Wolf Captured (71 page)

“Rahniseeta, we have summoned you here to show you Derian alive and well,” Meiyal said. “As the Temple of the Cold Bloods where you reside has actively supported the project to bring us into contact with the northerners, we felt we owed this unofficial courtesy.”

“Support the project,”
Rahniseeta thought.
That’s a polite way of saying the Temple of the Cold Bloods is in over its head, but isn’t abandoning Harjeedian now that Firekeeper has proven nothing like what anyone expected. But there’s something odd here. Why shouldn’t Derian simply come over and visit? He’s done that often enough.

Meiyal’s wrinkled lips shaped a slight smile.

“I see you have questions you are too polite to ask. Derian, tell Rahniseeta why Eshinarvash came for you.”

Derian did so, and as he spoke Rahniseeta could tell this was a polished account, but for all of that she did not think Derian was leaving anything out.

After Derian reached the point where he revealed Dantarahma’s involvement, Rahniseeta was certain. If ever there had been an item to omit, this would be the one. Catching a glimpse of the emotions that flickered across the face of Meiyal’s clerk as he listened, Rahniseeta felt certain Cishanol had not heard this before either and she experienced a curious sensation that their mutual shock was a bond between them.

“Do you wish me to report this to the i-disdum of the Temple of the Cold Bloods?” Rahniseeta asked, and she heard the quaver in her voice but felt no shame.

What Dantarahma had done went beyond sacrilege; it broke the treaty with the yarimaimalom—and the Beasts knew it. For their own mysterious reasons, they had chosen to act in this fashion. Rahniseeta hoped it was because they valued the Liglimom as much as the majority of the Liglimom valued the yarimaimalom.

“No, Rahniseeta, I do not wish you to confide this information to the i-disdum. Although I trust they are faithful to their vows, there may be those close to them who are not. I confide in you, and in you, Cishanol, because before this tale can go any further, we must have confirmation.”

Cishanol spoke and there was relief in his voice. “Then this may not be true?”

“Oh, no,” Meiyal said. “I believe it is true. However, the further we ride from those who either know horses or this northerner, the harder it will be to convince them. Best we have all the horses between the shafts and ready to pull before we set out on a journey.”

“I see,” Cishanol replied, “and am, as ever, at your service.”

“I know you are,” Meiyal said, “and I know you are completely worthy of trust. Rahniseeta has also proven herself faithful.”

Meiyal sighed deeply. “And I have made what inquiries I could, and it seems that you both were within Heeranenahalm on the night Derian witnessed the ceremony.”

Rahniseeta blinked. Where had she been? Playing music with Barnet? Copying letters? No, there had been a special service that night, an anointing of some new candidates. Both she and Harjeedian had attended, he to serve, she because a girl she had known for several years was among the candidates.

The clerk looked as if he, too, was trying to remember where he had been, and smiled slightly.

“A good thing that I was the one who drove you to u-Bishinti, I think. However, iaridisdu, that is not enough proof. I might have intended to attend a service, but had to cancel because you called upon me.”

Meiyal waggled a finger at him.

“That quibbling is what will delay and delay again your ordination, Cishanol. There are other proofs. I have seen how well cooked you take your meat—if you eat it at all. I cannot see you rushing to eat live hot flesh from a slain mare, or delighting in the shedding of blood.”

Cishanol paled a trace.

“You have a point, Meiyal. I only raised the question because …”

“Because you are cautious, as Rahniseeta has proven herself to be cautious. Caution is what we will need in this matter, caution and discretion. Varjuna and myself cannot run about asking questions without raising suspicions. This is a bad time for the temples. Too many issues have been raised. Even if none suspected why we were curious, some clever mind might make the wrong deduction and a new argument be raised.

“Look at this matter of whether or not to ship the foreigners back north,” Meiyal continued. “Some days ago it was nothing. The questions were whether or not learning to directly speak to the yarimaimalom would please or anger the deities. Now that matter has fallen to the wayside and this new one taken its place—though the first is certainly not resolved. This is a touchy time, and we will do our best to start no rumors.”

Cishanol bent his head in acquiescence. Rahniseeta sat with her hands folded, awaiting orders. She had thought she disliked being undervalued. Now she was finding that having a value brought its own problems.

“Cishanol, you are to be my research assistant,” Meiyal went on. “Derian’s account raises some interesting points. One of these is that all the animals slain were white. It seems to me that in my studies long ago I came across a reference to the old ceremonies and that different animals were considered appropriate sacrifices at different times and for different needs. Dantarahma may have needed to adapt these rituals because of his need for secrecy, but even so, we may learn something useful.”

The clerk nodded. “It occurs to me that one of the things I may be able to find out is the sequence of rituals, and the frequency at which they were held. We may be able to anticipate when the next one will be.”

“Or what,” Derian added thoughtfully, “animals they will need. Then we can trace who is collecting what and perhaps get some names.”

“Good thinking,” Meiyal agreed. “Another thing you may find, Cishanol, especially if you must go from our temple library to the larger one, is that certain texts have been used recently. Try and learn who has used them, but be very careful. The wrong questions could give our suspicions away. It is best that the heretics go on believing themselves undetected or they may take actions that will make it impossible for us to find them.”

Cishanol nodded. Rahniseeta had the feeling the clerk was itching to take notes, but was smart enough to realize that while no one could read what he thought, someone might stumble on a written note.

“Rahniseeta,” Meiyal said, and the young woman tried to sit up even straighter, “your task is similar to Cishanol’s but much less easy to define. As with him, you will be trying to find things that will enable us to tell who other than Dantarahma is involved in this. Derian saw no effort being made to conceal the worshipper’s faces from each other, so they know each other.

“As a member of u-Liall, Dantarahma is a member of no temple, but originally he was an aridisdu of the Water Beasts. Even more than most of u-Liall, he continues to associate with his former temple. It is likely that several of his worshippers are drawn from their numbers. Fortunately, the Temple of the Cold Bloods has its aquatic element. See what you can learn about who are Dantarahma’s associates. Your brother may be of help in this.”

“Then I may tell Harjeedian?” Rahniseeta said with some relief.

Meiyal gave a tight smile. “He was attending the same initiation you were on the night of the blood sacrifice, so we know he was not among the worshippers. Moreover, I do not think he is at all inclined that way. I know that restraint is admired by those who work with reptiles, but Harjeedian has never struck me as uncaring.”

Rahniseeta thought of the attention that Harjeedian gave those serpents that were given into his charge and nodded.

“However,” Meiyal went on, “you may confide in Harjeedian only if he will swear by whatever he holds most dear that he will not confide in anyone, even in the i-disdum of his order. If you do not think he could do this, make up some excuse for your interest. Say you wondered because of something the foreigners said. Be creative.”

Rahniseeta blinked. She wondered if she could manage to fool Harjeedian, but if it was a matter of protecting him from being torn between allegiances, she would find a way. This was too important to do otherwise.

“I understand, Iaridisdu. I really do.”

“I thought you would,” Meiyal said. “Dantarahma’s intimates are not the only ones who may be involved in this heretical movement. Indeed, I doubt that he has drawn his support from so limited a group. If he had, the absence of so many at a given time could not help but be noted before now.

“Therefore, we are looking for links between people intimately associated with Dantarahma to others—others they might not normally be expected to befriend. One possibility is an antiquarian interest. Another, is dissatisfaction with current trends. Another, might be some resentment of the yarimaimalom. There have always been those who feel that the omens are purer when they come from the lesser beasts.”

Rahniseeta resisted an urge to press her hands to her head. She knew now why Cishanol had wanted to take notes. There was so much here, and while Meiyal had clearly given much thought to the matter, it was all new to Rahniseeta.

Meiyal went on relentlessly, “In a way, we are divinely blessed that this matter has been uncovered during a time of general unrest. People are speaking their minds. In another the unrest is not in our favor, for many who otherwise would be content are speaking out.”

“I can only try,” Rahniseeta said relentlessly, “but I think I would rather look for white calves.”

“Zira is investigating the pedigree of the white horse,” Meiyal said. “We will go from there. We may also look into builders, for Derian thought the structure he saw was of relatively modern manufacture. Although the step pyramid was truncated, stone had to be hauled for the building.”

“Do you know where the temple is?” Rahniseeta asked.

“Not precisely,” Meiyal replied, “but Derian kept good track of directions and we have an idea. Unhappily, riding out to take a look is the last thing we should do. I doubt there is a custodian. The place is certainly deserted when not in use.”

“And we don’t want to give anything away,” Rahniseeta said. “I understand. I’ll begin right away—by doing nothing out of the ordinary.”

Meiyal beamed. “Precisely. Perhaps you could give Derian a tour of u-Seeheera. I understand this has been planned for some time, but you’ve all been kept too busy.”

Derian looked for a moment as if he was about to protest that he was still too busy, then smiled.

“I’d be pleased—if Rahniseeta has the time.”

Rahniseeta felt she owed Derian countless apologies for how she’d treated him. She’d refused to see him as a person—only as a puzzle piece, something to be solved and worked with. The Wise Horses had seen his worth from the start. The yarimaimalom had confided in him. It was time to start making amends.

“You’ve seen much of Heeranenahalm,” Rahniseeta said when they had taken their leave of Meiyal and left the Horse Temple.

“Bits and pieces,” Derian agreed.

“Would you like to see more,” Rahniseeta asked, “or to go down to u-Seeheera?”

“U-Seeheera,” Derian replied promptly. “It’s still something of a ghost city in my mind, empty streets and no one at any of the windows.”

“That’s right,” Rahniseeta said. “They cleared the processional way when you arrived, didn’t they?”

“Uh-huh. I like u-Bishinti just fine,” Derian went on, “but it’s artificial in its own way. There are no markets, no shops, no taverns—unless you count the place I took you when you came there with Barnet. How is Barnet, anyhow?”

“He is doing well,” Rahniseeta said. “Like you he has begun to make friends. His collection of stories is growing, too. Sometimes he tries one out on me. He can be very good—or completely miss the point.”

She went on to relate how Barnet had retold a story from the Temple of Flyers in a fashion that would have horrified the originator of that religious tale. For a moment she thought about telling Derian the rumors that Barnet was gathering more than stories in the Temple of Flyers, but decided against it.

“I think, though, that he longs to return north,” Rahniseeta said. “Do you?”

“Definitely,” Derian said. “My family is there, as well as friends, and lots of unfinished business. Remember, I didn’t choose to take this trip.”

The words hung between them, and Rahniseeta could think of nothing to say. She settled for changing the subject, talking rapidly about the techniques used to make the elaborate tile murals that adorned the buildings along the processional way.

The street was busy today. Its width invited use by carts and wagons hauling much more prosaic materials than the flower-trimmed floats and elegantly caparisoned beasts that it had been designed to accommodate. Children chased each other up and down the median, playing hide-and-seek around the planters.

“This is more like it,” Derian said, looking around with pleasure. “Eagle’s Nest could use a road like this one. It’s getting to the point that there’s talk about barring commercial traffic except at night.”

“This is nothing,” Rahniseeta said. “Come this way. I will show you where the farmers come to trade. In summer the stalls are brighter even than the festival parades.”

In the market, Derian walked alongside her, making animated comparisons between what was sold here, in his home city, and in the markets in New Kelvin. Although the northerners were hardly a common sight, the others had been out and about enough that they no longer drew a crowd merely by walking along a public way. Derian’s red hair attracted some attention, but only a few small children actually tried to touch.

Derian was very tolerant, and that toleration bred courtesy in return. Soon the pair was able to go their way amid the stalls deliberately unheeded. Derian began to enjoy himself, and asked for her help buying a few small presents for his family. Rahniseeta had prepared for this, and had with her a liberal supply of the tokens which vendors could exchange for services at the various temples and related facilities. The vendors were at least as happy to take these as they were to receive the more usual currency offered by shoppers unassociated with the temples.

Derian talked about his parents and siblings as he selected gifts, about his lovely but practical mother, about his father. “Varjuna rather reminds me of him.” About his younger sister and brother, the one still trying to find an orientation for her various gifts, the other so fixated on horses “that he makes me seem only mildly interested. I’d love to bring him a horse like Prahini, but he’ll have to settle for some models.”