer.”

“Firekeeper,”
the great cat replied. “
Do you then worship that god?”

Firekeeper blinked, confused to hear a Beast speaking so like a human.

“My name comes from my mastery of fire,” she replied, “a mastery without which I would not have lived many winters.”

“So you claim to be Fire’s master, not merely his keeper. Interesting. There will be those who will think that claim questionable.”

Firekeeper shook her head as if clearing gnats from her ears.

“I do not understand,”
Firekeeper said.

She was aware that Blind Seer’s hackles had risen slightly, aware as she was that this strange cat was toying with them. It was too soon to tell whether this attitude represented active hostility or merely the cruel playfulness in which she had heard all cats indulged. No matter which, she no longer felt any joy in this meeting.

Firekeeper would have turned away and gone looking for Derian, but the great cat was speaking.

“My people are called jaguars,”
she said. “
My name
,
divined for me at birth, is Truth.”

Firekeeper tried hard not to show her disbelief that anyone—even a cat—could claim such a name, but the lashing of the spotted tail told her that her reaction had been noticed.

“It is a good name,”
the jaguar said,
“one that has been in my family many times. My mother’s father’s sire was called Truth. It is said that, though I am female, I am he come again.”

Firekeeper couldn’t help it—this time she did blink. The wolves named for some physical characteristic or trait. Sometimes a name was changed to commemorate a great deed, but this handing on of names one to another seemed strange—as did this talking of dead ones come again. But then she had never known any great cat well. Perhaps insanity was usual among them.

“My talent,”
Truth continued,
“is divination. I scented your arrival before ever you stepped from boat onto land and have been smelling you since. I will admit that my gift is considered powerful, but there is that about you which muddies the air.”

Petulant indeed, then
, Firekeeper thought.
How interesting
—
and how strange
.

“What is this divination?”
she asked aloud.
“Surely I have never heard of it.”

Truth’s eyes narrowed.
“Is it a talent unknown to your people?”

Blind Seer, whose hackles had not yet lain flat, growled slightly.

“It is known to us,”
he said,
“but has not emerged within our pack, so there is no wonder Firekeeper has not heard of it. The stories were related on great hunts, so she may have missed them.”

“What is this divination?”
Firekeeper repeated.

Blind Seer answered,
“It is the ability to find something but not by seeing or smelling or any of the usual senses, but by means of a talent. There are those who can divine where water can be found, though that water may be hidden deep under earth or rock. There are those who can divine where game may be found, though the herds may not yet have migrated to that place. There are those who can divine where certain minerals are buried.”