Wolf Captured (51 page)

“That’s about it,” Derian said. “I figure she must have gained some or the ravens wouldn’t have carried that message for her, but I won’t even guess beyond that.”

“You wish to tell her what I have told you?”

“That’s right,” Derian said. “If she realizes what’s stirring here, she may moderate her own actions. One thing Firekeeper seems to understand instinctively—probably part of growing up a wolf—is that it isn’t a good idea to make enemies of those with power.”

Unless, he thought, you have power to counter them in return and I don’t know what power she may have—or think she has.

He didn’t want to go into this with Varjuna, so only said, “I also want to know whatever it is that made her write ‘Must Talk,’ in her own message. That could throw another handful of rice in the pot.”

Varjuna chuckled at Derian’s use of the local idiom.

“All good things to consider,” he said. “There is only one difficulty as I see it. How will you find Lady Blysse if you go to the outpost? As I said, you cannot leave the area given to us by the yarimaimalom.”

“I figure that the yarimaimalom will know right off that I’m coming,” Derian said. “If they know, they’ll probably tell Firekeeper. I’m going to have to rely on her from that point on. However, if she doesn’t show up, then I’ll ask for someone to sail me around the islands and see what happens. I’ll ask any animal I see to tell her I’m here to see her.”

“And if she doesn’t come?”

“Then I start worrying.” Derian shrugged. “If Firekeeper were here she’d be fidgeting about our planning for things that might not happen. As I see it, the first stage is getting permission for me to go to the outpost. Would it be better if you asked or I asked?”

“Let me,” the ikidisdu of the Horse said. “Best for Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti that she not be seen as too liberal with the northerners. My request is within the community, for a guest of my nahal. It will be taken better that way, and those within u-Liall who vie with her for influence will not be as interested in blocking me.”

“Is the Temple of the Horse so important then?” Derian asked.

“All nahalm are important,” Varjuna said, his note of gentle reproof melding into a chuckle, “but not all provide the beasts upon whose backs we must travel.”

Politics again,
Derian thought.
Be good to the kind old man or find yourself learning that the omens have ordained you are to ride a swaybacked old nag. I don’t think Varjuna would do anything so irreverent, but that doesn’t mean that his less reverent colleagues wouldn’t think he would.

RAHNISEETA HAPPENED TO BE WORKING over at u-Nahal when Varjuna arrived to make a special request of u-Liall.

“Happened” was perhaps not a precisely accurate way of explaining her presence. Ever since Harjeedian had told her of the varying degrees of unhappiness and unrest within the disdum, Rahniseeta had resolved that she needed to keep an ear pressed to the ground for any developments that might harm her brother.

The Temple of the Cold Bloods had rallied in support of Harjeedian and his actions in securing Lady Blysse, not so much because Harjeedian was popular—though he was widely viewed as talented and divinely gifted—but because to not do so would have meant justifying why they had permitted one of their own to be the leading agent responsible for acquiring Lady Blysse.

The heads of the temple might have justified their participation—as they had at the time—on the grounds that Harjeedian had shown a singular ability to learn Pellish. They might have reminded everyone that the omens had all indicated that the expedition was the will of the deities. However, rather than justifying, the Temple of the Cold Bloods had taken the position that there was nothing to justify—at least outside of private discussions within the green-and-gold walls of the temple complex.

Therefore, since Rahniseeta felt she would learn nothing constructive within the Temple of the Cold Bloods, she offered her services within u-Nahal. As she frequently worked there in the capacity of scribe or secretary, no one looked too closely at her offer—and those who did either approved her perceived motives or felt she could do nothing that would endanger their own goals.

Rahniseeta was sitting at a desk in the scriptorium, one of several clerks busily transcribing documents that would eventually be sent to the disdum in u-Vreeheera, when Ikidisdu Varjuna arrived. The word of his arrival buzzed up from below, where the five members of u-Liall each had private audience chambers. Varjuna, though, had gone to none of these. He had gone to the larger chamber used for full conclaves of u-Liall. U-Liall had joined him soon thereafter, as had the jaguar Truth.

“Didn’t he send a message ahead?” Rahniseeta asked.

“Of course, he did,” the senior clerk replied with the snobbish gossipiness of one who is an insider and delights in being so. “However, he followed hard on the heels of his own message.”

“I hope nothing has happened to Derian Counselor,” Rahniseeta said, almost to herself.

She remembered the distant, hurt expression on the red-haired northerner’s face when last they had met. She’d tried hard not to think about it, but she knew in her eagerness to learn whether or not he was maimalodalu she had hurt his feelings.

“That’s right,” the clerk said, snapping his fingers as if he should have been privy to secret omens. “One of the northerners was given into Varjuna’s care—the red-haired one.”

“Derian Counselor,” Rahniseeta said, suddenly indignant to hear the young man described so superficially. “Or Derian Carter, to give him his other name. He was honored by the Wise Horse Eshinarvash, remember.”

She knew her sentence didn’t make much sense, but it served her purpose. The clerk snapped his lips tightly shut, his offended dignity warring with his curiosity. He doubtless would have condescended to ask something more about Derian as soon as he had opportunity to work out a way to be suitably snide about it, but a messenger came to the door.

“Rahniseeta, sister of Aridisdu Harjeedian of the Temple of the Cold Bloods,” he asked in the general way people do when asking for someone they do not know by sight.

“I am she,” Rahniseeta said, rising from her desk.

“Please follow me,” the messenger said. “U-Liall desires your presence.”

Rahniseeta set her quill carefully down where the ink would not blot on the document she had been working on, and without further word to any of the several clerks who had stopped their own writing to stare, followed the messenger from the room.

“Don’t be afraid,” the messenger reassured her as they hurried down the stairs, heading for one of the back doors into the conclave chamber.

“Do you know what they want me for?” Rahniseeta asked.

“I do not,” the messenger admitted. “I was waiting outside the conclave chamber. However, the one who told me to find you did not seem unduly agitated.”

Rahniseeta would have liked to ask if this person seemed agitated at all, but they had reached the doorway to the chamber. The messenger pulled the admittance rope, and the door was opened from within. This was not the formal entrance through with the Rahniseeta had brought Lady Blysse and Blind Seer, but one of the entries used by those who worked within u-Nahal.

“Go directly in,” the messenger said, “and stand along the wall on the right side behind the screens until you are called upon. Then go and stand directly in the center, where all u-Liall can view you with equal ease.”

Rahniseeta knew the procedure, but she was glad for the reminder. She had to fight to keep her knees from trembling as she stepped into the conclave chamber and leaned back against the wall.

Voices were raised in discussion, but she was so nervous that it took a moment before she could register what was being said, and then it was to hear her own name being spoken.

“Has the woman Rahniseeta arrived yet?” came the clear, young voice of Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti.

“She has,” replied someone Rahniseeta knew was a senior clerk.

“Have her come forward, then, so we can resolve this quickly”

The clerk stepped back and motioned to Rahniseeta. She lifted her head high and walked forward as if she stood before u-Liall every day of her life.

U-Liall were not dressed for ceremony as they had been on the day that they received the northerners, nor were they seated in the elaborately jeweled thrones. More comfortable chairs had been set around a table cut in a horseshoe shape. There they sat in the same positions as before, Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti at the curve. The jaguar Truth lounged on her pedestal near the right end of the table and Ikidisdu Varjuna was seated at the left end of the table.

As she had been instructed, Rahniseeta stood where all of u-Liall could see her, and waited to be addressed.

Tiridanti gave a familiar nod.

“I remember seeing you,” she said. “You were here the day we interviewed Lady Blysse, were you not?”

“I was, Ahmyndisdu.”

“Very good. Ikidisdu Varjuna here has come with a request from Derian Counselor that this Derian be permitted to go to the outpost on Misheemnekuru, there to meet with Lady Blysse. We were wondering if the aridisdu Harjeedian would be available to act as escort. We were about to send word to the Temple of the Cold Bloods when someone recalled seeing you here in u-Nahal and thought you might know your brother’s whereabouts and schedule.”

So that’s all it is
, Rahniseeta thought, resisting the urge to sag in relief.
They’re just saving time
.

Aloud she said, “Aridisdu Harjeedian is not currently at the Temple of the Cold Bloods, but is in u-Seeheera proper—or so I believe, based on what he said to me this morning. However, he has nothing on his schedule that would keep him from being of service to u-Liall.”

“Good then.” Tiridanti turned to look at Varjuna. “How soon does this Derian wish to make the voyage to Misheemnekuru?”

“As soon as possible,” Varjuna replied, “for the reasons I have already explained. However, I am certain that he will wait on the will of the deities.”

“The omens are that tomorrow’s weather should be good for sailing,” said Dantarahma, the junjaldisdu, with a warm, affable smile. “Can he leave then? We will make all efforts to assist him.”

Varjuna smiled in return. “I believe Derian is attempting to finish his tutoring sessions so that he will be readily available. Shall I have him ride from u-Bishinti tonight or tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” Dantarahma said. “Let the early harbor traffic thin. Derian doesn’t need to go too far or go without his breakfast.”

Tiridanti took back control of the meeting once more—a thing she frequently must do, so Rahniseeta had heard. Last year had been a dolphin year, and the junjaldisdu could not seem to grow accustomed to relinquishing control—especially to the ahmyndisdu.

“Rahniseeta,” Tiridanti said, “I understand that you are somewhat fluent in this Pellish.”

“A little, Ahmyndisdu, nothing like my brother.”

“Continue your studies,” the ahmyndisdu said. “The omens say this will be a useful skill.”

“I will do as is commanded.”

“Good. Now, if you can leave what you were working on upstairs, go and find Harjeedian and tell him that he is to make himself available to Derian Counselor at the harbor tomorrow. My clerk will send a note to the Temple of the Cold Bloods with further details.”

Rahniseeta knew formalities would be out of place here, so she offered her respects in silence, and hurried out. Her heart was pounding hard in relief as she hurried down into u-Seeheera to find Harjeedian.

FIREKEEPER FELT AWASH WITH GUILT now that she understood what the tainted blood of the Wise Wolves meant to them and for their future.

Now she realized how much Blind Seer—his own blood uncorrupted—would mean to these inbred wolves. He would be a strong sire, one these Wise Wolves needed as an isolated pond needs a fresh inflow to flush away the stagnant water. The wolf-woman’s guilt came from her awareness that she did not want Blind Seer to stay here—and from her awareness that this might be the place he would not only be most needed, but most appreciated.

During her introduction to the puppies, Firekeeper had learned that the Wise Wolves kept genealogies rather like those she had seen among humans—although the genealogies of the Wise Wolves were oral, not written. Rascal’s introduction had included not only each puppies’ pack, but who their parents were within that pack, and who those parents’ parents had been, and those parents’ parents’ parents. Rascal’s recitation did not go any further back than those three generations, but Firekeeper learned, when she asked Rascal if he knew his own heritage as thoroughly, that Rascal could recite the litany of his forebears for ten generations.

Among the Royal Wolves this type of recordkeeping was not necessary. As Blind Seer explained, scent alone was sufficient to distinguish close relations, and there were strong taboos against mating with one who shared either parent or grandparent. He couldn’t say whether the taboos were taught or interwoven into the blood, only that this was so.

If there was an instinctive revulsion against mating with a close family member, the Wise Wolves had bred it from themselves in those long-ago days of which Grey Thunder had spoken. In any case, throughout the Sanctuary Islands the bloodlines had been bred so closely that—as their physical similarities showed—wolves proved to be close kin even when their parents were, ostensibly, unrelated.

Even those like Dark Death, who had come a fair distance, were—so Blind Seer assured Firekeeper—marked by a similarity of scent. Even to one as nose-dead as Firekeeper, the proof of this relationship emerged with the damaged puppies that, as she had been told, still appeared in almost every litter, even when care had been taken to try and make certain that the breeding pair was unrelated.

From the genealogies Rascal recited with such blithe ease, Firekeeper deduced another dirty little secret of the Wise Wolves: the Ones of a pack were not necessarily both—or even either—the parents of the litter the pack reared as its own.