Wolf Captured (23 page)

Derian did so, the dull impact of his sandals against the polished stone floor seeming the only sound in all that vast hall. He fought down an urge toward nervous laughter. “Petition.” Was that what the Liglimom called a raging fit of temper? Useful to know.

But Derian knew that in this very mannered society his loss of temper had been just as impolite as it would have been at home. Only the jaguar’s decision to honor his request had saved Derian from—at the very least—a major social misstep.

Derian saw this when, as the ramp turned in its rising, he looked down and saw Barnet endeavoring to follow him. Hands, some gentle, some less so, grasped the minstrel and held him back. A few guards moved purposefully across the hall, the mostly ceremonial spears they had held now easing to the ready.

Derian thought about calling down to Barnet to relax, to stand easy, but something of the awful dignity of the jaguar pacing in front of him stilled his lips. In any case, Barnet needed no such warning. The minstrel stopped well before the guards reached him, but his gaze continued to track them, his expression alive with concern.

Is he worried about Firekeeper, too?
Derian thought.
Or about me? Or is he just afraid he’ll miss something important?

He didn’t know, nor did he have time to consider the matter further, for the jaguar had halted before an ornately carved double door. The great cat stretched, reaching easily to a bell-rope hanging down. She didn’t pull it, though Derian had no doubt that she could easily do so. It was, after all, an action well within the abilities of any house cat—if a house cat had been able to reach effortlessly four feet from the ground.

Derian took the hint and pulled the bell-rope, pulling hard a second time for good measure. The door was so thick he couldn’t hear whether what he had done had any effect, but Truth seemed content, settling onto her haunches and staring calmly at the door, so Derian waited as well.

Not too long thereafter, he heard the door being unfastened. Then, as smoothly and evenly as if they had been yoked together, the heavy doors were pulled open, admitting them into the conclave chamber.

Truth walked in front of Derian, and at her approach the quiet in the room became stillness. Derian followed, noting to his relief that Firekeeper and Blind Seer did not seem harmed. Then he kept his gaze centered on the five figures enthroned in a curve at the far end of the room. Their costumes were so elaborate, their diadems so high and elegantly constructed that he had trouble at first concentrating on the people inside the attire.

One thing he knew for certain. These had not joined the general reception below. They were too aware of the dignity of their positions to be introduced as part of a general crowd. Derian also didn’t doubt that they counted on their thrones and costumes to add to their general impressiveness. He swallowed a completely inappropriate grin. That, at least, would have been lost on Firekeeper.

Derian had just noticed that the figure on the central throne was so young she seemed overweighted by her elaborate attire when she spoke.

“Truth has brought you before us,” said the young woman, moving so the gold and fiery gemstones in her diadem flashed in the light. “Therefore, we admit you. What is your purpose for interrupting our conclave?”

Derian felt a sudden shiver of cold at what his reception might have been had not the jaguar taken it into her mind to escort him. Then he gave a mental shrug and replied politely:

“I noticed that Lady Blysse was missing. I heard she was here, so I came.”

“Are you then her keeper?” this question came from an incredibly old man seated to the young woman’s left.

His costume was in silvers and pale blues, set all over with crystal and diamonds and other translucent stones. It contrasted strongly with the golds, red, yellows, and oranges worn by the young woman. Derian remembered what Varjuna had told him and understood. This old man must represent Air, the girl, Fire.

Derian answered very carefully, “I am not her keeper. She keeps herself. I have known her since she first came from the forests, and I know she often has trouble understanding human ways.”

An older woman whose browns and greens were touched with every color ever known on Earth frowned and spoke.

“We have Harjeedian of the Temple of the Cold Bloods here to translate. Is his command of your language less adept than we have been told?”

“No, ma’am,” Derian said, certain he was grossly demoting her by employing the polite address he had used when speaking to
Fayonejunjal’
s captain, but not knowing what was the correct form, he made do. “Harjeedian speaks our language with incredible aptitude. However, Lady Blysse does not only need translation for language—she often needs it for custom. I admit that Harjeedian knows your culture far better than I do myself, but I can serve as a bridge between your world and my own.”

The Fire member of u-Liall now took over again.

“Truth has brought you before us,” she repeated, “so we will take her advice and admit you. Indeed, Truth may have divined our need and brought you on that accord.”

The jaguar licked her right paw and looked impossibly smug.

Divined or not,
Derian thought,
you’re not above taking the credit, are you?

The young woman continued, “Lady Blysse had just made a very startling statement, one that I think must be clarified before we can progress further. Harjeedian, repeat her words.”

Harjeedian straightened, and with his attention on the figures seated in the five thrones still managed to give the impression that he was checking with Firekeeper as to the accuracy of his report.

“As Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti requires,” Harjeedian said, bowing almost to the floor. Then he quoted, “‘Truth say nothing, but why else would Beasts stay in such terrible places when the whole world is there—at least to the west where humans are not.’”

“We had been asking,” Tiridanti said, seeing Derian still looked puzzled, “if Lady Blysse could indeed speak to animals. She admitted she could speak to the yarimaimalom, but when we asked her if she would teach us she grew angry and stated that we did not respect the animals, for we kept them captive. We thought she might have misunderstood something Truth had said—for we had heard they shared converse—but she replied as Harjeedian has reported.”

Derian glanced at Firekeeper and saw that she was not about to speak on her own behalf.

“I can only guess, Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti,” he said, attempting the honorific Harjeedian had used and mangling it only slightly. “In our lands the Wise Beasts live to the west of the mountains. Humans stay to the east.”

He thought quickly and decided that he could not violate those secrets Firekeeper had confided in him last spring when they had returned from a journey west. Instead he offered the human version of the tale.

“When our colonists first came from the Old Country,” he said, carefully picking his words, “the yarimaimalom lived all over this land.”

“So it was with us,” Tiridanti said encouragingly when he stopped.

Derian had been trying to think of the right words and realized he didn’t have half what he needed. Harjeedian looked at him, not kindly, but not unkindly either.

“Use what you know of our language,” he said, “so u-Liall may hear your tale in your own words as much as possible. However, if you must use a word from your own language, do so, and I will translate.”

Derian nodded his thanks, trying not to be embarrassed. After all, Harjeedian not only had the sort of gift for languages that Elise did, he’d also had a lot longer to study. A flicker of sapphire blue from where the disdu of Water sat reminded Derian that for all their finery his audience was only human, so he hurried to continue.

“At first the beasts and the humans didn’t crowd each other, but as farms grew and flocks were set out to graze, well, there was competition. I don’t really know how it happened, but long before the Plague …”

He paused again and saw that these people also knew of the Plague.

“Long before the Plague the Wise Beasts were little more than legends. In fact, by the time we found Lady Blysse, I don’t think most of us even believed in them. I certainly didn’t.”

Tiridanti looked side to side at her associates, and Derian could tell they were experiencing a mixture of shock and understanding.

“So your founders drove the yarimaimalom away?” Tiridanti asked.

“I think they must have,” Derian said. “I don’t know. The Wise Beasts aren’t telling and no one today is alive who remembers. It makes sense, though. Their magic was said to be terribly powerful.”

“So was the magic of those who founded this colony,” Tiridanti said, “but our tale is somewhat different. Will you and Lady Blysse listen? I think it may explain a few things about which she is clearly misled.”

Derian was quite interested in listening, but his feet and legs were getting tired. He shifted, trying to ease where the straps of his new sandals were wearing blisters. Apparently, Firekeeper wasn’t interested in standing much longer either, but she didn’t wait to be given permission to sit. She simply dropped to the floor alongside Blind Seer. The wolf sat next to her, close enough so that she could fling an arm around him.

Harjeedian started to protest, but Tiridanti waved him down.

“Lady Blysse knows her will, even if her manners are not of the best. Still, as the question has been raised as to whether she and her countrymen are guests or prisoners and we wish them to feel themselves guests, let chairs be brought.”

This was done. When the chairs were brought out from somewhere behind the thrones, Derian became aware for the first time that Rahniseeta was also present. She had waited alongside the wall, so silent and still that if he had seen her at all he had taken her for one of the life-sized figures depicted in the murals that adorned the walls. Now she accepted the chair she was given with equal silence, placing it back where she would not be obvious.

Out of sight, out of mind?
Derian thought; and reminded himself that for all Tiridanti and her associates were being very polite to him and Firekeeper, they were rulers accustomed to being treated as well above the common herd.

More certain of themselves
, Derian thought,
than our own nobles because these u-Liall don’t hold their place just from right of inheritance, but because their people believe the deities have chosen them.

Predictably, Firekeeper refused a chair, but Truth leapt gracefully onto a low dais covered with thick lamb’s wool and obviously intended for this purpose.

When all were settled, Tiridanti turned to the representative of Air.

“Bibimalenu, you are the most senior of us all,” she said with formal politeness, “and know the story best. Will you tell it?”

Bibimalenu smiled, showing what had to be artificial teeth, and peered over his glasses.

“I thank you for the honor,” he said, “but my old voice is not strong. In any case,” and here he actually twinkled at his much younger associate, “I am old indeed, but not old enough to recall the Plague years.”

Tiridanti then took a deep breath and Derian realized with sudden insight that she wasn’t completely sure of the details of the story. He wondered how she had come to hold such a high office and what rivalries might there be among u-Liall. It was not a comforting thought, for Tiridanti clearly wanted some sort of alliance with Firekeeper. Who might be seeking to undermine the wolf-woman for no other reason than that the Ahmyndisdu was a rival for power? Might it even be that old man who had seemed to feel kindly toward her?

Tiridanti said, “Then I will tell the tale, and try to keep my words simple so that it need not be translated. Harjeedian, you are to step in for me as you did for Derian Counselor.”

“I would be honored to so serve,” Harjeedian said. Without further delay, Tiridanti began.

“You have already been told the story of how the world was created. It was brought with us from our Old Country, and so from the Old Country also came the custom of consulting the animals as to the will of the deities. However, in all the Old Country—indeed, so we are told, in all the Old World—there was nothing like the yarimaimalom.”

Derian fought down an irreverent desire to ask then how it was that part of the story about Water’s creation of Magic included fragments falling onto the animals and creating the yarimaimalom. He had a feeling he would be stumbling into something far more dangerous than the debate over whether Fox or Dog was the original society—and blood had been spilled over that one for sure.

Tiridanti went on, “Since there were nothing like the yarimaimalom in the Old Country, consulting the animals was done through watching for signs and omens. Good or bad luck for a venture might be read in how a dove pecked at grain or whether a stallion mounted a mare. There were many ways, and we still use them today. However, one way that we no longer use is reading the will of the deities in the sacrifice of living creatures. This change came directly from the discovery of the yarimaimalom.

“When they were first encountered, the yarimaimalom were thought to be nothing other than exceptionally fine, exceptionally strong examples of their kind. The Old Country masters hunted them for sacrifice, thinking the deities would be pleased by this. Time passed, however, and it was learned that not only were the yarimaimalom at least as clever as humans, but that they also possessed talents. Thus they were shown to be our equals.

“Some then argued that as we did not sacrifice humans, so we should not sacrifice the yarimaimalom. Others, however, especially those who delighted in the chase, argued that the deities would be more pleased with such sacrifices since the effort that must be made in the hunt was so tremendous. The argument split the population. Those who had been born here tended to favor respect for the yarimaimalom. Those who had come from the Old Country or who had returned there for training argued in favor of sacrifice.

“This might have led to war among us, even though all the power was on the side of those with Old Country ties, but for that the deities themselves spoke their will. They brought down fever and death on those who had become so corrupted that even the gifts of divine Magic were used against the yarimaimalom. Those with Old Country ties fled to the Old World in an effort to avoid this divine retribution, but as they have not returned, we know the punishment meted out by the deities followed them even there.”