Wolf Captured (85 page)

“True,” Blind Seer said, making his response sound like a proverb. “Who can tell the size of a raven on the rooftops?”

“Or a hawk in the trees,” Truth agreed. “So we knew, and initially we did not worry. Dantarahma began by using older forms of prayers. He restricted these to small groups worshipping in private, and if these prayers spoke of blood and death rather more than seems tasteful—especially given that these humans are well fed—we did not worry much about it. Surely you have noticed how humans speak. They often say things they do not mean—not literally.”

“‘I’ll kill him,’” Firekeeper agreed, “or ‘I hate his guts’ or ‘I love him more than life itself.’ These puzzled me for a long time. So you thought these prayers were more of the same.”

“Exactly,” Truth said. “The blood sacrifices are a recent development, and even then we were not too worried. What difference does a chicken or rabbit make? The worshippers were even eating what they killed—though raw, which is unusual for humans.”

“Very,” Firekeeper said, remembering how many times her taste for undercooked meat had aroused revulsion in her human friends. “Here it would be even odder than in Hawk Haven, I think. The cooking favors heavy sauces and long stewing.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Truth admitted, “but you are right. It does make this eating of raw meat even odder. Now, the large sacrifices, such as your friend Derian witnessed, these are very new—the first was reported soon after Tiridanti came into office. An owl brought the news—to me, as it was the beginning of a jaguar year. I tasted the omens, and found nothing immediately dangerous if we waited, and some rather unsettling possibilities if we acted. Therefore, we agreed to wait.”

“For how long?” Firekeeper asked.

Truth’s tail switched in annoyance.

“For as long as we needed,” she replied. “But it seems that what I thought not too long a wait seemed too long to Eshinarvash. Perhaps someone in his herd saw more clearly than I. Perhaps they allowed for Derian’s participation, and this shifted our chances for success. To be honest, I don’t know. I was born on Misheemnekuru, and am not in the confidence of those of the mainland.”

She licked her paw complacently. “And horses are rarely comfortable around the great cats.”

“And,” Blind Seer said, not to be diverted, “I think your mind was even then not entirely your own. We were told that you were having trouble reading the future regarding Firekeeper even then. Perhaps you were reluctant to hunt in those currents you mentioned.”

Firekeeper expected the Wise Jaguar to growl or snarl, but Truth only laid her head on her paws in surrender.

“That is so,” she admitted. “Perhaps it would have been better if this had not been a jaguar year, and some more cooperative beast walked in my place.”

Seeing the great cat humbled gave Firekeeper no pleasure.

“Your deities said it was a year for fire,” she said, “and fire burns as well as warms, destroys as well as clearing the way for new growth. Serving fire is a complicated matter.”

Truth raised her head and looked with unblinking eyes at Firekeeper, but seeing nothing but sincerity, her tail did not twitch.

“Maybe this is somehow part of Fire’s clearing,” the jaguar said, “but such wildfires are rarely pleasant for those caught within them.”

“As I know all too well,” Firekeeper said with a shiver. “Ever since we spoke with Questioner, my dreams have been fire-haunted. Now that Eshinarvash and those like-minded have acted, will you support them?”

“I will,” Truth said. “You and Blind Seer have done well in relating what dangers may follow Dantarahma’s rise. This is yet a jaguar year, but nothing is more certain than that summer will pass into winter, winter into spring once more—and if the deities listen to Dantarahma’s prayers, he may sit in Tiridanti’s place among u-Liall.”

“But what are we to do?” Firekeeper said. “Already there is word that we will be sent north again, and though I hate sailing, I hate being a prisoner even more. Although I could go home afoot, the journey would be long and, at least for Derian, very dangerous.”

“That decision is not yet made,” Truth said, her tail lashing, “and after what you have done for me, you have a strong ally in your desire to come and go as you wish. Let us leave that, and concentrate on how Dantarahma might be undone.”

She licked her forepaws, one then the other, with nervous, anxious strokes of her tongue, the action so violent that Firekeeper could easily hear the rasp of tongue against fur.

Blind Seer thumped his tail reassuringly.

“You are wondering whether it would be wise to look again into the currents of time and see what we might best do,” he said to Truth. “You are thinking you know so much new now that what was unclear, might become clearer.”

Truth jerked up her head to stare at him.

“Are you a diviner then? Truly a seer where others are blind?”

“No more than any who listens with heart and mind,” Blind Seer said. “I am not very old, but I have learned to recognize the signs of indecision and of fear.”

Truth did not relax, but she lowered her gaze to where the cook fire had died to smoky embers.

“I think I should try,” she admitted, “and I fear that trying. I hardly know how to think without divination to guide me. It is not that it told me how to think or what to do, but that it provided me with options more rapidly. Now I feel as if I am trying to hunt without scenting the wind.”

Firekeeper laughed a trace harshly.

“I must do that nearly all the time,” she said. “You have my sympathy.”

Truth’s claws slipped from their sheaths, but only to savage the moss.

“A quick dip,” she said, “concentrating hard as I did when I was first learning. Shaping the question tightly in my mind, then diving in.”

“And knowing,” Blind Seer said, “that you have friends on the bank ready to pull you out. Try it, otherwise the dread of attempting will cloud your thoughts as efficiently as whatever caught you there before.”

Again Truth gave him an appraising look.

“Whatever gifts you have, Blue-Eyes, divination or not, your parents named you well. I will look and trust your strong jaws to haul me out.”

Firekeeper felt warmed, for Truth clearly referred to them both, but she said nothing, only sat ready and waited alert for any sign, no matter how small, that Truth was in difficulty.

The jaguar did not lie down, or close her eyes, but the inner lid did-droop, opaquing the gemstone brightness of the ember-lit eyes. Truth grew still, her breathing deeper yet more rapid, as she took scent on something neither wolf could detect.

Her tail tapped on the moss; then she stiffened and jumped up, fur standing out from her body as if she were a startled house cat of impossible size.

“All the currents stream in one direction,” she snarled, leaping to her feet. “They move toward Misheemnekuru. Something terrible is going to happen there, something that at best will lead to the rise of Dantarahma, at worst could lead to the destruction of all we hold dear.”

Firekeeper was already scooping dirt over the embers, pulling up the fish trap and breaking it so no fish would die without serving as food first.

“Is there anything that we can do to stop it?”

Truth was beginning to run in the direction of Heeranenahalm, but her answer came back on the notes of a jaguar’s roar.

“You must be there. Only if you are there is there a chance of stopping what will come. Only then! I have known! How could I be so blind!”

Firekeeper stared at Blind Seer; then, without discussion, they began running, following in the now silent wake of Truth.

“I DON’T SEE HOW we can go after them before dawn,” Harjeedian said.

He’d returned from checking the building where Wain and the others had been quartered, and told Derian that although some care had been taken to make it seem as if the northern sailors were still in residence, he was certain they had departed with no intention of returning.

“We can, however,” Harjeedian continued, “do something about their plans to take the ship upon their return.”

Derian’s head was pounding with an unpleasant mixture of apprehension and exhaustion as he listened, but he managed a coherent reply.

“Nothing too obvious,” he said. “Until we know for certain what is going on. You don’t want to start something unnecessary.”

Harjeedian nodded. “Good point. Then again, we cannot go after them until dawn.”

“What about Rahniseeta?” Derian asked. “I’m not happy she hasn’t returned—and that you haven’t found her.”

“Neither am I,” Harjeedian admitted.

Derian said what he knew the other must be thinking.

“Do you think Waln caught her watching and … did something?”

Harjeedian’s brows came together and his mouth twisted with worry.

“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted, “but I know what I fear. I wish we could find Lady Blysse. She might have answers.”

“I’ve done my best,” Derian said, “but finding her—especially at night—is impossible unless she wants to be found. If Elation were here, I might have a chance, but without that sort of help …”

He trailed off and Harjeedian, who had already heard this and knew well who Elation was, nodded.

“I know. Why don’t you get some sleep? You rode most of the day and the night isn’t getting any younger.”

Derian hated to admit how much he needed that sleep. His craving for rest felt heartless when Rahniseeta was who knew where, but the reality of his body’s need could not be ignored.

“I’ll try,” he said. “Would you mind if I stretched out here? I don’t want to go even as far as Barnet’s room in case something happens.”

“Take my room,” the aridisdu replied. “I’ll take the divan out here in case Rahniseeta returns.”

“Fair,” Derian said.

He staggered off to collapse on Harjeedian’s bed, and even the lidless stare of the watching snakes was not enough to keep him from sleep.

DERIAN AWOKE TO THE SOUND of voices in the next room, and to the awareness that they had not spoken more than a few words. As he struggled into consciousness and onto his feet, he managed to reconstruct what he’d heard.

“Truth see something, but she not tell, only lead us here. Fast.”

“Let me get you something to drink,” Harjeedian said, “and I’ll wake Derian Counselor. Then you can relate your tale only once.”

Derian made his way to the doorway at that moment to be confronted by a remarkable sight. He was accustomed to Firekeeper and Blind Seer, but the addition of the jaguar Truth to the company added an indefinable note of wildness to the scene. The owl and raven that flapped into the room a moment later did nothing to reduce the strangeness of the scene—especially as the raven wore around its neck a sapphire-and-diamond pendant depending from a fine gold chain.

“Derian,” Harjeedian said. “You’re awake.”

The completely unnecessary statement made Derian sure that for all his apparent poise, Harjeedian was rattled by this strange visitation.

Though I wonder what’s strange to him
, Derian thought, accepting the glass of water Harjeedian handed to him.
The Beasts or Firekeeper?

The animals were drinking from bowls Harjeedian set on the floor, their thirst testimony to Firekeeper’s claim that they’d come at a run. Firekeeper looked sweaty and disheveled, but no worse than Derian had seen many other times. She set her tumbler aside, and began speaking with unconscious arrogance:

“Truth say to tell you, something bad is happening, going to happen at Misheemnekuru. She say it be worse if I am not there. You must get me there.”

Harjeedian nodded.

“We have had some inkling of this. Wain Endbrook and his people are gone, and according to a missive left by my sister, Rahniseeta, their destination was Misheemnekuru.”

“So,” Firekeeper replied impatiently, “I say. Bad thing. Can we go now?”

Derian knew it was time to insert himself into the conversation. When Firekeeper got into one of these moods, she was an impediment to her own wishes.

“Firekeeper,” he said. “Ask Truth if it can wait until morning. Harjeedian was telling me that sailing by night is a thing best left to those who know the waters—and no one knows the inland waters of Misheemnekuru.”

“No,” came the blunt reply. “Truth say more time goes, more chance even me being there cannot fix. We go tonight.”

Harjeedian asked, his tone far more hesitant than was usual.

“Can Truth tell if my sister is with those who have gone to Misheemnekuru?”

Firekeeper glanced at the jaguar, then nodded her head once, abruptly.

“She is. Truth says time eddies around her. I not know what this means, but Truth thinks is important.”

Harjeedian drummed his fingertips on the table in three sharp tattoos. Then he stood, his mind made up.

“I learned to be a fair sailor, during my time at the outpost. There are those in this temple who can sail as well, but explanations would need to be made.”

Firekeeper shook her head.

“Must go fast. Derian can help you. No explanations.”

Truth’s very audible growl seemed to second this.

“Fine,” Harjeedian said. “Derian?”

“I’m with you,” Derian said, eyeing the jaguar and wondering what she would do if he continued to delay. Blind Seer seemed to guess his thoughts and panted laughter.

Firekeeper was halfway out the door before she paused.

“Harjeedian, do you have that seasick medicine?”

The aridisdu nodded.

“Please bring some,” the wolf-woman went on. “I not think I be good for Truth or for myself if my stomach is my head.”

FRIGHTENED AS SHE WAS, even through the haze of pain from where someone had struck her on the head, Rahniseeta had to admire the competence of the northern sailors.

Under the guise of sailing around the bay, the northerners had charted their course to Misheemnekuru, and now, with those observations augmented by maps Wain had copied from the library in Heeranenahalm, they were taking the sailboat along as confidently as if it had been full daylight.