Wolf Captured (53 page)

A double handful of paces within the curtain of larger trees they came upon a camp in whose compact design Derian recognized Firekeeper’s mark. There was a stone circle in which banked coals glowed. Over these a spitted rabbit was slowly roasting, fat dripping intermittently to sizzle in the embers.

“We eat along the trail,” Firekeeper said, “but then there was a stupid rabbit … . We have berries, too, and fresh water.”

She indicated a pottery jar with a toss of her head.

“That and water I take from well. I even ask.”

A major concession on her part, for Derian knew that Firekeeper ascribed to a wolfish view that the strong took and the rest put up with the taking. She must have some reason for wanting to keep the Liglimom sweet. He was interested in what might have moderated her outlook, but explanations might come out without his pressing her with questions.

The camp was set up in an area obviously intended for such—another sign of her accommodation. Whatever the reason Firekeeper had elected to use it, Derian was glad for the table and benches already in place. He really didn’t feel like sitting on a rock.

“So, wondering why I came?” Derian asked, teasingly.

“I think, maybe, I say I want to talk and you is kind,” Firekeeper said, “but I then think must be more for Liglimom to let you come here so easy.”

“Good thoughts,” Derian replied. Firekeeper had slid across the table a leaf cup filled with a handful of sweet-tart wild blueberries, and he ate a few of these while he organized his thoughts. “Firekeeper, are you willing to listen to a very long story? I want to know what has been happening with you, the things that you wanted to talk with me about, but I want your promise that you’ll give me a chance to tell you some things—important things—before you go running off again.”

Firekeeper nodded. “I listen. Even you go first.”

Derian realized that part of the reason for this courtesy was that his telling might save the wolf-woman the need to articulate some information that she might have received from another source.

“I’ll go first,” he said, “but promise you’ll ask questions. This gets really complicated.”

Firekeeper agreed with another nod. Blind Seer had withdrawn from the fire to a patch of damp ground and his panting had slowed. A dog might have finished cooling off by going to sleep, but the wolf lay watching with intelligent eyes.

Derian began explaining the complicated tangle of fears and accusations, threats of heresy and impiety that had grown from the very small seed of Firekeeper’s arrival and the realization that she could without a doubt speak to the yarimaimalom,. The wolf-woman listened with astonishing patience, asking occasional questions, and not even being offended when Derian mistook her silence for inattention.

“I listen,” she said. “These yarimaimalom do listen to and work with humans. If the humans think strange, so may beasts and so I must know.”

“You should also know,” Derian said, “because one of these days someone is going to insist—or at least try to insist—on your coming back and playing teacher. I don’t know if anyone could put pressure on the yarimaimalom to make you come back, but if and when you do, all of this is going to boil forth.”

Firekeeper made a sharp gesture filled with contained energy. She and Derian had been picking at the rabbit during his long recital. Now she snapped one of the bones between her fingers and sucked out the marrow as a child might the honey from a sweet.

“I know,” she said. “What I not know is if I can teach this thing—even if they decide that the learning is good. What happens if I cannot teach?”

“Some people will be relieved,” Derian said, “and some will be disappointed. Unhappily, the basic question of whether your ability and apparent acceptance by the Wise Beasts makes you the equivalent of one of the five most powerful people in u-Seeheera—I think in the entire land—will remain. The yarimaimalom do seem to have accepted you as one of their own.”

Without his intending such, Derian’s voice turned the last into a question and Firekeeper answered it as such.

“The wolves accepted Blind Seer first, and Blind Seer claimed me as one of his pack. Later, I win my place. It is a little place, but, yes, I am accepted by these wolves. Some ravens, too, speak with me—the ones who carried the messages to you and their flock. Whether this is accepting of yarimaimalom or only of some yarimaimalom, I do not know.”

“I think,” Derian said, “that in this case—at least unless the humans received omens indicating otherwise—some is as good as all. What matters is that the yarimaimalom have not killed you as a trespasser. That makes you at the very least a human with privileges granted to no other—and I, for one, think it makes you a Beast.”

He had seen Firekeeper bristle slightly when he referred to her as a privileged human, but she eased as soon as she understood his point.

“And,” she said, “if you see me so, so will many others and these problems will become more than words. Very well. If and when I come to mainland again, I be very careful how I act.”

That was a greater concession than Derian had expected, and he found himself asking, “What has happened since you’ve been here?”

Firekeeper tossed the rabbit bone into the embers and stared at the little tongues of flame that licked up in response.

“Blind Seer and I have talked with many Wise Wolves, from many packs. They come for a hunting, but also for a looking over. We learn many things in this time. These Wise Wolves is not like my Royal Wolves—in both body and mind, they are different. I not know what humans know of this, so tell none, but I wish you to know. Speak of it only if humans tell first.”

Derian promised, touched and frightened as once before when Firekeeper had confided in him things the powerful Beasts might not want known by humans. There were times when her trust in his discretion was a rather greater burden than he desired.

When Firekeeper finished the long account of how the yarimaimalom had bred for talents and ended up with monstrosities, Firekeeper shrugged as if to say “Now you figure it out.” For Derian, who had grown to adulthood in a culture that tolerated inborn talents only because no one could do anything about them, and because many of them were admittedly useful, the idea of breeding for talents was almost as disquieting as the practice of magic.

“You’re right,” Derian said. “These Wise Wolves are nothing like your Royal Wolves, not in mind or—it seems—in body. The ravens told you that these differences have alienated the yarimaimalom from the Royal?”

“Yes,” Firekeeper agreed. “I think it is with all. I have not yet talked with a member of the water folk, though I think some of the otters who hunted among the salmon must have been Wise.”

“And probably looking you over as well,” Derian chuckled. “You haven’t had an easy time of it, have you? I wonder if they’re trying to figure out if you’re one of the maimalodalum, just like Rahniseeta was doing with me and Barnet.”

Firekeeper tilted her head at him in mute inquiry. Derian responded with the story, flavoring it as best he could in Barnet’s style. He had expected Firekeeper to be amused, but he had not expected her to seize on it with more intense attention than she had given his account of mainland politics.

“Rahniseeta believe these maimalodalum are real?” Firekeeper asked, her dark eyes burning. “Animals with human shape, humans with animal shape?”

Too late Derian realized what he had done. To him and Barnet the story of the maimalodalum was after the fashion of a fireside tale, amusing, but too fantastic to be believed. For Firekeeper, forever trapped between two worlds, it was tantalizing hint of a dream that somehow might come true.

“It’s just a story, Firekeeper,” he replied lamely.

“So for humans,” the wolf-woman replied, looking over at Blind Seer, “were the Royal Beasts.”

WHEN WALN HEARD THAT DERIAN’S COUNSELOR was being taken to Misheemnekuru, he smiled—not because he like the idea, but because he knew this violation of procedure was what he needed to bring Shivadtmon firmly over to his side.

Without a word spoken between them, Wain knew that young Carter’s admission onto those sacred isles would make Shivadtmon eager to challenge those who had permitted the visit. After all, being posted there was an honor reserved for the best and brightest—an honor of which Shivadtmon had boasted. What had Derian Carter done to deserve being given an equal privilege?

Wain knew he could use Shivadtmon’s certain irritation to his own advantage, and made a private bet with himself that he could do so without ever even speaking Derian’s name.

As Wain had told Tedgewinn, his first goal was to gain the shipwreck survivors a bit more freedom of movement. Without that, anything else they might hope to achieve would be completely impossible. Now, while Shivadtmon had to be burning with a desire to get even for imagined wrongs, was the time to strike.

After reflecting on various tactics and discarding them all as Hawed—basically because Wain just didn’t know enough about the way the Liglimom thought—the merchant decided on the direct approach. Therefore, when Shivadtmon arrived for his lesson, the aridisdu found the door to the suite open and Waln staring out of one of the narrow slit windows in the direction of the open water.

Wain let the aridisdu tap once for admission, then a second time before turning to face him. He kept his movements lethargic and made his smile of greeting a bit wan.

“Are you unwell?” Shivadtmon asked, obviously concerned, though Wain thought rather cynically he was probably more worried about infection to himself than ill health in his tutor. “I heard one of the other tutors was ill.”

“No, I’m fine,” Warn said, motioning Shivadtmon to the table where they usually sat for lessons. He poured them both tumblers of cool water flavored with mint, moving slowly as he did so, pausing once as if distracted.

“You do not seem well,” Shivadtmon objected.

“It’s not anything you can do anything about,” Wain said, deliberately provoking Shivadtmon’s pride. “It’s being shut up in this cursed building all the time, especially in this stifling heat. I’m a sailor and an islander. I like to see a long ways off. Being closed in …”

Wain shrugged. What he really wanted to do was grab Shivadtmon by the collar of his shirt and yell, “Get me out of here, you idiot!” That, however, would be less than productive, and, like any man who had ruled by strength, Wain knew how to pick his battles.

As Wain had hoped, Shivadtmon did not like being told there was something he could do nothing about—especially at a time when he was doubtlessly feeling rather impotent. He bristled, and it was out of anger rather than compassion that he shot forth his next question.

“Being closed in does what to you? I understand that sailors live very tightly packed when on shipboard. I should think you would be well prepared to live like this. That you would even find the spacious quarters provided for you comfortable beyond imagination.”

Wain essayed another weak smile.

“I suppose it would seem that way,” he said, “to one who has never been on a long voyage. The difference is that although shipboard quarters may be tight, topside there’s open space as far as the eye can see. There’s shore leave, too. A merchant vessel like those me and most of my mates served on didn’t spend too long out from shore. We went from port to port. The mainland was a longer run, of course, but even that wasn’t too bad.”

“I see … .”

Shivadtmon fell into a tense, thoughtful silence. Waln would have bet anything he owned that the aridisdu was trying to decide whether allying himself with the northerners and their concerns would be to his advantage or not.

“Do your fellows—your mates—feel this way, too?” Shivadtmon asked.

“They do,” Warn said promptly. “Thing is, they’re just deckhands mostly, and so are a bit nervous about speaking out. They don’t quite buy the bit about us being guests rather than prisoners, and are scared they’ll end up in a dungeon somewhere if they complain.”

“And you do not share their fear?” Shivadtmon asked.

“Of course not,” Wain said stiffly. “I believe we are guests and are being treated as such.”

Wain wondered if the aridisdu had heard how Waln had agitated to see Tiridanti soon after their arrival. Best to add that first—and if he could tweak Shivadtmon’s nose while he did it, all the better.

“Aridisdu Harjeedian came to me as a direct emissary from Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti,” Wain said.

He didn’t mention that at the time he’d felt like he was being fobbed off on a junior disdu as a direct slight from the ahmyndisdu. He’d noticed before that Shivadtmon resented the prominence into which Harjeedian had come of late.

“Aridisdu Harjeedian explained that our current living quarters were meant to protect us from the general populace. Apparently there is fear that they will take us as some sort of legendary demons?”

Wain turned the last into a question.

“We do have such creatures in our folktales,” Shivadtmon said, “but I hardly think the local populace would be so credulous.”

“Then we are prisoners?” Wain asked. He was pleased that he managed to sound quite shocked.

Shivadtmon found himself in the position of defending someone who he resented. It didn’t improve his mood—but his irritation was not directed toward Wain.

“I do not think you are prisoners,” Shivadtmon said in a reasonable tone of voice that confirmed to Wain that he thought the exact opposite. “Rather I think Aridisdu Harjeedian overstepped himself in his explanation. Certainly there are some members of our common folk who would be shocked by your appearance, but not to the point of violence against you. More likely they would run into their houses and bar the doors.”

“Could you ask Harjeedian what’s going on then?” Waln asked, sounding as pathetic as possible. “We’re going stir-crazy in here—all but Nolan, who may well be sickening for lack of fresh air and exercise.”

Wain decided to throw caution to the winds. To the bottom with his private bet. He paused as if remembering something.

“Oh, but you can’t ask Harjeedian, can you?” he went on, squaring his shoulders bravely against disappointment. “I forgot Aridisdu Harjeedian has gone to Misheemnekuru with Derian Counselor. Even when he returns, he will certainly be too busy for such a minor matter.”