Wolf Captured (35 page)

A litter that would, inevitably, tie him to this land, to these wolves.

Firekeeper felt her heart sink within her at the thought. She knew without knowing why that she had long footsore wanderings in front of her before she settled in any one place. She might join with a pack for a while, might return to her birth pack for a visit, but there were too many questions she wanted answered, questions that could not be answered if she contented herself with the round of hunting, sleeping, romping, and hunting again that defined the lives of even Royal Wolves.

She had always imagined Blind Seer at her side in these wanderings, but now, as the days passed and she saw how he seemed to welcome Moon Frost’s playful overtures, the wolf-woman wondered if he might have found a place to stay.

Had Firekeeper possessed a tail, it would have drooped. Had she possessed proper ears, she would have found it difficult to keep them pricked forward and alert. As it was, she struggled to display appropriate confidence when she and Blind Seer were invited to relocate with the pack to some distant meadows near a river through which ocean fish were making a spawning run.

“When the fish are running,” Tangler explained, “there is ample food for many wolves. We often join up with other packs so our children will know each other. This season, many are interested in coming and making your acquaintance.”

Although meeting the Wise Wolves was precisely why they had come to Misheemnekuru, Firekeeper wondered if the alacrity with which Blind Seer accepted the invitation for them both had anything to do with the fact that it would keep him close to Moon Frost. Had they not chosen to travel with the borderland pack, she and Blind Seer would have more reasonably gone exploring on their own, asking first for introductions to the neighboring packs. This trip would eliminate the need for such introductions—and for leaving the borderland pack behind.

Firekeeper shook from her head what would be the main outcome of such socializing, and went to find Blind Seer.

“So,” she said, “we go to these meeting meadows. I don’t mind, but have you thought about how we will keep our promise to Harjeedia—the one that said we would tell the outpost humans that we still live and breathe?”

“It was only a small promise,” Blind Seer said lazily. He was still drowsy from the afternoon heat. “You didn’t say that you would do it, only that you would try.”

“I had intended,” Firekeeper said a bit sharply, “to use such as a means of reassuring Derian that we still live and breathe. Not so long ago, you were the one telling me not to run off without letting friends know. Has this changed so much?”

Blind Seer had the grace to look a little ashamed, but not very much.

“It has changed,” he protested. “We are here among our own people. We intend to do nothing more dangerous than hunt elk.”

“The One Male before your father was killed when hunting elk,” Firekeeper reminded acidly. There were times she hated remembering how many more years she had seen than Blind Seer. It made her acutely feel her lack of achievement. “Hunting elk is more dangerous than hunting deer or rabbits, even with a large pack. I am not convinced that what we do is so safe.”

She meant more than merely accompanying what was—for all their welcome—a strange pack, but Blind Seer was either too sleepy to think or being deliberately dense.

“We will be fine,” he said, adjusting himself into deeper shade. “If you worry so, run off to the humans and tell them where we go and that we will speak with them again when we come back.”

For all its good sense, Firekeeper didn’t like this suggestion. It seemed too much like admitting these humans had a hold on her, but Blind Seer’s comments made her remember a course of action she had considered when first contemplating coming to Misheemnekuru.

Leaving Blind Seer slumbering, she went looking for a representative of the local winged folk. Like most wolves, Firekeeper felt a certain affinity for ravens. Even the Cousin wolves and ravens banded together, the big, black birds tolerated in denning areas and at rendezvous points. She had even seen a raven perch on a wolf’s head, pecking gently for attention, inviting a chase. In return for scavenging rights, the ravens acted as invaluable scouts. They saw the approach of potential predators, and were not above calling when they noted an injured animal, hoping to bring a hunter who might pull it down and open it up for all to enjoy.

Among the Royal Wolves and Ravens, the relationship was more sophisticated. Here, too, the ravens served as scouts and relayed information regarding possible prey. They also acted as liaisons between other members of the Royal Beasts and the land-bound carnivores. Although something of a truce existed between herbivores and carnivores, the herbivores preferred not to have to deal with the carnivores directly. Ravens, with their bossy, social ways, liked the importance of serving as diplomats.

Now Firekeeper went seeking the ravens who associated with this pack. As was common with their Cousin-kind, it was a juvenile band, for the mated pairs held territory and would not care to rove as a wolf pack did once the pups were past their youngest days. However, as was not usual with their Cousins, the group of young rowdies was accompanied by a few senior members. These did not precisely rule their juniors, but they did provide a moderating influence. They were the ones with whom Firekeeper should do her negotiating.

She found the ravens easily, tracking them by the croaks and yells they made as they scavenged the remains of a putrefying carcass dragged into a tree by one of the local jaguars and now too far gone for even a cat to enjoy.

For once, Firekeeper was glad that her sense of smell was less acute than was that of a wolf. Even from where she paused a short distance away, politely waiting to be noticed, the thing—had it once been a fawn?—reeked.

Nor did she have long to wait. Ravens were inquisitive creatures, and Firekeeper created an excuse for investigating her presence by taking her Fang from its sheath and tilting it back and forth slowly so that the sunlight glinted from the large cabochon-cut garnet set in the hilt.

Two ravens broke from the squabbling mass of their juniors and came toward her. One swooped from tree limb to tree limb, perching between glides to study her. The other walked along the ground with a rolling gait that, after her time at sea, inevitably reminded Firekeeper of a sailor. Like many Royal Beasts, the ravens were large for their kind. Like all ravens Firekeeper had met, they mingled arrogance and playfulness in a fashion a human might have found contradictory.

These were beautiful birds, the glossy black of their features showing such iridescent green, purple, and blue when the sun angled across it that Firekeeper thought them more colorful than the robin who, after all, wore his color only on his breast.

Firekeeper waited, giving the ravens opportunity to inspect her, rocking the garnet back and forth in the sunlight so that its deep red was added to the ravens’ own iridescent glow.

“Can I have it?” asked the slightly smaller of the two ravens. “I like it. It is like frozen blood.”

“More shiny than frozen blood,” the other commented. “It is only a rock and would not taste as good.”

“I would still like it,” the first raven commented. “I would put it in a hidden place in a tree that only I know. I have other treasures there, but this would be the prettiest.”

Firekeeper decided she had better speak before they decided her Fang was being offered.

“I cannot give you this,” she said, “but I could hunt for you.”

“The wolves do that!” the second raven said, sounding rather as if providing meals for ravens was the primary reason wolves had been put on the earth. “And if they eat too much, there are always other hunters who will feed us.”

“It is kind of you to offer,” said the first raven, hopping sideways in a fashion that told Firekeeper that it had not given up on the knife. “The wolves do not offer. They bolt down their kills as fast as they can. We let them, of course, because we cannot have them going hungry. They need so much to keep themselves strong.”

Firekeeper found herself smiling at this new way of seeing the world. The raven’s egotism reminded her of newly weaned puppies for whom every hunt clearly existed only so they could be fed, never mind that their begging emptied the stomach of every adult within hearing.

“You are thoughtful,” she said. “As I knew you would be.”

“You knew of us?” asked the first raven. “Of course you did. We knew of you. You are the wolf who looks like a human. The human who thinks she is a wolf. We have been watching you.”

“For how long?” Firekeeper asked. “Since before I came to these islands?”

“Some have,” said the first raven evasively. Firekeeper had identified it as a male, and thought it was somewhat older than its female companion.

“Since you know me,” Firekeeper said, “offering my name is only a formality, but I give it to you in any case—so that if you wish me to hunt for you, you can call me. I am called Firekeeper.”

The ravens—who she was perfectly certain had already heard the name—made a great show of repeating it.

“I,” said the first raven, “am called Bitter.”

“And I am called Lovable,” said the second one. “I am pleased to meet you.”

Lovable—who was the one who had walked over—now swooped a short distance so that she perched on the lower branch of a tree. She leaned precariously so that she could get a better look at the garnet, and Firekeeper took a step back, well respecting the power in the raven’s horned bill.

“Do you ever fly to the mainland?” Firekeeper asked the ravens. “Because if you do, I had hoped to ask you a favor.”

“Favor?” asked Bitter guardedly.

“Would you give me the stone if I did you a favor?” asked Lovable.

Firekeeper smiled. “I told you. I cannot give you this stone. It is attached to my knife and I need the knife in one piece. However, I could find you other things that shine, since you have the wolves to hunt for you.”

Lovable was clearly interested in that offer, but Bitter remained guarded.

“What is this favor?” he asked.

Firekeeper sighed. “I have a friend in the city on the mainland. He is a tall human with hair the same color as the fur of a fox. He is staying at a place called u-Bishinti.”

She wasn’t certain how, but instantly she was certain the ravens had heard of Derian. No wonder, really, given that gossip flew.

“I see you do know of him,” she went on boldly. “The favor I would ask is that you carry messages to him from me.”

“Does he speak our language as you do?” Lovable asked.

“No,” Firekeeper admitted. “He does not. I had thought I would ask the humans to give me some paper on which I could write.”

She decided to overlook for now that she was going to depend on a skill that she had disdained to learn properly.

“We might do this,” Bitter agreed. “And you would hunt for us in return?”

“And give us bright things?” Lovable added. “There are many bright things here, especially in the places where the first humans built their nests. I have taken some away already, but I would like more.”

“I could do this,” Firekeeper agreed. “My need is to make certain that my fox-haired friend does not worry, for I go with the wolves when they leave for the meeting meadows.”

Bitter considered, raising and lowering his feathers so that he created the illusion that he had long ears or, again, that his head was a fluffy ball twice its usual size. Lovable seemed quite impressed.

“We can do this,” Bitter said at last. “I would like to see your fox-haired friend for myself. Can you tell him to give us presents, too?”

“I can try,” Firekeeper said hesitantly. “I am a wolf and writing does not come easily to me.”

A new thought occurred to her. Could these ravens—or their kin—carry messages farther than to the mainland? Could they carry a message as far as to her own birth pack or to Hawk Haven?

She put the question to the ravens, and Bitter looked distinctly upset.

“We do not leave our territories here in the south,” he said. “Across the big inlet to the north, what you call the Royal Beasts do not like us. They say we follow strange ways, associate too closely with humans, and have adopted their customs. If we go there, we are attacked on sight, and so none of our kind, not raven, nor gull, nor any other goes further north than the edge of the northern point before the inlet. A few who have gone, whether by eagerness to see if attitudes have changed or by the chance humor of Air, have carried back terrible stories. We will carry your messages to the fox-haired friend you left on the mainland, but we will never fly north.”

Firekeeper hastened to soothe Bitter, so enraged did he seem, and she wondered at the prejudice shown by the Royal Beasts. What had these yarimaimalom done to deserve it? Was it only that they intimately associated with humans? That might be enough. She knew to her deep sorrow how many of the Royal Beasts still hated and feared humans, blaming them for what had been done in the days of the Old Country rulers.

Acquiring paper and a waxed hide tube in which to keep it was easy. The humans showed her how to use a bit of charcoal or a stick and berry juice to make marks. Firekeeper found herself thinking how much they would like the colored writing sticks the New Kelvinese made if this was the best ink they had. One of the aridisdu insisted on showing her the marks that meant “all is well,” “help is needed,” and a few others. The Liglimom apparently had single signs for these, less complex than the series of characters used to write Pellish, and Firekeeper found them no more difficult to commit to memory than animal tracks.

The outpost humans were very interested in her, and asked many questions. Firekeeper answered only a few, enough to keep the humans sweet. She needed them to tell Harjeedian and Derian where she was going so that they would not worry, and their worry create problems for her with the yarimaimalom.

The outpost humans agreed to pass along her message. So Firekeeper felt reassured—at least as reassured as one can who is going into unknown wilds in the company of barely known wolves, with uncertainty regarding the loyalty of one’s best friend to speed the trail.