Wolf Hunting

Table of Contents

Title Page
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
BOOK ONE

I
II
III
IV
V

BOOK TWO

VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
XXIX
XXX
XXXI
XXXII
XXXIII
XXXIV
XXXV
XXXVI
XXXVII
XXXVIII

TOR BOOKS BY JANE LINDSKOLD
PRAISE FOR THE FIREKEEPER NOVELS OF JANE LINDSKOLD
GLOSSARY OF CHARACTERS
Look for
WOLF’S BLOOD
Copyright Page

To Jim, as always, as ever …

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I want to thank all the folks at Tor, especially my editors, Teresa and Patrick Nielsen Hayden, for their continued enthusiasm for Firekeeper and her story.

My agent, Kay McCauley, kept me on track and honest about my goals throughout this project.

My husband, Jim Moore, read the early draft of the manuscript and indulged me in long conversations about how societies evolve and change in response to external stress.

Finally, I want to thank those readers who took the time to get in touch and share their interest in the series. Those of you who had questions may find a few of them answered in this novel. You can find out a bit more about Firekeeper and her world, as well as learn about other projects of mine, at my Web site:
www.janelindskold.com
.

BOOK ONE

I

“HERE, KITTY, KITTY … HERE, KITTY, KITTY …”

The voice was mocking, but Truth turned toward the sound. Those words offered something she had been without for what seemed like an entire lifetime: direction.

Truth did not hear the voice. Rather the call appeared to her as a physical thing, a strand of certainty amid the chaos of nearly infinite probability. She followed that strand’s odor, though she smelled it with her nose no more than she saw it with her eyes, no more than she heard that mocking voice with her round, furred ears.

The jaguar dipped her head close to the ground and took the scent, then followed its trace—for how long? Truth had no idea. The notion of time was one of the first things that had fragmented beyond repair. Even so, she followed, desiring certainty as once she had desired the hot blood of her prey, the attentions of lovers in season, lavish praise or admiration.

Truth followed, hearing a voice that wasn’t there, scenting a trail that did not exist, seeing a path that left no mark on its surroundings. She followed, because all these things led her toward certainty.

FOREVER AFTER, that full year’s turning of seasons on Misheemnekuru, the Sanctuary Islands, would remain green in memory for Firekeeper. Events of the summer before had freed her from responsibility for her human companions. Now she ran with the wolves, as free and unencumbered as ever she had been in her childhood.

The wolf-woman even had acquired a pack of her own, she and Blind Seer, for though Moon Frost had won Dark Death back from the doom he had ordained for himself, the season was too early for mating. Instead of dispersing to seek their own territory, the pair ran with Firekeeper. The greatest wonder of all to Firekeeper was that she, she and Blind Seer, were the Ones of this small pack.

Later, another joined them. Young Rascal of Moon Frost’s own birth pack followed these first four when they moved on from hunting with his family. The pups Rascal had nursemaided were hunting small game on their own, so neither his mother nor his father held Rascal back from his desire to explore his strengths, though his new teachers would be odd indeed.

Summer was a fat time, as was the autumn that followed. Firekeeper’s reputation was such that no wolf pack minded if the wolf-woman’s small band shared the hunting in their lands—as long as the five first cried for permission, and granted those who held the territory their due.

When they were not hunting, the wolves usually slept, but Firekeeper—who was wolf and not—often searched out the human ruins that dotted Misheemnekuru. Blind Seer—who
was
wolf, but had run where no wolf had run for a hundred years and more—went with his Firekeeper. Between her questing eyes and his keen nose they discovered many curious things.

Winter was harder, though to Firekeeper and Blind Seer, born farther to the north, the temperatures were comparatively mild. Firekeeper’s five joined with another little pack, a mated pair and their first year’s pups. When a pup or two who might not have otherwise survived the winter’s lean hunting lived because Firekeeper was clever with bow and snare, then to the songs that were already sung of her battles were added those of her generosity, and of her mercy.

When spring came around, Firekeeper and her pack went their way, seeking fresh hunting grounds. Spring had brought with it a small litter, born to Moon Frost, sired by Dark Death. Only two pups survived the birth. There were others, but deformed so that they came forth dead or only breathed a few shallow breaths. This was the curse of Misheemnekuru, and the reminder of it darkened Firekeeper’s idyll.

Yet nothing could diminish the wolf-woman’s contentment for long. The surviving pups grew strong and fat with only one other to share Moon Frost’s milk, and with five adults eager to spoil them, for wolves love their pups and indulge them greatly. Firekeeper had Blind Seer at her side, and a pack with which to sing songs to the Moon.

That summer a few young hunters trying their skill—and some not so young, nor without skill—came to challenge Firekeeper, for as she was wolf and yet not wolf, there were those who doubted Firekeeper’s right to walk freely on Misheemnekuru. These battles she won—and the fact that her pack showed willing to fight alongside her counted for much in all eyes.

With the coming of the raven, this time of contentment was shattered forever.

THE RAVEN CAME TO Firekeeper and Blind Seer early one morning at that time of year when the days were hot and heavy, and so—unless the wind came off the water—were the nights. The wolves had been sorting among bits of broken glass and cut stone at what had probably once been a fine estate, but was now little more than an assortment of vine-covered mounds.

When the raven landed on one of these mounds, Firekeeper greeted her with a friendly smile.

“Hey, Lovable,” she said. “Come to see if we have found anything that shines?”

The raven lifted her head, angling it to one side to better look at what Firekeeper might be holding, then sank her head between her shoulders and sleeked her feathers flat, so that she looked smaller than she was. This was not very small, for Lovable was a Wise Raven, and like all of her kind, larger than her Cousin counterparts.

“Something that sparkled would be nice,” Lovable began, then stopped herself with visible effort, “but that isn’t why I have come. The beast-souled, the maimalodalum, asked me to find you and request that you attend upon them at Center Island.”

Firekeeper let the bits of stone and glass she had been sifting through her fingers fall to the ground. Blind Seer, who had been lying recumbent, watching Firekeeper as he drowsed, rose in one easy motion. He did not quite challenge the raven, but his posture was defensive.

“What do they want her for?”

“They want both of you, actually,” Lovable replied. “Powerful Tenderness, speaking for the rest, said to me, ‘Find Firekeeper and Blind Seer. We have learned something that may interest them.’ That is what he said.”

Blind Seer relaxed somewhat, but Firekeeper, who knew the blue-eyed wolf well, felt he was still suspicious.

“Us alone?”

“You,” Lovable agreed. “Though your pack would be welcome, I am sure. But it is to you the beast-souled wish to speak.”

Firekeeper rose and placed a hand on Blind Seer’s shoulder.

“I would go,” she said. “Otherwise, I will wonder what the beast-souled wished to tell us.”

“Curiosity,” Blind Seer growled. “It is the most human thing about you, Little Two-legs.”

Firekeeper did not bristle as once she might have. She knew what Blind Seer said was true. Instead she turned her attention to Lovable.

“What do they want?” she asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” Lovable replied, and from the set of her feathers, Firekeeper could tell this lack of information annoyed the raven. “All I know is that it has something to do with the jaguar Truth.”

AFTER ARRANGING TO have the other three adults follow more slowly with the pups, Firekeeper and Blind Seer set off for Center Island. During the year they had spent on the Sanctuary Islands, they had not often visited this one particular island. They were not unwelcome there, but the island held not only bad memories, but two human residents whom Firekeeper had no desire to know better.

Unlike humans, Firekeeper and Blind Seer did not speculate as to what might await them at their destination—at least not out loud. Privately, Firekeeper did wonder, and she suspected Blind Seer did, too, but they saved their breath for running.

So it was that some days later, as evening was falling, the two wolves climbed the hill to the towers where the beast-souled made their headquarters. Once there had been five towers, each dedicated to one of the five elements worshipped by the Liglimom, the humans who had settled these islands before moving to the mainland. The central tower, the one dedicated to Magic, was nothing but a heap of broken stone. The four that surrounded it stood tall—and in far better repair than their battered exteriors might suggest.

Magic’s tower alone had been permitted to deteriorate, but then the beast-souled had little reason to love magic, even though magic had made them what they were.

And what they were was as unlovely a lot as Firekeeper had ever seen: furred, fanged, horned, antlered, these characteristics blended without sense or harmony. Each of the maimalodalum possessed traits taken from at least one human and one animal, but most blended those from three or four. A typical representative of the beast-souled might have the scales of a snake on the torso of a broad-chested man—or perhaps of a bear—in addition to the head of a wolf or great cat. However, there were no typical beast-souled. What was most typical about them was that each was a unique monstrosity.