Wolf Captured (74 page)

“None still reside within that pack who can give lie to your tale,” Blind Seer said, his hackles rising. “Though I do recall we have met one who was of the pack in those days.”

“Speak with this one,” Questioner said. “The tale will be the same.”

Firekeeper stroked Blind Seer along his back as if she could smooth away his worries along with the roughness in his fur.

“Dear heart, I have memories … dreams all but forgotten until we came to this place. I cannot say the truth of the dreams, but I feel I have heard this voice before.”

“These maimalodalum want something of you,” Blind Seer rumbled. “I smell it on them. Always others want something from you. Always they give nothing back.”

Firekeeper shook her head. “I will not argue that thanks have been slender and grudging, but the Royal Wolves have always given me life and home. The humans gave me life. I owe for that.”

“For how long?” came the frustrated growl.

Questioner interrupted with understanding gentleness, “For as long as she cares to pay the debt, Blind Seer. I will not deny that we here have our hopes for Firekeeper, yet I will hold back any account of my tie to her past if you think that all I do is seek to put her in my debt.”

Blind Seer replied, “That is something only Firekeeper can decide.”

“Then I must know,” Firekeeper said. “As for debts, Questioner is right. I pay, but I choose to pay. Wolves make a pack and grudge nothing, not even life, to the pack. I would be a wolf in this at least, so tell me what you can, Questioner.”

Blind Seer turn his head to lick her hand.

“As you will, Firekeeper. Only I would hear more howling of your praises when you have run hard on another’s hunt, that is all.”

Firekeeper said nothing to this, for she had no answer.

“Tell on, Questioner,” she said. “Please.”

Fur over the human face, even fur short like that of a cat rather than long as on a wolf, made expressions harder to read, but Firekeeper thought Questioner looked a little wistful as he cast himself into memory’s stream.

“The stay with your pack was a good time for me,” he said, “among the best in my journeys. The humans had many among them with talents, and I taught the wolves and the other Royal Beasts how this might facilitate communication between ourselves and them. This group of humans were very determined to have nothing to do with those to the east, at least until they could treat with them as something other than petitioners. Then, too, it was clear that beyond talents these human settlers had no magic among them. Thus the Royal Beasts were assured that the humans could be chased away—or slain—if they violated the treaties made between them and the Royal Beasts.

“I have no idea how the fire that destroyed the settlement started. The humans had built many fires within their homes and these homes were constructed mostly of wood, rather than of clay and stone as is the case here. At the time of the fire, I had gone further west, hoping to build upon my success with your home pack. When news of the fire reached me, I returned only to find all but one small girl-child dead.”

“Me,” Firekeeper said.

“You. Your mother had rescued you, then she died trying to rescue your father, but not before she begged the wolves to care for you.”

“My parents,” Firekeeper said. “I don’t remember them. Do you …”

“Their names were Donal Hunter and Sarena Gardener,” Questioner said. “Donal had the talent for understanding animals. It is a great talent, for usually a mind can only understand a single type.”

“As with Derian and horses,” Blind Seer said.

The blue-eyed wolf leaned closer to Firekeeper and she knew he could feel her fighting down tears. To the best of her knowledge she had never felt more than the most abstract interest in these humans. Her mothers and fathers were all wolves, but now the tears were welling in her eyes, sobs choking at her breathing.

Questioner politely pretended not to notice, but went on with his gentle telling.

“Sarena had the talent for making plants grow. Apparently, this talent ran very strong in her family, and in her own way she was as special as Donal. They were among the first the wolves approached, for Donal had already sensed that there was something odd about the territory.

“Donal might have stumbled on some version of the truth,” Questioner went on, “for he was sensitive to animals, but he was—as his name states—a hunter. Wolves, bear, and puma may all live in the same forest, but this does not mean they don’t squabble when their interests overlap. If not informed that his competition was different from what he was accustomed to, Donal would probably have felt that what existed was a structure in which he and his could have competed as pumas and wolves compete. He would have, of course, been wrong.”

Firekeeper knew the old tales of how humans and Royal Beasts had clashed. Tears rolled down her face as she struggled to balance this sudden, shocking grief against the need to learn more. Only if she learned more might she glimpse the past from which she had been so long isolated.

The heartrending pain of sorrow seemed a high price to pay for something she had done without so long and so well.

Or did you?
Firekeeper asked herself.
Haven’t others commented about the violence of your nightmares? Those are not usual, nor are these holes in memory. Walk forward into the tangle. If the underbrush has thorns, pull them out and clean the wound.

Questioner went on. “Donal Hunter didn’t like learning he was not the greatest predator of them all. He’d been spoiled by hunting Cousin-kind, and among them had taken his share of wolves, bears, and wild cats. However, Donal also was no fool. He knew the difference between true rivals and false, and so made his peace. It didn’t hurt that Sarena encouraged him in this course, or that while Donal felt pride in his kills, he did not need to kill in order to have pride.

“But we never had the chance to learn what we might have built through our association with the settlers. Fire took them and their dreams, leaving only ashes and one small child. The wolves were determined to honor their promise to Sarena that they would care for you, but though they struggled to feed you, your injured body would not thrive.

“They brought you to me, for though I am as you see me, to their eyes I was closer to a human than any other they knew. Moreover, I had gained at least some knowledge of humans from observing the Liglimom. I examined you, and knew as the wolves had done that you were dying. You had swallowed smoke. You were weakened from hunger, for your throat was raw.

“Sarena had liked to hear about Liglim, and in return had taught me much about plants she used for healing. Combining her knowledge with what I already knew, I made medicines for you. I also fed you on sweet, soft things from which you could take nourishment. A wolverine, oddly blessed with a talent for healing, came and aided you further.

“However, you would not thrive. Autumn passed into winter, winter into spring, and still you would not live. The wolves brought you the best kills from their spring hunting, but you would not eat. Your heart was sick with pain and your soul cried out to be permitted to follow those you loved. In the end, I had two choices. I could let you die, or I could make you forget.”

Questioner sat back on his haunches and for the first time Firekeeper realized that his forepaws were—like the rest of him—hybrids. They possessed pads and claws, but the toes were long and one stuck out to the side. It must take skill to run on those hand-paws without harming the fingers, but not only had Questioner done so, he had gone upon them to what must have seemed the ends of the earth—and come back once more.

“I wanted you to live, Little Two-legs, at first because in you I saw one who might bridge the world of the beasts and the world of humans. We cannot remain separate forever, no matter what many of both types think. Later, though, after I had spent long moons nursing you, I grew to care for you. A soul who could love as deeply as you could deserved a greater reward for love than death.

“We told you how we can sense magic but not do it ourselves. This is true, but this does not mean we are without talents ourselves.” At this Questioner gestured, and Firekeeper noticed how the golden yellow light that illuminated the room came from translucent blocks set in the wall. “Sky can sense energy and awakened the power that exists in those blocks both to gather light from the sun and hold it, and to release it again when darkness comes.

“I have a small gift for persuasion. I used this gift on you. I took great care not to change you from what you were, but instead took you down a trail that might twist around itself and lead you into life. You see, Firekeeper, you were not bitter in your grief. You did not begrudge any others life—only denied your own right to live. I merely invited you to see yourself as that other—to become a wolf, for the wolves wanted you for their own and you already loved them.”

Firekeeper felt her lips move, almost involuntarily, quoting words heard in a dream. “‘If the wolves are to live, then I name you a wolf. Be a wolf. Forget that you ever were human. Your heart is a wolf’s, your appetites a wolf’s, your memory a wolf’s. Strange wolf you may be, but if only a wolf may live, then you must be one.’”

Questioner gave a slow smile. “Are those the words? It has been many years. I had forgotten them.”

“Those are the words,” Firekeeper replied. Her voice grew tight. “Does that make all my life since a lie? You made me think I am a wolf when I am really human.”

Sky turned that overlarge eagle head and stared at her. “A life is not some abstract thing, Firekeeper. A life is a mosaic, crafted from the tiny pieces of what you do each day, every day. You have lived as a wolf, followed the codes and creeds of a wolf, honored wolves and sought to do them honor. Were those actions lies?”

“No!” Blind Seer half rose in indignation. “Firekeeper knows so little of lies that they shock her when she realizes how easily others use them. Nothing she has ever done was less than truth.”

“Put down your hackles, wolf,” Sky replied mildly. “I offer no threat to your loved one.”

At Sky’s words, and even more at Blind Seer’s defense, Firekeeper felt a wash of relief, yet despite this she knew that she would continue to be haunted by a sense that she should belong to one world or other—that this living in between was somehow a defilement of the natural order.

Yet, silly pup,
Firekeeper chided herself,
how can you think so with the maimalodalum gathered before you. If ever there was proof that a life can be lived outside the forms you have known, it is here. Sky speaks wisdom. You are a puppy fighting your reflection in a puddle, but the water from which your enemy shines back is nothing other than your own fears.

Blind Seer let his hackles fall smooth, but Firekeeper could tell he remained unsettled as he turned to the human-jaguar-wolf.

“Questioner, you did not stay in the north,” Blind Seer growled. “You came back to Misheemnekuru. Why?”

Questioner’s snort was human. “Was I thrown out by your forebears, is that what you mean? No. I left of my own will. I could see that except in a few places I did more harm than good. Firekeeper was alive and learning to live. She no longer needed me.

“Before I left, I taught the wolves a few skills I thought might benefit her as she grew—something of tanning, of the use of a knife, of how to explain striking fire from flint and steel. I was not very good at these skills, but Donal had enjoyed showing me the tricks of the human hunter, and I had often spoken with him while he worked. He was more at ease with me when his hands were busy.”

“And then you left?” Blind Seer persisted. “Why not go further north into New Kelvin? I think you might have found welcome there—among the humans, if not among the Beasts.”

Questioner looked at the wolf, blue eyes meeting blue.

“I should give you my name, Blind Seer. You chase after a problem as if it were fresh game and you winter-starved for meat. Very well. I left because I was weak and tired and desperately homesick. I longed to go where my shape would not arouse loathing, my every word awaken fear. Do you think me a coward?”

Blind Seer lowered his head onto his paws, surrendering the anger that had motivated his queries.

“You forget, Questioner, I too have gone where my size and shape have made people fear me. I know some small taste of what you faced. Far from thinking you a coward for returning home, I honor you for your courage in setting out. I followed Firekeeper west in ignorance of what we would find. You went with full awareness.”

Questioner’s human face held astonishment while his tail, feathered like that of a wolf rather than smooth like a jaguar’s, wagged.

“I think for a people who knew nothing of divination, your parents named you well. You see where others are blind.”

“I try,” said Blind Seer. “I try.”

XXXI

TRUTH WADED CHEST-DEEP THROUGH TIME, trying to feel the strongest current, the one that flowed into probability.

Finding probability was something at which she excelled, and had even when she was a small, blind kitten. Her mother had noticed how the still nameless kitten unerringly found a nipple without fumbling, without snuffling or wasting effort crawling where milk was not to be found. Before long, this kitten was the strongest of her litter, and with strength that internal vision grew.