Wolf Hunting (3 page)

Again it was Hope, though among the most physically slight of the beast-souled, who took up the burden of the tale.

“We have told you how, as a result of the peculiar circumstances of our ancestors’ creation, many of us are able to sense the use of magic?”

Firekeeper nodded. “The sense varies from individual to individual, but it is like seeing or hearing, something you do without conscious thought.”

Hope smiled. “Yes. Though as with any other sense, this ability can be trained so that the possessor has a greater understanding of the various sensory impressions.”

Firekeeper nodded again. She did not think her actual night vision was much better than that of a normal human, but because she had lived her life among nocturnal creatures, she had learned to use what she had in order to function when there was relatively little light. Such was also the case with her sense of smell. Compared with a wolf, she was as nose-dead as any human, but compared with a human, she paid far more attention to the impressions she received from her sense of smell.

Hope continued, “When the Tower of Magic fell just over a year ago, all of us sensed a surge of magic. Part of this may have been due to the actions of Shivadtmon. Part may have been due to the release of some passive magics worked into the tower. In any case, we knew that this surge would be perceptible to any creature that shared our ability. Needless to say, we were curious to learn if any would come in response to this surge.”

Blind Seer tilted his head to one side in inquiry. “Are you saying that you think there may be others who are attuned to magic? My people—the wolves of my pack—always taught that magic other than the small talents died in the New World with the coming of what the Liglimom call Divine Retribution, the great illness that targeted those who used the magical arts.”

“And led to the withdrawal of the sorcerers who founded these New World colonies,” Hope added. “Your teaching was, as you know, less complete than you thought before you came here.”

“True,” Blind Seer admitted, panting white-fanged in laughter. “It certainly did not take you beast-souled into account.”

“I think,” Hope said gently, “that the Wise Beasts of the northwest—let us call them the ‘Royal Beasts,’ after Firekeeper’s idiom—taught more what they hoped than what they knew. In any case, with a few exceptions like ourselves, that teaching was probably more right than wrong.

“However,” Hope continued, “we here perceived the surge of magic as a loud cry or a bright flash of light. We wondered if any others would sense it. We also knew that since Misheemnekuru is an island group, it might be difficult for any to reach us. We have always been alert, but now we were doubly so lest there be a sign and we miss it.”

Firekeeper ran her fingers through Blind Seer’s fur. “And you have smelled magic, haven’t you? That’s what he …” She tossed her head to indicate Plik, the raccoon-man, who sat hunched over looking more like a raccoon than a man in the firelight. “That’s what he was referring to earlier.”

Hope trilled approval. “That’s right, Firekeeper. Plik is among the best at sensing magic, and he was the first to hear this. We have all done so since, even those whose ability is so slight that they are nearly deaf. It is definitely there, but it is not at all what we expected.”

Plik straightened, his semblance to a small, fat man—if one oddly costumed—returning.

“It was … Think of it as a sound, if you would. Have you ever filled a bladder with air?”

Firekeeper nodded. Bladders, properly cleaned, were useful for carrying water.

Plik smiled approval. “Then you know the sound they make when the air starts leaking out. A whine that changes as the pressure changes. This … this was a little like that. It was not a sound of something building up or being projected. It was the sound of magic draining away. At least that is what we think.”

“Could it be something that was in the Tower of Magic,” Blind Seer asked, “something broken but not entirely broken?”

“We thought of that,” Plik said, “and have checked, but have not found. The ‘sound’—which is not really a sound—is not easy to pinpoint. It shifts, ebbs almost beneath detection, then comes clearly again. This is why when Powerful Tenderness began to speak of Truth finding a place … a place that was not a place as we know it …”

Plik shrugged, the gesture saying better than words, “That was why I think he should have told us rather than sending ravens for you.”

In the face of this rebuke, Powerful Tenderness looked as mild as something of his ferocious mien could.

“So you wonder if this ‘sound’ and whatever place Truth seems to have found might be related. It’s an interesting idea.”

Hope interjected, looking at Firekeeper and Blind Seer, obviously concerned they might misunderstand. “Now you do realize that Plik is offering a theory only. We have no real proof that these two occurrences—or three if we include the surge that followed the collapse of the tower—are related. It might be coincidence, or two could be related, but not the third.”

Firekeeper asked, “Could Truth also have ‘heard’ this sound and followed it to wherever she is—to this place where there is apparently some sort of door?”

“Possibly,” Plik said. “Interesting. The sound did not begin immediately following the tower’s collapse. It might not be related as Hope said. All three. Two of the three. No connection at all. We just don’t know, but we must try to know.”

“Because if we don’t try to know,” Blind Seer said, “and this magical emanation is something more than a broken artifact leaking away its power, we may miss something important. In my experience, and sadly it is greater than I would like, things related to magic tend to be very dangerous indeed.”

“Dangerous,” Firekeeper said, “and unpredictable. Come. Someone take us to Truth. She may have the beginnings of answers.”

II

PLIK OF THE BEAST-SOULED listened in mingled indignation and apprehension as Hope and Powerful Tenderness told the two outsiders what they had not yet told their own people. He rubbed the furry edge of one ear and tried to consider the matter in all reasonableness.

Was he being fair to view this withholding of information as a betrayal of their community? After all, in the process of telling Firekeeper and Blind Seer, Powerful Tenderness was also telling those of the maimalodalum who were in attendance. Still, Plik couldn’t help but feel that Powerful Tenderness should have told his own people first.

Young people,
he thought with a sigh.
Always changing things, even when those things have worked well in the past.

He laughed at his own crotchety mood. Failure to adapt was worse than fearing change. Traditions were fine as far as they went, but if there hadn’t been some willing to adapt, to change the way things had always been, he wouldn’t have been around to enjoy these seventy and more years.

Plik studied the newcomers. He’d seen Firekeeper and Blind Seer before, of course, but they had not frequented Center Island after the fall of the Tower of Magic. He didn’t blame them. They had little but bad memories of the place.

Blind Seer, the so-called “Royal” Wolf, looked much as he had before, a large wolf, mostly grey, though touched with brown and white. His most unusual feature were his blue eyes, so alert and watchful that Plik wondered that any had ever thought him blind.

Firekeeper was something else entirely. When Plik had first seen her the summer before, she had been clad after the style of the local humans. Now the only elements of her attire consistent with that first meeting were the large hunting knife with the garnet-topped hilt she wore belted to her waist and the leather bag she wore about her neck. Otherwise wolf-woman wore mostly dirt, scrapes, and bruises. A skirt of tanned doeskin hung loosely around her waist, a canteen from a strap over her shoulder and between her small breasts. Her dark brown hair was a tangled mess, but about her, despite her general raggedness, Firekeeper emitted an aura of strength.

This last was not magical. Plik was among the maimalodalum’s experts regarding things magical. Though he would bet his left ear that Firekeeper had at least one fairly potent talent, magical talents were not the source of her strength. What made Firekeeper someone to be reckoned with was not her ability to speak with animals as easily as—more easily than, if what he had heard was correct—with most humans. Her strength came from having survived ten years in the wild, ten years with no one other than the Royal Wolves to care for her.

“What are you looking at, Plik?”

Hope’s chirping voice held just a touch of laughter. Plik realized that he was staring fixedly at the nightdarkened greenery. Firekeeper, Blind Seer, and Powerful Tenderness were long gone.

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

Hope touched his arm, her almost human hand stroking his thick fur. Like Powerful Tenderness, she was younger than Plik, part of the rising generation who would dictate the policy of the maimalodalum when Plik had gone back to Earth’s embrace. He knew many found her attractive, but she was not his type. This made them easy with each other.

“I know you were offended that Powerful Tenderness didn’t speak with the beast-souled first,” Hope said, raising the subject that she clearly thought had been occupying his mind. “The fact is, Truth didn’t ask for any of us. She asked for Firekeeper.”

“Not very nicely,” Plik commented, “almost as if she despised the wolfling.”

“Jaguars,” Hope said, “great cats in general, do not like needing to ask for help.”

Plik scratched at a flea. It was almost impossible to be completely rid of them this time of year. He should rub down with fleabane again before he went to sleep.

“Why would Truth ask Firekeeper for help when there are so many others who would help her?” Plik asked. “If the jaguars wouldn’t help her, others of the Wise Beasts would. We beast-souled have already provided ample proof of our goodwill.”

Hope shrugged. “I don’t know. However, I cannot forget that before the events of the past Jaguar Year, Truth was considered among the finest diviners of any of the yarimaimalom, and she from a family known for the gift. I think that even in her madness she must have traced the streams of probability and amid them seen that the chances for success were greatest if Firekeeper assisted.”

“Why?” Plik repeated. “Why Firekeeper? She is an outlier, not of our peoples or our faith.”

Hope looked up at him. “As you are an outcross? Plik, don’t let your own mixed feelings about your heritage color those things to which there is no relation. Firekeeper is from another land, true, but not only has she proved herself our friend, she has proven herself capable of great deeds—even when they mean loss to herself. It is not for moonlight’s sake that the wolves sing songs of her deeds.”

Plik twitched his ears restlessly. “Firekeeper makes me uneasy. She is so young, so inclined to act without thinking.”

“Firekeeper would make anyone of good sense nervous,” Hope said with a laugh. “Whatever else Firekeeper is, easy to be around she is not. Now, get some rest. It’s late, and I would not be surprised if things grew quite interesting over the next few days.”

“Sleep?” Plik said. “Aren’t you going to wait to hear what Powerful Tenderness reports?”

“He won’t report until morning. Firekeeper won’t make up her mind all at once. Blind Seer will be against her involvement in this.”

“Why?”

“Blind Seer fears what her curiosity will get her into—her curiosity and her sense of duty to those she views as having done her a kindness. Truth helped Firekeeper when Magic’s tower was falling. Firekeeper will feel a debt. Blind Seer will dread what paying that debt will cost her.”

“I can’t figure out why he follows her so faithfully.”

Hope whistled a little screech of contempt. Plik laughed. He knew perfectly well why Blind Seer followed Firekeeper, even as he knew that Firekeeper would follow Blind Seer should the blue-eyed wolf lead.

“If you are so interested in Firekeeper, then cultivate her,” Hope suggested, turning into the darkness toward her own quarters in the Tower of Air. “Firekeeper might teach even you, old one, something about how to cope with being different. Now, get some sleep.”

“You, too, Hope. No staying up and waiting for dawn’s omens.”

“I promise,” she laughed.

Plik walked stiffly toward the forest. His back ached. There were more and more times as he aged that he wished he were quadrupedal. It seemed the quadruped had fewer back problems. Hips though …

He climbed a rough-barked old oak until he came to a hollow that a lightning strike had begun and he had expanded. It wasn’t really living quarters, just a nice nest, snug and lined with other people’s fur and feathers.

Eventually, the rocking of the tree in the sea breeze sent Plik off to sleep. He dreamed, and, even in his dreams, he listened, though he knew not what it was he sought to hear.

REALITY FRAGMENTED AS FINE AS broken glass began to coalesce into omens: lumps of molten crystal, each holding the reflections of a thousand thousand might-have-beens, might-well-bes, should-have-beens.

“Here, kitty, kitty …”

Was the voice louder now?

Determined to find the source of that elusive voice with its mocking call, Truth isolated from all the possibilities that surrounded her those wherein the trace of the caller grew stronger. Her task was nearly impossible, for each effort to search created new probabilities. Even so, the very talent that had doomed Truth to wander—body and soul split, mind encased in the vagaries of insanity—made omens predicting her success surface. She seized upon those traces, and focused her inner vision tightly upon her goal.

First Truth scented a droplet of blood floating free. She followed it, watching carefully until it merged with others streaming through a capillary. She padded alongside this conduit until it joined a vein. She refused to lose the trail when this vein joined into a network of veins and arteries.

She sensed that this circulatory system functioned within a greater body. The voice both was and was not of that body—but it was contained within it, and that was enough.