Wolf Captured (64 page)

He smelled smoke, not the stale smoke that still clung to his clothing, but smoke from a big fire. When he looked up from his concentration on the ground in front of him, Derian thought he saw a faint glow ahead.

A bonfire, but built lower than we are. I’ll bet anything that whoever it is we’re sneaking up on is down in some sort of hollow where they’re pretty much out of sight. Late at night, hidden in a hollow somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Whoever’s up to whatever, they don’t want anyone to know. They don’t figure anyone does know, either, or they wouldn’t risk the fire and the music. The yarimaimalom know, though, and they wanted me to see whatever this is. They probably wanted Firekeeper, but she’s not available, so they settled for me. Let’s not disgrace the species, Derian Carter.

With that admonition, Derian crept forward. The jaguar and puma had been lying side by side for several moments now and a space just the right size for Derian had been left pointedly open between them. Trembling despite the fact that they had not offered him the least harm, Derian crept into the space. He wanted a drink, and that of something stronger than water. Then he looked through the screening branches and forgot about everything but what he saw.

He’d been right about the hollow. What he hadn’t expected was the temple. It had the step-pyramid shape that still capped the buildings in Heeranenahalm. In this case, the step pyramid was the entire temple. There were no buildings around it or beneath it, no meeting rooms or apartments or rooms in which to keep the various animals that seemed indispensable in the Liglimom’s religion.

It wasn’t a very high pyramid, either. If Derian had been standing next to it, another of himself standing on his shoulders would have been able to see the top. It rose from a squat base with the careful gradations that testified that the builders had been working not from plans, but from necessity. They’d made the base as wide as was needed to support the top, and the top had to be wide because it was where all the activity would happen. From what Derian could see, there needed to be room enough for at least two humans to move around the shining black stone altar at the very top.

At first, Derian had thought this must be a very old temple. Then he realized that the reverse was what was true. This was a very new temple, probably not more than a decade old. That probably explained its roughness. The temples in u-Seeheera had been built before the Plague. Their builders had used magic to help them along. If they hadn’t used magic, they’d at least had experience on their side. This temple had been built without magic, with trial and error as an architect, and—again Derian was sure he was right—on the sly.

His skin began to creep, and this time the sensation wasn’t due to the proximity of the two carnivores who lay on either side of him. If anything, they were a comfort.

Why did they bring me here? Why didn’t they bring someone like Varjuna or Tiridanti or even that rather silly woman who likes the bears? Why me? Why now?

Derian couldn’t ask, though he longed to do so with almost a physical pain. Instead, he settled himself and resolved to figure out the answers through observation.

A ritual of some sort was under way. Derian had the feeling that they were just warming into it. He tried to count how many people were down there and to see how many there were. Two disdum fussing about on top. The fellow on the drums. A woman playing very softly on a flute. Then there were what Derian figured was the congregation, a couple dozen men and women settled in prayerful attitudes far enough back from the pyramid that they could see the top.

There wasn’t a single bonfire as he had thought originally, but smaller fires set along the steps, so that what was going on at the top could be clearly seen. The centrality of the firelight cast everything else into shadow, so it was a while before Derian saw the group on the far side managing the animals. To be honest, he didn’t focus in on them until a woman in the formal garb of a kidisdu of birds started climbing to the top. She was holding a snowy white cockerel in one hand. The bird was hanging limply, as birds that have had their eyes covered usually do.

The congregation started singing something low but fervent. Derian struggled to get a clearer look at the group clustered with the animals. They were on the far side of the pyramid from him, and that made seeing difficult. Then suddenly, he realized that what was important wasn’t how many there were, but why they were here.

The woman holding the cockerel had surrendered it to one of the men at the top and then dropped to her knees one step shy of the top. She bent her head. The singing rose in intensity. The man now holding the cockerel raised his voice in triumphant song. The bird struggled just a little as if suddenly sharing Derian’s feeling that something wasn’t right.

Then the disdu holding the cockerel nodded to his subordinate. The other brought up a gleaming knife and slashed. Blood went everywhere, splattering the stone and the robes of the three disdum atop the pyramid.

The cockerel was set down on the cloth that topped the altar, and when the blood had run through it, the dyed cloth was held up for inspection.

Derian continued to watch, but although he registered detail after detail, his thoughts were in a whirl of confusion and horror. Hadn’t Rahniseeta or someone told them that animal sacrifice had been stopped as part of the treaty with the yarimaimalom? Sacrifice of any animal, he was sure, not just the yarimaimalom. Yet here in this hollow in the woods, he’d witnessed it. He recognized the man who held the cockerel up before the congregation, too.

It was Dantarahma, the junjaldisdu, a member of u-Liall—and apparently, a man willing to break with what his people believed was the will of the deities.

XXVII

THE SWIM ACROSS the inlet posed a challenge nearly as great as getting the wolves out of the cellar. Moon Frost was already learning to run and even hunt with her broken foreleg, but swimming would remain beyond her.

“I could remain on this side,” Moon Frost said, but it was clear from the cant of her ears that she didn’t want to do so.

“I could see if there are any water folk who would carry you across,” Dark Death offered, “but we would miss this tide.”

His comment gave Firekeeper an idea.

“Moon Frost, your hind legs are strong enough,” she said, thinking aloud, “but without both of your forelegs your head will go under—and this is too long a swim for any of us to support you. But I have an idea. Dark Death, do we have time before we must set out?”

“We do,” the wolf replied. “I awoke everyone early in case difficulties arose.”

He didn’t say more, but Firekeeper suspected Dark Death had anticipated Moon Frost’s problem—and had probably been wondering if Blind Seer would be strong enough as well.

Blind Seer privately confided to Firekeeper that his head continued to hurt and that he had moments of double vision, but that otherwise he was doing well. He had assured her that he could manage the swim. She took him at his word, privately resolving to swim close, just in case he needed aid.

Keeping these worries to herself, Firekeeper turned her attention to how to assist Moon Frost in her swim. She found the answer in a piece of driftwood, so dry that it was extremely buoyant.

“I’ll need your help,” she explained to Moon Frost, “in order to get the measurements right.”

“What are you going to do?” Moon Frost asked.

“Have you seen rafts?” Firekeeper asked. When Moon Frost indicated she had, Firekeeper went on, “I am going to make a little raft that we will set under the sound bone of your upper leg. The broken portion will hang over the edge and into the water. The raft will keep your upper body above the water, but you will need to work hard to pull yourself along.”

“I will try,” Moon Frost said, obviously feeling some doubt, “but I hope I am strong enough. I remember how the current can pull.”

Firekeeper hadn’t considered this, but Dark Death came up with an answer.

“Is the rope you made still good?” he asked Firekeeper.

“It should be,” she replied. “I don’t think it has had time to dry out.”

“Then we will attach one end of that rope to the raft, the other to me. I have made this swim numerous times and know I have strength to spare. I will lend that strength to Moon Frost.”

It took some experimentation to get everything right and the tide was beginning to turn when they set out.

“We should still have ample time,” Dark Death assured them.

The pull of the current was strong now that the tide was on the rise, but Firekeeper found she could manage. She had experimented with adapting her swimming style, using her legs more than she had before and changing her arm stroke. Blind Seer had learned a few tricks from Dark Death and was so obviously up to the challenge that Firekeeper positioned herself downcurrent from Moon Frost, where she could help keep the injured wolf on course.

All were bedraggled and exhausted when they arrived on the farther shore, but despite this, Firekeeper had to fight down an urge to start running toward the towers Dark Death had indicated were their destination. She could see a few of the tallest through breaks in the trees, and thought she could easily find her way.

Mai-mal-o-da-lu
once again beat in her head as a refrain, drumming so loudly that Firekeeper was almost surprised that the others could not hear her thoughts.

However, despite her urge to rush off, Firekeeper made herself rest. Dark Death located a reliable source of fresh water and she rinsed the salt from her skin. As she did so, she looked about. There was evidence of human habitation here as well and she wondered if this might have been a landing area used to cross to the larger island in the days when humans had lived in this place.

“We will rest for a bit,” Dark Death decided, “and even so I think we will arrive at the towers before the worst of the heat. Is anyone hungry?”

Moon Frost admitted rather shamedly that she was. Firekeeper could tell that this reduction to puppyhood was hard for the proud hunter.

“I am hungry, too,” Firekeeper said, lying just a little. In reality her feelings were so roiled that she could hardly swallow water. Still, she knew she should eat, even if she didn’t wish to do so.

Dark Death wagged his tail slightly.

“If you would check Moon Frost’s leg,” he said, “I will hunt for all of you.”

Blind Seer pulled himself to his feet.

“I will come with you.”

“Rest,” Dark Death said. “Your head may not be broken as is Moon Frost’s leg, but still it has been given little time to mend.”

Blind Seer surrendered so easily that Firekeeper knew he must feel terrible. She wondered if the willow tea Doc had taught her to make would work on a wolf. There were ample trees about and she resolved to find some way to make a brew. Perhaps she could find a cup or bottle mostly unbroken among the ruined buildings.

First, though, she kindled a fire and when it was burning unwrapped Moon Frost’s leg just enough that she might check for signs of infection.

“I miss Doc,” she said to Blind Seer. “He could set this right in a few days.”

“Doc?” asked Moon Frost.

They had mentioned the human healer before, but Firekeeper suspected that Moon Frost was looking for distraction from the pain she was certainly feeling. The raft had kept her afloat, but even with Dark Death’s help, the swim had been hard on Moon Frost.

Firekeeper and Blind Seer told tales of their earlier ventures, emphasizing how Doc had saved each of their lives more than once. When Moon Frost drifted off into an uneasy doze, Firekeeper rose.

“I am going to look in the ruins for something in which I might mix you some willow tea,” she told Blind Seer. She saw him start to rise and pressed him back, pausing to kiss him on top of his head. “Don’t worry. I will be very careful. Stay here and watch Moon Frost. Right now she’s so tired an ambitious ant would be able to carry her off.”

Blind Seer panted laughter as he settled himself to rest again. Cheered, Firekeeper went searching for a pot or pan. What she found was a glass bottle. The sides were thick enough that she decided it would work, especially if she kept the glass from direct heat. Then she found a battered metal cup and knew this would serve even better.

I’m not jealous of Moon Frost anymore,
Firekeeper thought as she brewed the willow tea,
but I know I would be if she started sniffing around Blind Seer again. Maimalodalu. Is that the answer? Can I really have everything I want?

Firekeeper was young enough to hope, and old enough to doubt. The uncertainty kept her from resting. It did not keep her from falling asleep and dreaming.

She is at a ball, an extravaganza the like of which she has never imagined. Music plays its seductive patterns, and though she longs to join the dancing, she waits and watches.

The skins of the dancers are dark and light, soft browns, dark browns, peach, red, golden brown, and even the multihued painted patterns of the New Kelvinese. Some of the dancers wear the styles of the Gildcrest colonies: Floor-length sweeping gowns for the women, elaborate multipiece suits for the men. Others wear the billowing blouses and trousers of the Liglimom, the fabric stiff and glittering with embroidered patterns. Still others wear the long robes of the New Kelvinese, the dancers graceful despite their curly-toed slippers, long-braided queues interwoven with strands of sparkling gems.