“I have sworn to take no more students,” he said when Arasan finished.
“We were told,” Arasan countered, “that was unless you were offered a new challenge.”
“Teaching blood mages from another land?” Wythcombe’s shrug was eloquent. “That is hardly a new challenge. It is a very old one. I have no desire to go backwards.”
As before, just who sought a teacher had been left vague. Now Firekeeper, impatient with Arasan’s delicate fencing, asked, “But have any of you taught a wolf? A wolf who desires to learn to cast spells without the use of blood?”
Wythcombe narrowed his eyes. With a thrill, Laria realized he was using some sort of spell to study Blind Seer. Eventually, he leaned back and rubbed his hands briskly together.
“Tell me more.”
The humans did, and Blind Seer had to admit that they were getting very good at explaining what he was coming to see was a very difficult concept for humans. He’d never really thought about how hard it would be to accept that creatures you’d thought of as automatically “not people” were as much people as you were—which meant that not every wolf was the same as every other wolf, just as not every human was the same as every human.
And then there was getting around their perception of what wolves were like. Apparently, humans thought that wolves did nothing but wade in gore and slaughter wide-eyed herbivores. To his credit, Wythcombe was capable of accepting the evidence of his eyes, and since that evidence included Blind Seer lying with his head on Firekeeper’s knee, rather than ravening after the cow and goats, this did help.
Although Blind Seer could smell the doubt in Wythcombe’s sweat, what puzzled him more was the genuine apprehension and dislike that he smelled whenever Wythcombe was forced to interact with Ranz. Outwardly, Wythcombe was smilingly genial, but maybe he himself was unaware of how he felt. Humans often were.
When Arasan and Firekeeper—helped here and there by Laria—finished their presentation of Blind Seer’s request, a tale that included necessary diversions into the nature of the Wise Beasts, their varied relationship with different communities of humans in the New World, and myriad other things, darkness had come on full.
Wythcombe seemed to notice the passage of time only then.
“I suppose that you’d better stay here tonight,” he said. “I have extra rooms, if you don’t mind sharing them with various of my projects.”
“Blind Seer and I,” Firekeeper said promptly, “will go outside. It is chill here in the mountains, true, but we have slept colder.”
“I will also go out,” Ranz said, getting to his feet. The young man had remained quiet through all the long narrative, not fidgeting even when the account retraced tales he had heard the night before. “I can make it so the cold will not trouble me, but if someone could lend me a bedroll, I wouldn’t mind. Sleeping on the bare ground is not my favorite thing.”
Wythcombe protested, but from his odor, Blind Seer could tell the old man was relieved and counted on Ranz to refuse. He wondered what had happened that made Wythcombe so edgy.
“Firekeeper, ask Wythcombe, politely, if he will explain how he came to live in this place, and why he is so uncomfortable about Ranz. The young man seems decent enough to me, so Wythcombe’s dislike cannot be due to anything he has done. If it is, then I wish to hear of it, and when Ranz is here to speak his own part of the tale.”
Firekeeper did so, couching her request in terms as close to Blind Seer’s own as she could manage. Since Wythcombe had just heard her speaking in her usual, more truncated fashion, her change of cadence and wording had the effect of making it seem more as if Blind Seer had spoken. Although Wythcombe hid his reaction, he could not hide the scent of surprise. Blind Seer forced himself to swallow a smile that might be taken as a threat.
Wythcombe leaned back in his chair, then straightened. “When I invited you all to stay the night, I meant to suggest that we should probably have some dinner. My stomach just growled at me.”
It hadn’t, but Blind Seer had come to accept how often humans lied.
“We have venison,” Arasan offered, “from a deer Blind Seer took last night. Ranz chilled it, so it is still very fresh.”
The words were a challenge, and Wythcombe knew it. His reply was ambiguous.
“Fresh venison will be a welcome addition. Living alone as I do, I rarely go after big game. I have cheese, eggs, potatoes, various other root vegetables, and some greens—as well as preserves and nuts. Some of my other supplies are a little thin, since the traders have not yet arrived, but of these I have plenty.”
For once, Firekeeper did not automatically offer that she and Blind Seer would go search for food to augment the table. Arasan rose and took the bundle in which his cooking knives and seasonings were rolled.
“As I demonstrated last night, I am quite a good cook. Like Ranz, you’re probably tired of your own cooking. Why don’t you show me where I can find your pots and pantry, and I will take over so you can begin your tale?”
Firekeeper rose. “Let me wash the potatoes. I see a pump here, so I will not miss the story.”
Blind Seer did allow himself a grin at that. Derian would certainly be surprised at Firekeeper offering to help with such a chore, but the wolf knew what his partner was doing. Just as some of the pack heads off the herd before it can outdistance those who will move in for the kill, so Firekeeper was removing any excuse Wythcombe might make that would keep him from doing as Blind Seer wished.
Laria chirped. “Do you want to cook the venison as you did last night, Arasan? If so, I can cut it thin, so you can work on the other preparations.”
Ranz, with a wisdom beyond his years, kept silent. Arasan’s words had made it clear that his new friends were not denying his right to be there, even if Wythcombe continued to attempt to do so.
Wythcombe took several minutes to show Arasan where to find what he needed—and doubtless to organize his thoughts. Then he poured himself another mug of mixed berry juice and resumed his seat. After a long pause, he sighed and began talking.
“Given that I don’t want students, I’m not certain why I’m even bothering to explain myself to you. Maybe it’s because I don’t want you to go away from here thinking I’m ashamed of myself or of what I’ve done. I’m not.
“From the time I took Payley—that’s Ransom’s father—on as a student, I was aware that he would be a difficult one to teach, but not because he was in the least slow or unwilling. No. The difficulty came from his very eagerness and intelligence. Payley was naturally drawn to healing magic and, as someone has certainly told you, healing magic and blood magic run close together. It is a small step from using magic to direct the body’s natural energies to work toward mending a wound or curing an illness to turning those same energies to other courses.
“I will say this, until his wife and unborn son were endangered, Payley never overstepped the line—at least as far as I know. Afterwards, though, when I saw how easily he adapted to using blood magic, I did wonder. How often does a healer hear a family member say something like, ‘I’d do anything to help him.’ or ‘Tell me what you need and it is yours?’ How easy would it be to borrow just a little power without asking? And even if asked, how often would the desperate donor refuse? Indeed, the tales from the days before we came to Rhinadei are filled with such things, sorcerers who used their clients’ mana to work spells for them—and took their payment, quite literally, in blood.
“Did I blame Payley for what he did? Of course. He violated Rhinadei’s most basic code. However, did I understand? Again, of course. And that understanding is what drove me into my self-inflicted exile. How could I continue to teach if I doubted the rightness of Rhinadei’s strict ban against the use of blood magic?”
Blind Seer inhaled deeply, but there was nothing in Wythcombe’s scent to give lie to the old man’s sincerity. The wolf also caught the acrid bite of Ranz’s anger, but the youth kept his silence.
“Firekeeper, ask Wythcombe again: What doe
s this have to do with Ranz? Why is the boy condemned because of his father’s actions?”
Firekeeper said, “Blind Seer—and me, too—we wonder. What does this Payley’s choices have to do with Ranz? I am not my mother. Nor my father. Nor am I the wolves who raised me. Why is Ranz made one with his father—even though that father has not been given permission to use magic since the boy was safely born?”
Wythcombe’s amiable potato-face became a little sly. “So the boy didn’t explain that to you as part of his tale of his woes?”
Firekeeper snapped. “Ranz tell us very little except that you said you would not teach him, and he had hoped to win you over by showing his skill. We urged him to come with us. We think it is not possible that a wise one, recommended to Blind Seer by leaders of this land, would turn someone away who only wished teaching.”
Wythcombe physically drew back from Firekeeper’s evident fury. Blind Seer, who had seen what Firekeeper was like when she was really dangerous—and that was as cold and sharp as the edge of her own Fang—thought Wythcombe was perhaps not as wise as everyone believed him to be.
Perhaps I should seek a different teacher. I’ve known from the start that Varelle and the other Rhinadei leaders had their own gain in mind rather than mine when they set me on this trail.
“Now,” Firekeeper said, “tell us what you think Ranz is too cowardly to admit.”
Wythcombe scowled. “Is that you speaking or the wolf?”
“Me. I do not think Blind Seer cares, but I know what it is to have people speak of you based on what they think they know. Tell, so we know we hear what you wish us to hear, not with any doubt that Ranz is softening the words.”
Wythcombe clearly saw the merit in this. “Because of how the boy’s—how Ransom’s—life was saved, I believe, and I am not alone in this belief, that his natural magic is blood magic. I have already failed to instill correct moral and ethical considerations in his father, whose magic was only akin. How can I be certain I would do better teaching someone who will be even more inclined to take that path when under pressure?”
Blind Seer shoved himself to his feet, startling everyone except Firekeeper, who had felt the ripple of his muscles beneath his coat and knew that in their shared language he was saying, “That’s it. I’ve had enough.”
Firekeeper rose with him and stood with one hand on his back, her other raised palm outward to reassure Wythcombe, who certainly dreaded that Blind Seer could be about to attack.
“Blind Seer is simply full from stomach to the top of his throat with such talk. You may have much knowledge, but not the wisdom he desires. He will seek elsewhere for a teacher.”
Wythcombe’s shock was evident even to those who did not smell it in the sudden pong of his sweat.
“Another teacher? Here in Rhinadei?”
Firekeeper rubbed her hand behind Blind Seer’s ears in a caress he loved. “Well, Blue Eyes, this is your hunt. What would you have me tell him?”
“Tell him,” Blind Seer replied, “that since Wythcombe so fears failing that he turns tail and will not even begin the hunt, then perhaps Ranz can be my teacher. Anyone who has the patience to build a city of snow and ice will have the patience to teach a wolf at least the basic lore. Then, too, I will trust Rhinadei as Wythcombe himself seems to have forgotten how to do—being so wrapped up in his own place as a One, even when he turns his back on his pack. If I run astray, perhaps Rhinadei will send warning and I will correct my trail.”
Firekeeper laughed aloud and translated very faithfully. Wythcombe and Ranz’s words overlapped each other, “Ransom?” “Me?”
The two Rhinadeians fell silent, for once in accord, and both highly discomfited by that.
Firekeeper raised and lowered her shoulders in an elaborate shrug. “Why not? If Ranz’s natural magic is blood magic—as you fear—and he has not used it in any way that has offended this Rhinadei, then he may be the teacher my beloved needs, not an old One, full of knowledge but lacking in wisdom. What say you, Ranz?”
“I don’t know… I do know some basics, sure, but enough to teach Blind Seer? Arasan said that some have speculated that Blind Seer may be the greatest mage since the coming of that querinalo.”
“Even a great hunter can be useless when first rowing a boat,” Firekeeper replied. “I know this well and personally. Perhaps you are not the final teacher, but you would be a good first. What say you?”
When Firekeeper translated Blind Seer’s proposition to Ranz, Laria watched in unabashed delight as the expressions of the young would-be student and the esteemed senior mage assumed nearly identical expressions of shock and consternation. There was no doubt that among Firekeeper and Blind Seer’s most extraordinary gifts was their ability to shake what “everyone” knew.
Blind Seer was still standing, ready to depart. Beside him, Firekeeper stretched, doubtless happy to have the heavy pack off her shoulders and no need to reassume it until the morning.
“We will go out to run,” the wolf-woman said. “And give you time to think.”
Ranz also rose, clearly about to take his leave as he had been about to do when Blind Seer’s question had disrupted everything. Wythcombe flapped a hand at him.
“Please, accept my hospitality. If I will not keep a wolf from my door, how can I send you out into the night?”
Ranz waivered. He might be able to handle the cold, but darkness was gathering and Arasan’s cooking already smelled very good.
Laria bounced up and grabbed his hand. “Please do stay. Don’t worry about those two.” She indicated the wolves who were slipping out into the chill that was settling on the mountain with the vanishing sun. “Even after just one day knowing them, you must have figured out that they don’t operate by rules that make sense to any sane person.”
Firekeeper flashed Laria a grin as she pulled the door closed behind her, so Laria knew the wolf-woman hadn’t taken offense. If anything, she’d been pleased by the acknowledgement that rules were for other people.
Arasan tilted a pan to set aside some fried potatoes before adding chunks of cheese to the rest. “I made enough for six. Since it’s unlikely Firekeeper and Blind Seer will return in time to eat with us, you won’t let it go to waste, will you?”
Ranz glanced at Wythcombe. “If you really don’t mind, I would prefer to stay. I hadn’t realized how lonely I was until these people showed up yesterday.”
Maybe it was just chance, but Laria thought part of his smile was meant especially for her. She ran her hands over the length of her braid, wondering if Ranz had noticed that the ribbon she’d braided in today matched his headband and belt.
Arasan’s chatter made sitting in that tense company around the table not only survivable, but actually enjoyable. Nonetheless, when dinner was over, and the cleaning up taken care of, Wythcombe politely excused himself.
“I’m not as young as I once was, and had put in a long day in the garden before your arrival. Forgive me. I need some rest.”
He’d already shown them where the bath was, as well as where they could sleep. Laria’s room was partially occupied by a large loom on which a simple striped blanket was being woven. Her “bed” was made up of stacks of similar blankets over which she placed her bedroll. After several days where the softest bed she could hope for was a drift of pine needles, it looked very snug and cozy.
Even so, Laria felt reluctant to retire. When Arasan asked her and Ranz if they minded if he took the first bath, as long as he promised to leave some hot water, she shooed him along.
“It feels good to be somewhere out of the wind and to not worry when it might start raining. Go.”
Ranz looked surprised at even being given a choice. “Go, please. You did all that cooking. I’ll keep Laria company.”
Laria found herself disproportionately pleased, but when Ranz came to join her in front of the fire, his first question was about Firekeeper.
“Will she really sleep outside? I can see the wolf doing so, but for all she calls herself a w
olf, Firekeeper is human.”
Laria’s reply was more tart that she had intended. “That’s your first mistake. Firekeeper might not look like a wolf, but her—call it training, call it upbringing, call it what you like—was as wolf. Derian Counselor says that by his best guess, Firekeeper didn’t see anyone human between the time she was maybe five until she was fifteen. She doesn’t remember her human parents at all, just the wolves.”
“But surely, if she lived with them until she was five, she should have some memories?”
Laria shook her head. “Derian says she doesn’t and I believe him. I haven’t been told the whole story, but apparently her parents—the entire human community she lived with—died in a fire. I don’t know why she didn’t die, too, but I think, from little things I’ve heard here and there—mostly from Derian and Plik—that to survive, Firekeeper had to bury all those memories. When Derian met her, she didn’t even speak Pellish. He was her teacher.”
Ranz chuckled. “I have the impression—even though the translation spell is doing most of the work—that she still doesn’t speak this ‘Pellish’ very well.”
As quickly as she had been offended by Ranz’s interest in Firekeeper, Laria found herself offended by his amusement. “Actually, most of the time lately, she’s been speaking Liglimosh. She speaks several human languages now, well enough to be considered fluent, and she can get by in several others. Let’s see how you’ll do when the translation spell vanishes and you need to get by with learning our language—or teaching us yours.”
“Hold! Hold!” Ranz held both hands up in front of him, as if surrendering to an enemy. “I didn’t mean to give offense.” He put down his hands, slumping as he did. “And what makes you think that I’m going to have the chance?”
Laria laughed and as a peace offering split the rest of the pot of after-dinner tea between their mugs. She’d noticed that Ranz liked his sweet, and pushed the pot of honey over to him.
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