Wolf Captured (69 page)

Kept them in plain sight,
he thought,
and if Zira just happens to work with the foals and eliminate the need for anyone else to be in earshot most of the time,
a
nd if they look very serious—well, to horse breeders, foals are a serious matter
.

Now they retired to Varjuna’s office once more, and Zira had made certain of their privacy by sending the servants home early for their midday break.

“We have decided,” Varjuna began, “that the best thing we could do is find outside confirmation for what Derian saw. This is not because we do not believe you, son,” he said, seeing Derian begin to speak, “but because there will be those who will not be inclined to take the word of a foreigner—especially over that of one of u-Liall.”

“There’s the problem of your hair as well,” Meiyal said.

“My hair?”

“It is so red. You look to be a natural ally of Fire, and Fire and Water have always been rivals. Moreover, you came here in the company of one called ‘the Firekeeper,’ and though some have argued that this name portends a desire to control Fire, others say it indicates an alliance with that deity.”

Derian’s head swam as he tried to twist his thoughts into this pattern, but he knew he had to try and see the world as these people did. Therefore, he didn’t protest that this was all ridiculous, only nodded.

“So we need confirmation,” he said. “I wish I could identify someone other than Dantarahma. If I saw them again, I might be able to identify the man who helped him with the sacrifices, or the woman who relayed most of the victims to the top of the pyramid, but I can’t be sure.”

“Nor will we rely on you for that,” Varjuna said comfortingly. “We have some other avenues to investigate. One is the question of white animals. You said all the animals sacrificed were white?”

Derian nodded.

“Chickens and lambs are common enough, but a pure white dog, calf, or horse would have been harder to find. We can do some checking there, try to learn who made those purchases.”

Zira cleared her throat.

“We can check the matter of the mare from two angles,” she said. “There is a chance the poor animal was born in a stable supervised by our temple. Pure white horses that young are uncommon—the greys take time to fade. It is possible that even if the mare was born elsewhere, its owner offered it to the temple at some point.”

“I’m only guessing the mare was young,” Derian reminded her anxiously.

“You have a good eye for horseflesh,” Zira said. “I’ll take your word. If we trace the mare, then trace her ownership, we may find out something useful.”

“You do this, Zira,” Meiyal said. “You handle many of our breeding projects, and it would not be unlikely if you or one of those who work with you were looking for a promising mare. We also need to check into who Dantarahma has been associating with of late. I can ask a few questions, but not too many.”

“Nor can I,” Varjuna said. “Dantarahma has always preferred travel by boat whenever possible. We have little in common.”

“Why not,” Derian asked hesitantly, “ask Rahniseeta, sister of Harjeedian, to see what she can learn? From what I can tell, she does a little bit of everything for many people, but because she isn’t really anyone, no one notices her.”

Varjuna smiled. “That’s a very good idea. I know she clerks at u-Nahal from time to time, and I’ve seen her helping set up for various festivals and ceremonies.”

Meiyal was a trifle less certain.

“But she is associated with her brother, isn’t she?”

“True,” Derian said, “but that’s for the good. Harjeedian isn’t likely to be on Dantarahma’s side. He’s put too much on the line with the trip north. That means it’s unlikely that Rahniseeta is associated with them either.”

He remembered his own momentary suspicion of Harjeedian and put it from him. Harjeedian might be coolly practical, but he didn’t seem like a heretic.

“Anyhow,” Derian went on, “if anyone thinks anything about Rahniseeta nosing around, they’re going to figure she’s trying to help her brother. My understanding is that the Temple of the Cold Bloods is standing firmly behind Harjeedian right now, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been any rumbles of discontent.”

“You have a good point, there,” Meiyal said. “I will ask a few discreet questions of my own. Harjeedian and Rahniseeta were among the few who knew where you were. If I find no evidence that they said anything out of line, then I shall call her to me.”

Meiyal gave a thin smile.

“I understand the young woman writes a fine hand. Most assuredly, an old woman like myself can always use a scribe.”

“HOW ARE YOU DOING with Wain Endbrook?” asked the master.

“Very well, Master. He was quite excited by the news that a boat was being equipped for a possible voyage north. He has also showed an interest in obtaining weapons for his men, and in having opportunity for them to hone their skills. The excuse he gives is that the waters to the north are alive with pirates and raiders. I have pretended to agree, and have supplied them with weapons and ammunition. They also have repeatedly taken out a small sailing vessel. I am certain that this is to accustom those who live and work near the harbor to the sight so there will be no comment when they make their actual venture.”

“Have you found a way to suggest that they not go to Misheemnekuru until Lady Blysse returns?”

“This is more difficult, Master,” Shivadtmon said unhappily. “To do so, I would need to indicate that I am aware of what they plan. I have managed not to do so to this point.”

“The omens indicate that the time has come for you to break your reticence on this matter,” the master said.

“Master?” Shivadtmon was too obedient to question directly, but he made the single word express his doubts.

“Do you fear that you would be committing sacrilege?” the master asked. He smiled gentle reassurance. “If so, then be at peace. The isolation of Misheemnekuru, its exclusive use by the yarimaimalom, was a secular arrangement, not a sacred one. Moreover, the yarimaimalom themselves have already broken the agreement.”

Shivadtmon was again the student showing his cleverness to the teacher.

“By admitting Lady Blysse?”

“That is right, by admitting Lady Blysse. No matter how some of the disdum choose to interpret her acceptance by the yarimaimalom, I analyze the matter with a mind unclouded by their wistful romanticism. Lady Blysse is a woman, nothing more. A woman with a strong rapport with wolves, yes, but her spirit dwells within a human body. She thinks with a human mind. Even her provenance is known. She is the child either of that northern prince or of one of his lackeys. There is no mystery about her. She is human. So I will argue before u-Liall, so I present the matter to you here. Do not fear you commit sacrilege in going to Misheemnekuru, for it is not a sacred place. Do not fear that your going will break the secular agreement, for the yarimaimalom themselves have already done so.”

At the conclusion of this explanation Shivadtmon looked rather stunned—as he should. The master had delivered it with the eloquence he usually reserved for a full conclave.

“Do you understand?” the master asked more gently.

“I do, Master. I do.”

“Then go forth. Create an opportunity for Wain to ‘discover’ your desire to accompany him. Lead him into seeing the advantages of your participation in the venture. Never for an instant let him think he is not leading the expedition.”

“I understand, Master.”

Shivadtmon bowed himself from the room, and Dantarahma, his master from the young man’s earliest days as a servant of Water, watched him go, his attitude one of quiet sorrow.

Although the aridisdu did not know it, Dantarahma had felt forced to lay the groundwork for denying any knowledge of Shivadtmon’s betrayal of the beliefs the aridisdu professed. There were documents that would be found in Shivadtmon’s room, a record of indebtedness, some writings on heretical topics.

Their frequent visits, if anyone had noticed, would be explained as a maintaining of a long association. Dantarahma sincerely felt the sorrowful guilt with which he would confess that he had suspected Shivadtmon’s straying into heresy, that he had entertained Shivadtmon so often in the hope of keeping him faithful to the orthodox way.

It would be in the best service to the deities if Shivadtmon died during the attack on the central islands. Then only the planted documents would speak for his “true” character. If Shivadtmon lived, however, he would still be condemned. Even when he heard Dantarahma speak against him, Shivadtmon would never dare betray his connection to Dantarahma’s private religious circle. All the participants had sworn never to reveal the holy rites in which they partook, and Shivadtmon was unlikely to break this oath. As an added means to assure his silence, Shivadtmon would receive communications indicating that if he only kept true to his vows, he would be spirited away to begin life anew.

But the omens indicated that Shivadtmon would die.

And these omens had been communicated in living blood as it streamed from the victim. They had been heard by the soul of one glorying in the power to be taken along with a life.

Years before, in his investigations into the sacrificial rites common in the days before what the ignorant called the Divine Retribution, Dantarahma had felt the tingling force that was ancient sorcery. Although that first encounter had been accidental and he might have withdrawn with nothing more than a scar on the tissue of his faith, Dantarahma felt no desire to retreat.

To retreat would have been to open himself to the suspicion that had touched him with the first burn of magic along his nerves—that the faith he had inherited from his ancestors was nothing more than an excuse to legitimize the uglier elements of sorcery.

Over years of increasingly bloody rituals, the dark side of Magic had become the goddess Dantarahma adored. As his long life drew toward its close, all he desired was to give her blood in the prayerful hope she would in return grant him life.

XXIX

ALTHOUGH THE SUN CONTINUED BRIGHT in the summer sky when Integrity finished telling of the creation of the maimalodalum, for Firekeeper it was as if darkness had fallen. She sat blinking at the gathered wolves, and even the romping of the two puppies could not awaken gladness in her heart.

I wonder how many of their littermates were born too disfigured to live?
she thought bitterly
. I wonder if it would have been better if I had died in the fire that killed my parents? Certainly, the kindness of the Royal Wolves has disfigured me for life
.

Without a sound, Firekeeper rose from where she had seated herself with such anxious eagerness when the sun had been bright and the air cool. She turned back into the forest and was gone before the wolves realized her intent.

Firekeeper was very good at hiding her trail from wolves. Such games had been the hide and seek of her childhood. Now she waded into a stream and went directly from the waters into the branches of an overhanging maple. Maple carried her to beech, beech to oak, all without her feet touching the ground.

Tree to tree Firekeeper went until she found one about whose base grew a tangle of honeysuckle and wild rose that she knew would mask her scent. Then she settled into the shelter of the broad-leafed branches, vanishing into stillness and despair.

Even Blind Seer’s howls, high-pitched and increasingly anxious, were not enough to call her back.

Why should I go to him? I am better gone from him and from all people. I cannot be one or the other
,
and he would do far better with a mate who can be his true partner.

It did not help Firekeeper’s mood to hear Moon Frost’s voice raised along Blind Seer’s, nor Dark Death’s mingling with theirs. As for Integrity and Tenacity—their howls were the voices of despair and dark mockery. Firekeeper shrank from them as she shrank from no other.

One by one the wolf howls stilled. The cry that persisted the longest was Blind Seer’s, but eventually even that voice grew quiet. Firekeeper noticed only to use that silence to pad the substance of her sorrow. She felt neither hunger nor thirst, only hopelessness.

The sun had been nearing its zenith when Integrity had completed her tale. It sank slowly into the long twilight of evening and still Firekeeper sat in her tree. Her muscles grew cramped, then eventually gave up their complaint and settled into stiffness. Her stomach tried a rumble or two, but stilled when it knew it would be unheeded.

Firekeeper sat as darkness fell and the stars began to twinkle. Eventually, she even ceased to grieve, forgot why she had taken to her perch. All she knew was that she had no reason to come down. She shifted a little to make herself more comfortable, but other than this accommodation, she didn’t move. Motion in the forest below meant nothing to her, nor did the renewal of the wolf howls.

“ …
if only a wolf may live, then you must be one. Strange wolf you may be, but if only a wolf may live, then you must be one. Strange wolf you may be, but if only a wolf may live, then you must be one.”