Wolf Captured (44 page)

Derian took his seat and smiled his thanks to a servant who set in front of him a cup of hot mint tea and a bowl of cereal that mixed toasted oats, raisins, and a variety of nuts. It was very good, even without the rich cream supplied to pour over it.

Zira looked up from her reading as Derian finished taking the edge off his hunger.

“Good ride?” she asked.

“Prahini moves like a dream,” he assured her, “but something rather odd happened.”

He told her about the two ravens and the message capsule, finishing by pulling out the capsule itself.

“Can you read this?” he asked. “It looks like your language, but it’s nothing I’ve learned.”

Zira weighted down the top of the rolled paper with a little bowl of honey-toasted nuts.

“No wonder you couldn’t read this,” she said. “It’s in an abbreviated script used pretty routinely by both temples and businesses. Thing is, each character has to be separately memorized, so I doubt anyone has taught you it. Enough for you to memorize now.”

“That’s true,” Derian said. “What does it say?”

Zira placed a finger under each character in turn as she elaborated its meaning.

“‘All is well.’ ‘Must talk.’ ‘Keep out.’ Then there are the rather odd final characters. They aren’t ours.”

“They’re Firekeeper‘s—I mean Lady Blysse’s—idea of a signature. The hand is her; the paw is Blind Seer. What a weird message! And I wonder who wrote it?”

“Couldn’t she have done so?” Zira asked.

“Never before,” Derian replied, “but it’s not impossible. I’ll have to ask Harjeedian if he taught her the characters when he dropped her off.”

“Or maybe one of the disdum at the outpost did,” Zira said. “Didn’t you get a message a few days back saying that she’d told them she was going somewhere with the Wise Wolves and you weren’t to worry.”

“That’s true.” Derian mulled over this for a moment, and then the humor of the situation hit him. “Trust Firekeeper to learn to speak one language and write in another.”

He stared down at the written characters. “I wonder what she meant by this? I’m glad all is well, but this ‘must talk’ doesn’t seem to fit either with that or with ‘stay away.’”

“Seems to me like she’s saying that she’s well. There are things she wants to talk to you about, but she doesn’t want you to go to Misheemnekuru.”

“Sounds right,” Derian agreed. “I sure wish that if she’s decided to learn to write, she would have learned more than a few cryptic symbols.”

“It’s a start,” Zira said soothingly, in much the same tone she used when one of the foals was being fractious. “It’s a start.”

Varjuna entered, smelling strongly of horses, hot damp, and the soap he’d obviously just used to scrub his hands.

“What’s a start?” he asked.

Between them, Derian and Zira explained. Varjuna listened without interrupting, a trait that reminded Derian of King Tedric.

“Interesting,” he said, “and pleased as I am to hear the young woman is well, I hope she is not planning to return to the mainland too soon.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Derian asked sharply. The cream over his cereal suddenly seemed soured.

For a moment, Varjuna looked all of his sixty-five years.

“Complications,” he said briefly, “are arising regarding your visit—or, to be completely blunt, that of Lady Blysse. Had it been other than a jaguar year, and had the ahmyndisdu been older, maybe they would have been foreseen. On the other hand, Tiridanti had plenty of older heads to advise her and no one raised any questions. Perhaps no one really believed that Lady Blysse could do what Wain Endbrook claimed. I know I had my doubts.”

“You are talking,” Zira said, “in riddles and are making our guest quite anxious. Have our guests been traced? Has someone come looking for them?”

“No,” Varjuna said.

Derian didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Now that he actually knew the Liglimom a bit better, he’d thought a great deal about what a rescue mission would mean and had come to the reluctant conclusion that it would be a very bad way for their two cultures to make contact. He thought that with Barnet’s skill at spinning stories and a few preparatory letters, the eventual embassy could be handled peacefully. Only a few people need know the full truth.

Still, the sick sensation deep within him told him that no matter how much his mind knew differently, his heart wanted very much to go home. He resolved to start another letter to his family as soon as possible, but for now he needed to concentrate on what Varjuna was saying.

“The problem is theological in nature,” Varjuna said. “As you know by now, Derian, our entire culture is structured around endeavoring to serve the deities and live as they see best. Even in the homeland, we relied on auguries from various animals to know the divine will. When we came here, we met the yarimaimalom and our lives were enriched. Although no one seems to have thought about it before now, the coming of Lady Blysse and her ability to speak to the animals directly is a revolution on the same scale.”

Derian frowned. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry, but don’t you already talk with your yarimaimalom?”

“After a fashion,” Varjuna said. “Tell me, have you ever had laryngitis so severely that you lost your voice?”

Derian blinked. “Last winter, in fact. I underestimated how cold winters in the Northwoods could be.”

“How did you communicate?”

“By hand gestures mostly,” Derian said. “Sometimes I wrote notes. Sometimes Wendee—Wendee Jay looked out for me mostly—could guess based on a few words.”

Varjuna smiled, “And were you happy to get your voice back?”

“Immensely! It was so much easier to talk rather than write. Sometimes I wouldn’t even ask for something because it was just too much trouble …”

Derian paused. “I see your point, Varjuna, at least part of it. You think that if your people could learn to talk to the yarimaimalom a whole lot more communicating would go on. What’s wrong with that?”

“Just hold the idea for a moment,” Varjuna said. “Ease of communication is only part of it, nor if Lady Blysse can teach us to speak to the yarimaimalom are we assured of easy communication. Don’t you still prefer Pellish to our language?”

Derian grinned. “I speak your language really well when we’re discussing horses and a few other things, but just now, when you asked about laryngitis, I had to guess what you meant. It helped that you touched your throat and mentioned losing my voice.”

“So you see,” Varjuna said, “and you have been forced to immerse yourself in our language and ways. But this is a sideline to the main issue. When does your next appointment come?”

Derian frowned. “Actually, fairly soon.”

“Then let us talk again later, when we will not be interrupted. This is too serious a matter to go over quickly. In the end, we may need your help to arrive at the best decision.”

Derian didn’t like the implications of that. He already knew that government and religion were one and the same in this land. He found himself wishing he could send Firekeeper a message.

And what would I write? he thought with a wry smile. “All’s well. Must talk. Keep out.”

THE RUINS PROVED A CONTINUING fascination to both Firekeeper and Blind Seer, and they made several trips together to various interesting locations. One was a tower, its exterior shell still three-quarters intact, though a fire had gutted the interior, burning the wooden floors to cinder and taking out the roof as well.

Rubble was heaped inside the base. Vines intertwined throughout, and small animals had built their dens. Although there were recognizable human artifacts mixed with the heavy pieces of burned wood and heat-shattered stone, Firekeeper didn’t linger here long. The scent of old burned things made her uncomfortable, and for many nights thereafter her sleep was filled with nightmares she couldn’t quite remember, but which cast shadows over her days.

Far better were places fire hadn’t touched, where the agents of decay were wind, water, and good, honest rot. Firekeeper studied mosaics and sculptures, identified what was almost certainly writing, and carried away bits of broken glass and fragments of jewelry as gifts for Bitter and Lovable.

Best of all was that Firekeeper now had something she was doing with Blind Seer, an interest they shared as none of the Wise Wolves did. Indeed, Firekeeper was astonished by the Wise Wolves’ lack of interest. It was almost as if they deliberately avoided these places. Her own Royal Beasts had hated and despised the Old Country rulers, but she had not had this same sense of avoidance. She tucked the impression away in a corner of her mind so that she might gnaw over it during some slow time.

With clear honesty, she admitted to herself that she was glad for this avoidance. Not only did it leave her free to investigate as she wished, without taking too many others into consideration, but also she had something she could share with Blind Seer and Blind Seer alone. This gave her a good feeling that remained with her as they returned from each of their daily jaunts, buoying her up above the continued slights that came from many of the Wise Wolves.

On one particular day, Firekeeper was rejoicing over a particularly good mid—a pendant with small, faceted sapphires set in gold. It had cleaned up nicely, and Firekeeper knew that Lovable would adore it. She had grown rather fond of the female raven, and enjoyed Lovable’s childlike delight in pretty things.

The raven had taken to appearing from time to time when Firekeeper and Blind Seer headed out on one of these expeditions, sometimes dropping riddling hints where they might find something interesting. Firekeeper suspected Lovable’s motivation was greed, because the ruins that the deciphered riddles guided them to were invariably better preserved and contained more interesting—and shiny—objects.

Almost as soon as they emerged from the thick tangle at the edge of the forest into the scrub growth and grass, Firekeeper’s mood darkened. Moon Frost came loping over to meet them—or rather, to meet Blind Seer. Firekeeper was pointedly ignored.

“Dark Death is arranging a hunt,” Moon Frost said, wriggling with delight. “We were hoping you would be back in time to join us.”

“Dark Death?” Blind Seer asked. “He isn’t among the Ones:”

“No,” Moon Frost replied, snapping at a fly, “but the Ones aren’t the only wolves who can hunt. Since they get the first go at the kill, none of the Ones are hungry, but a few of us were thinking it would be nice to have firsts—and I, for one, am tired of eating fish.”

Blind Seer hadn’t paused at Moon Frost’s approach, but continued padding to where the joined packs were stirring from the late-afternoon drowse that saved them from the worst of the heat. Dark Death was gathered with a small pack of the strong hunters. Much tussling was going on, bumping of shoulders, biting at the thick fur of neck ruff and shoulder scruff, small snatches of howling—all indications that they were indeed planning a hunt.

Firekeeper walked next to Blind Seer, saying nothing, acutely aware of Moon Frost’s presence—and of how she herself was being ignored. After the day’s closeness with Blind Seer, Firekeeper found it very hard to be reminded that in the end she was not one with this pack—perhaps would never be one with any pack.

Sorrow and anger warred within the wolf-woman. She wanted to howl as she had heard human children cry “It’s not fair!,” but no one knew better than a wild creature that the course of one’s life was not governed by fairness. Only death was fair, for in time death came for everyone.

“I’m not hungry,” Blind Seer replied mildly. “Firekeeper and I ate while we were out.”

Moon Frost sniffed.

“Rabbits,” she announced contemptuously. “Hardly food for a hunter.”

“It fills the belly,” Blind Seer replied.

“You and I are such a good team,” Moon Frost wheedled. “We’re sure to pull down the kill and get the liver. A big strong male like you could work up an appetite for that, couldn’t you?”

“There are other strong males,” Blind Seer replied. “I see several of them already set for the hunt.”

“But I hunt best with you,” Moon Frost said, “and I think you do very well with me. Don’t you?”

What Blind Seer might have replied remained unknown, for Firekeeper felt her long-stretched temper give way as a bowstring might after being kept strung for too long.

“Blind Seer said he isn’t hungry,” Firekeeper snapped, staring at Moon Frost. “Are you too deaf to hear?”

“My ears are sharper than yours, fool pup,” Moon Frost snarled, flattening those ears against her skull. “Stay out of matters better suited to wolves than to humans.”

“Human? Perhaps,” Firekeeper said, narrowing her eyes, her hand drifting to her Fang, “but at least I’m not so unnatural as to be pressing my suit out of season. What’s wrong with you?”

Moon Frost peeled her lips back from gleaming ivory fangs. “You calling me unnatural? That’s like an eel telling a fish it is covered in slime. I am not unnatural, whelp. It is you, clinging to ways and peoples that are not your own, who are unnatural. You mouth our talk, mimic our ways, but smell yourself. You are human!”

Firekeeper snarled in turn, her bow staff dropping from her hand, her Fang moving into the best position for cutting. She and Blind Seer had sparred any number of times, and she knew that at this proximity the bow would be useless, but that with her knife she had a fair chance against one wolf—especially one who had never seen her fight and was likely to underestimate her skill.

However, although Moon Frost might be inclined to underestimate Firekeeper, she remained a Wise Wolf, possessed of all a Wise Wolf’s size and strength and intelligence. Moonspans of hunting had left Moon Frost lean and muscular. Good eating had erased any trace of winter weakness. Moon Frost easily outweighed Firekeeper and could put that weight to good use—and from how she was eyeing the knife, she had not forgotten that Firekeeper’s bite would come from deceptive places.

Moreover, Moon Frost had napped through all the lazy afternoon, while Firekeeper had traveled long distances, climbing and digging to see what the ruins held. The advantage was definitely with Moon Frost there, as in so many other ways, but Firekeeper was not about to surrender without a fight She was tired of being treated as not quite wolf by most, and by those who did acknowledge her as a wolf, as a very stupid pup. One way or another, this fight would change her status. Firekeeper tried hard not to think how final that change could be.