Wolf Captured (42 page)

Firekeeper wanted to stop and look more closely at these things, perhaps collect a few more shining scraps as bribes for the ravens, but Blind Seer urged her on.

“Come. This is nothing to what lies ahead. This is mouthing at a hank of rabbit’s fur hanging on a bit of bramble when you might have its hot meat.”

Firekeeper laughed at the image, quickening her pace to match Blind Seer’s, nor was she disappointed when he led her through a tangle of honeysuckle and wild rose into the remnants of what must have once been a beautiful room.

The roof was entirely gone, but the angle of the two walls that still stood had protected the interior from all but the most direct precipitation. Honeysuckle and rose made such a solid barrier on the sides where the walls had almost completely collapsed that for a moment Firekeeper entertained the idea that the wild flowers were somehow protecting the shell of the room. Then she saw without fancy.

Far from protecting the remaining room, the honeysuckle and wild rose had contributed to the collapse of the stonework walls. Perhaps some day long, long ago the humans who had built this place had planted the flowering vines along the outside of the wall. Firekeeper had seen this done in many places, the flowering vines treasured for their scent, for the shade they cast, and even for the birds they attracted near.

Had this room then been a lady’s bower? The quiet retreat wherein the lady of the house came when the summer heat grew too intense? Had it been a study or an eating room? Firekeeper felt fairly certain it had not been a kitchen or laundry room, for the two walls that remained were designed for beauty, not mere practicality. Grease stains were surely never meant to accumulate here, nor steam and soap scum to dim the elaborate borders.

Firekeeper raised the lower edge of her shirt and used the fabric to rub away the dirt that clung to the walls. Blind Seer watched with curiosity.

“What do you see there, Firekeeper?”

Firekeeper continued her cleaning, wishing for a bigger piece of cloth and a bucket of warm water.

“The wall is decorated with pictures made from small bits of stone or glass or tile,” she said. “We saw the like in New Kelvin. Such work is very time-consuming to do, or so I understand, and not so common in buildings unless the owner is very rich.”

“What is pictured?” Blind Seer asked.

“I can’t quite tell,” Firekeeper admitted. “Here are flowers, certainly, though as with many of the things humans draw, I cannot tell for certain what type of flower. Birds, too, though I am not sure about the type of bird—a robin, maybe, though the red may simply be mold.”

The wolf came closer so that he might look, and bumped his head against her arm.

“Do you like it?” he asked, and Firekeeper thought he sounded a bit tentative, even shy.

“This place is very interesting,” she assured him, reaching so she might embrace him. “I am learning slowly to understand the fashions in which humans do their decorations, and I think you are right. There is something here that does not seem like what we have seen in New Kelvin. It is harder to say whether or not the artists favor the style of those who founded Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, for much of those people’s work was destroyed in the days following the Plague. Still, I think you may be right. This seems more like what we saw in u-Seeheera than what we have seen elsewhere.”

“I did not make a hasty judgment,” Blind Seer said. “There are other places like this one—though I think these walls are two of the best for holding pictures. My eyes must still sometimes struggle to tell what the humans have drawn, but, do you know what, Firekeeper?”

“What?”

“The wolves I was here with—Moon Frost, Freckles, and some of the others—they could not see either a flower or a bird or a cloud in the sky until I showed them how to look.”

Firekeeper must fight down a touch of jealousy at this reminder of how Blind Seer had first come here before she could think clearly about his comment.

“That is interesting. You would think that these Wise Wolves would have learned something of human ways, living in such harmony with humans as they do. Instead it seems that they have kept some blindness while you, dear heart, have learned to see a little with human eyes.”

“Even as you see with wolf’s eyes,” Blind Seer said.

“I wish I could show Derian this,” Firekeeper said. “I think there must be things I am missing. I wonder if there is writing here among the pictures.”

“Writing?”

Blind Seer tilted his head and stared at the wall, his brow furrowing in what some would have called a most human manner.

“Yes,” Firekeeper went on. “We know that the people of Hawk Haven and Bright Bay make their words in one way, but those of New Kelvin make them in an entirely different way. The Liglimom use yet a third form. I think I might see traces of it here, but I cannot be certain it is not simply an ornamental border.”

“Could Derian?” Blind Seer asked doubtfully.

“I don’t know,” Firekeeper said, “but surely as the Ones get the best bites from the kill, so Derian has by now seen how these Liglimom humans write their language.”

Firekeeper glanced up and noticed that the sun was beginning to set. It would be many hours, though, before full darkness came.

“You said there are other places,” she said. “Can you take me to another?”

Blind Seer tugged her hand in his jaw, as gently as a snake carrying eggs.

“Follow,” he suggested, and so Firekeeper did, her heart lighter than it had been for many days—perhaps since that evil night when Harjeedian had taken them from the banks of the Flin River.

SHIVADTMON DIDN’T SHOW ANY TRACE of his prior agitation when he arrived a few days later for his next Pellish lesson with Waln. Indeed, he focused so intensely on reviewing the routine phrases that Wain thought he might need to start his efforts at subversion over again, maybe even with another person entirely.

If Shivadtmon had said something inappropriate to one of his supervisors and been slapped back into line, especially if powerful concepts like “deity” or “omen” had been used in the reprimand, there might be no bringing the aridisdu over to Wain’s way of thinking.

Wain knew perfectly well the power of abstract ideas. Even if residents of his native islands didn’t worship deities as these people did, there wasn’t a sailor alive who didn’t know deep down in his heart that the ocean was a potent and capricious force. And though Wain didn’t like to accept this, he knew that Queen Valora had bought him with nothing other than words, words like “lord” and “baron,” words that had transformed a whore’s bastard son into a peer of the realm through a medium no more potent than breath.

When he thought about it, Wain realized that Valora’s rulership of the Isles was another thing based on little more than words. Valora called herself “queen” and expected people to respect that word and the lineage it represented, never mind her own lack of deeds. Could she and her little fleet have held the Isles if the residents had decided to resist her? Wain didn’t think so.

Words were very powerful indeed, and Wain would not overlook their power here among the Liglimom. Best to begin with this lesson.

“Slowly, aridisdu,” Wain said. “You are running the words together. Separate them more distinctly from each other. There is a pause between ‘good’ and ‘afternoon,’ another between’Your’ and ‘Majesty.’”

Shivadtmon pursed his lips as if he might object, but obeyed.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” he said, this time exaggerating the syllables too much, so that “Majesty” became “Ma-jes-tee.”

Wain swallowed a sigh. Accurate instruction and flattery did not go hand in hand. However, as much as he would rather move to flattery, Wain could not have his student poorly taught, or his efforts at winning Shivadtmon to his side would be undone the moment Barnet or someone else corrected the aridisdu’s diction.

Then Wain realized how he could combine fishing for information as to Shivadtmon’s mood with the lesson.

“That is too great a separation,” Waln said, “especially in the phrase ‘Your Majesty.’ Pellish does not break between each syllable any more than your own language does. Like you, we pause between words. The difference is that where both of our languages have compound words …”

Wain felt a flash of pride that he remembered the technical term he had heard Barnet use.

“ … Pellish has far fewer compounds than does your own language.”

Wain saw Shivadtmon frowning, so quickly seized chalk and wrote an example on a slate. Wain was far from literate in Liglimosh, but two sea voyages with little to do had given him ample time to practice a limited vocabulary.

“Let us look at your own title, ‘aridisdu,’” Waln said, writing the word. “It breaks into two parts. ‘Disdu’ is the root that means ‘one who has been initiated into the service of the deities.’ Am I correct?”

Shivadtmon nodded, and Wain was pleased to see him relaxing slightly. He’d thought choosing this word with its implied acknowledgment of his student’s special status would be a good idea.

“‘Ari’ indicates that you belong to the elite group which has intensively studied the great wealth of knowledge handed down through divination of the divine will.”

Shivadtmon relaxed even more.

“That is so,” he said, nodding regally. “Not only must the aridisdum study prior divinations, we must study the interpretations written by our forebears, especially as to what these past messages indicate about the code of behavior pleasing to the divinities.”

“Not only that,” Waln said, figuring it couldn’t hurt to rub in a little more oil, “you aridisdum must also study how to interpret omens yourselves. There is a great deal of responsibility included in the small syllable ‘art.’”

Shivadtmon smiled, and Wain returned his focus to linguistics.

“In Pellish, however, we would probably use two separate words for the concept, rather than combining the two. We speak of a ‘head gardener,’ not ‘headgardener.’ Indeed, the latter might imply one who gardens upon heads, rather than one who is in the highest authority regarding garden lore.”

Shivadtmon frowned. “Pellish is not a strong language if it is so open to misinterpretation. Why say ‘head’ when you have a perfectly good word in ‘chief’?”

That last was beyond Waln’s ability to answer, so he ignored the question, rightly guessing that Shivadtmon was less interested in learning the evolution of Pellish than he was in asserting the superiority of his native language.

“I agree that Pellish is sloppy,” Wain said. “I suspect that when commerce is established between our lands, your language will come to dominate. However, in order to establish such commerce, we must be able to speak with each other. Here the Liglimom have the advantage. You have the opportunity to learn Pellish, whereas the residents of the lands where that language is spoken remain ignorant even of the existence of this great nation to the south.”

Shivadtmon was all but purring now, so Waln decided to try introducing a more sensitive topic.

“Before we return to the phrase book, let us examine another word in your language—a more complex one. I believe this exercise will give you insight into how Pellish works.”

Shivadtmon was no different from any other student in inviting a change from routine. He leaned slightly forward as Waln wrote the characters for “misheemnekuru” on the slate. Wain thought he heard a faint intake of breath, but didn’t turn to look. It was very important that Shivadtmon not realize the intensity of Waln’s curiosity regarding the place.

Wain had spent lots of time over the last several days thinking about the effects of the Plague in his own land, about things that had been left behind when the Old Country rulers left. Much had been destroyed in the antimagic fervor that followed, but fortunes had been established on the more mundane loot. If he understood what Shivadtmon had told him, the situation had been different here. He needed to find out just what those differences were, but if his conjectures were correct …

Wain forced his attention back to the lesson, rapidly drawing straight lines between the segments of the word, lecturing as he did so.

“Your people probably think of ‘misheemnekuru’ as being able to be broken into two words—isn’t that so?”

Shivadtmon frowned, but gamely went along. “That is so, ‘misheemne’ and ‘kuru.’”

“Well, a Pellish speaker like myself,” Wain said with a self-deprecatory smile, “would see it broken into three words—and maybe even four. ‘Kuru’ is the easy one. Harjeedian told me that means a sanctuary, a place to which access is restricted by command of the divine will.

“‘Misheemne’ is where we would get tripped up. In our language, possession is indicated by the use of a separate word: ‘of.’ So we see that part as two words: ‘islands’ and ‘of.’ You make it even harder for us in that your language tends to imply the …”

Wain struggled to remember the word Barnet had used for that part of speech, but he couldn’t remember it.

He shrugged. “The word that goes in front, like ‘the’ if there isn’t any other possibility than the one you’re referring to, and ‘a’ if there’s more than one possibility.”

Wain saw Shivadtmon getting confused, and grinned.

“See why your language is so hard for us? What I mean is that if
the
only way you can say it is ‘the Sanctuary Islands,’ you leave off the ‘the.’ It’s only when there’s a choice, like ‘the wolf’ or ‘a wolf,’ that you bother to state it.”

“And Pellish,” Shivadtmon said, nodding as if a mystery had been clarified, “always states this part of speech, even if there could be no other option?”

“Pretty much,” Wain said. “That’s what makes Lady Blysse such a sloppy speaker. She doesn’t bother with any word she doesn’t find immediately necessary, and so she comes across as what she is—uneducated and rather stupid.”

Wain suppressed a smile. From watching Shivadtmon’s expression change both when Wain had used the word “wolf” and again when he mentioned Lady Blysse by name, Wain was pretty sure now that whatever had happened after Shivadtmon had left the other day, the aridisdu was still offended by Lady Blysse being permitted to go to Misheemnekuru. Wain was tempted to ask if anything had been heard about the little bitch, but knew he’d do better if Shivadtmon brought up the matter himself.