Wolfs Soul

by Jane Lindskold

  When General Merial unlocked the mansion’s rear door, the air that came out was only slightly warmer than that outside. Blind Seer had expected it to smell more stale, then realized that the comparative freshness could be explained by Merial coming by—probably earlier that day—to assure all was in order.

  Firekeeper gave a slight sniff, meaning, “Do you smell anything untoward?”

  Since the only scent Blind Seer caught was that of General Merial, mingled with that of her horse, he softly huffed out his breath, then perked his ears forward.

  Inside, General Merial led the way along a wide, stone-paved hallway into a large storeroom. One side of this was given over to a set of doors.

  “That,” General Merial said, indicating a broad, high door meant to slide to one side, rather than swing, “leads to a ramp for moving cases and barrels down to the cellars. We will take the stairs. Let me unlock the door, then light the lanterns.”

  Although Firekeeper clearly longed to take point, since they didn’t know where they were going, she settled for walking just behind the general. Knowing that Merial would become nervous if he were that close, Blind Seer chose to go last. Farborn rode on Firekeeper’s shoulder, ready to take flight if anything went amiss.

  “When the house was built,” Merial explained, her bootsteps echoing within the stone stairway, “the entry to the tunnel was concealed in a sub-basement storeroom that was given over to the sort of things people will keep but don’t often need—old jars and vases, bottles, decorations that might be reused someday, and the like.”

  Blind Seer recognized General Merial’s chatter as the sort humans made to cover nervousness. The storeroom was so crowded that only the general, Firekeeper, and Laria stepped inside. Blind Seer lay down, which permitted him to see easily around the humans’ legs. From this vantage, he saw Laria press her hand, first against the wall, then against the floor. Each time she closed her eyes and concentrated. Evidently she found nothing that gave her reason for concern, for she got to her feet without comment.

  General Merial probably didn’t notice Laria’s quiet ritual. She was busy removing heavy wooden crates from where they were stacked in front of shelves that lined one section of wall. Blind Seer sneezed at the scent of dust and stale beeswax. Next Merial took a small can from her pocket and dripped oil into what must be a hidden keyhole, for she removed a flat leather folder from where it hung on a thong around her neck and took out a key. This proved to be only the first of a series of keys and locks, but not even Firekeeper complained about the laborious process. Indeed, the very care with which this area had been sealed added to the gravity of the situation.

  Only Rusty was restless, straining at his leash, jaws moving as he attempted to chew on the edge of a wooden crate. Wythcombe absently slipped the goat a piece of rubbery old carrot, but his gaze never left General Merial.

  “There,” she said, at last, straightening upright. “That’s the last. Firekeeper, help me slide this section of shelving. Be careful, the jars are heavy.”

  Firekeeper didn’t bother to reply—at least not in a language General Merial would understand. Blind Seer panted laughter at his partner’s soft breath of annoyance. Had Firekeeper been speaking Pellish, she doubtless would have said something like, “You step away. I can move this shelf without your help.” But Firekeeper had learned to give deference not only to those who deserved it, but to those who thought they deserved it and could be of some use.

  Blind Seer was very proud of her.

  Moving the shelves revealed a trapdoor concealed in the paving. After heaving it open, General Merial pulled a nondescript sealed jar off the shelf, and pulled out a stout rope ladder.

  “Blind Seer and I can jump,” Firekeeper said after looking down through the opening. “I will steady the ladder for the rest. Someone can lower Rusty to me.”

  “I will see you all down,” General Merial replied, “then close the door and move the shelf back. Send a message—by Farborn would be best—and I will come to let you out. If you must leave the ruins some other way, it would be wisest to hike into the mountains, then send me a message.”

  She was repeating plans they had laid out in advance, but Blind Seer understood that not only was the general nervous about letting them in on this secret, she was worried about possibly trapping them. If he were human, he would worry, too, but being a wolf, Blind Seer accepted that once a course of action had been decided upon, one had to follow it through or risk exhausting oneself with false starts.

  Wythcombe squeezed into the storeroom. Now he laid what he certainly thought was a reassuring hand on the general’s arm. “You forget. Among us we have a curious assortment of resources, magical and otherwise. I am sure we will be fine.”

  General Merial’s verbal reply was noncommittal, but her sweat was suddenly ripe with a complex blend of odors.

  Now that reminder, Blind Seer thought as he nudged the humans aside so he could follow Firekeeper into the hidden tunnel, has frightened General Merial as surely no battle has ever done.

  Firekeeper was relieved when Blind Seer thumped down beside her. The lantern that had been lowered provided enough light for her to see that there was nothing nearby, but she couldn’t escape a sensation that they were being watched. Laria shook down the rope ladder, her slim form outlined in the light from above.

  “I’ve hooked it into place up here,” she called softly. “I’ll come down and take over steadying the ladder so you two can scout.”

  “Come then,” Firekeeper said, kneeling to pull the rope taut. She felt the ladder shift as Laria tested the rungs, then made her way down, brisk as a squirrel.

  “Dark, isn’t it?” Laria commented, shivering as she took Firekeeper’s place.

  Firekeeper gave a noncommittal grunt. She’d long ago learned that while she could not see in absolute darkness, she saw much more than most humans did. Sometimes, she thought this had less to do with her actual vision than that she had learned how to interpret what she saw, rather than straining for details that weren’t there, as a human would.

  What she saw now was a tube of dull grey stone. The tube was easily wide enough for three or even four large men to walk side by side without bumping shoulders. No wonder those who had first discovered this space had thought they had located a cellar. Humans rarely dug tunnels so wide and even water did not cut so smoothly. Firekeeper ran her fingertips over the rise of walls and floor, but could find no seams where tiles or bricks had used.

  Old magic again. I am not surprised.

  General Merial had told them that one end of the tunnel went into the ruins. The other had collapsed long ago, but the theory was that it may have led to an underground watercourse.

  After lowering Rusty, and unhooking the ladder, General Merial wished them well, then dropped the trapdoor. The seal was snug, cutting off light and sound both. Somehow, once the trapdoor had been closed, the world above seemed less real. What was real was the enclosed area, lit only by lanterns held by Laria and Arasan. Rusty bleated querulous complaint, and Firekeeper could only agree with him. She had never suffered from claustrophobia, but this place was entirely too isolated. Blind Seer padded silently back from where he had been investigating the tunnel and leaned against her leg in mute agreement.

  “Shall we begin walking?” Wythcombe suggested. “According to the map General Merial supplied, the tunnel goes in more or less a straight line directly to the ruins. We’re fresh. Even with rest breaks, perhaps we can reach our destination before noon.”

  Firekeeper shook her head. “We have already traveled part of the night. We will walk some, then sleep. We will still arrive with much daylight.”

  Blind Seer and Firekeeper took point. The others arrayed themselves in pairs, taking turns shifting who carried the lanterns so no one would end up with a tired arm. Rusty was given room to wander within the limits of the tether tied to Wythcombe’s belt. Initially, the goat strained to go ahead, but soon realized that there was nothing to eat and walked
at Wythcombe’s side, chewing his cud and leaving a trail of goat droppings to puzzle future explorers.

  Initially, the group walked in near silence, the only sounds their own breathing and boots tapping against the stone floor. Firekeeper felt herself lulled by the monotony. There was no scenery. No creatures to provide distractions. No sounds or scents. If this had once been a sewer, it had carried excess rainwater rather than waste.

  The journey was beginning to seem like a particularly dull nightmare when Arasan’s voice broke the silence. “Anyone care for a song or story? I don’t think there’s anything here for us to alert.”

  “Would be very good to hear something,” Firekeeper agreed. “This place of nothing makes me uneasy.”

  “Me, too,” Laria agreed. “I’ve tried reading the walls, but they’re as dull as the rest. I can’t even guess how long or how far we’ve walked.”

  “I lost track of how many steps we’ve taken ages ago,” Ranz agreed.

  “The level of oil in the lanterns will mark the passage of time,” Arasan suggested. “It won’t be a precise measure, but it’s something.”

  “I have no problem with Arasan telling tales,” Blind Seer said when Firekeeper glanced over to gauge his response. “Tell the humans that you and I and Farborn will continue to scout ahead periodically, in case any danger is concealed as the scarlet butterflies concealed themselves.”

  Firekeeper translated. This promise of continued watchfulness reassured Wythcombe, who to that point had withheld his agreement.

  “First a few songs to liven us up,” he suggested. “Let us sing softly and without accompaniment. Then, perhaps, Arasan can tell me and Ranz more of the history of this long-ago university. Later, I can continue my lectures on magical theory. My apprentices have had sufficient holiday.”

  Arasan’s tales and songs, even Wythcombe’s lectures, broke the monotony. Firekeeper realized as she translated Blind Seer’s questions that she was understanding more about how spellcasting worked, especially how its very versatility and power were also weaknesses. A question from Arasan led to a discussion of mage’s tools, such as the staff Wythcombe carried, and even the completely non-magical musical instruments that Arasan used to focus his talent. Ranz was full of questions, so many that Firekeeper suspected the young man was anticipating crafting a staff of his own.

  Eventually, even Wythcombe admitted that a few hours’ sleep would be useful. When they awoke and had refreshed themselves, Blind Seer suggested he and Firekeeper leave Farborn to mind the humans while they scouted ahead.

  Because neither of the wolves could see in complete darkness, Wythcombe conjured a magical glow akin to that of a single candle flame. Firekeeper could hold this in one hand, then cover it by the simple expedient of closing her fist. Wythcombe cautioned them that the light would not last.

  “Then if it goes out, we know we are away too long,” Firekeeper said, rolling the small bright thing around in her palm. “Twice useful in this place without either light or time. When we turn back, we will see the lanterns. In this darkness, even a little glow carries a great distance.”

  The wolves padded ahead but, as their surroundings continued changeless, Firekeeper felt she could ask Blind Seer about something that had been increasingly bothering her.

  “We went to Rhinadei to find you a teacher, Blue Eyes. We found you Wythcombe, but now we are caught up in his chase. You are not given a chance to pursue your own hunt. Does this trouble you?”

  Blind Seer flicked an ear as if trying to hear his own thoughts. “Sometimes. However, I am the one who asked Wythcombe to not give me—and by extension, Ranz—empty exercises. My request was what led Wythcombe to go check on Kabot when he did, so my own will is what set our paws on this trail. When I consider what could have happened if Kabot’s being released from the spell that had trapped him for so long had not been discovered, I admit, I tremble. It is enough to make one believe in the deities that humans give so much credit for guiding the course of events.”

  “Do you think we will find Kabot in the ruins?” Firekeeper asked.

  “Find him? Without knowing when first he released himself from the spell? That I can’t say. What I do think is that we will learn something to shape further pursuit.”

  Firekeeper nodded. “If there is trace of Kabot, then we have a trail to follow. If there is no trace, then, well, I would say to Wythcombe that his pack needs to go back to the start of the trail and see if they can find where it leads. Then you can concentrate on your studies.”

  Blind Seer bumped against her in a wolfish hug. “You are so eager to have me become anathema to our people? An undeniable spellcaster?”

  “I am eager,” Firekeeper said, stroking along his spine, “to have this magic of yours give you what you desire most: a voice, a means of giving us shapes that match. Selfish, I know, but we have spent many long seasons on hunts that have benefited the packs of others. Is it human of me to wish to put our own hopes first?”

  Blind Seer padded on in silent contemplation for long enough that Firekeeper feared she had indeed shown herself human in his eyes, and felt ashamed.

  When he spoke, he huffed a dry laugh. “If you are too human in that, then I am too human as well. In the echoes of my thoughts, I worry that neither you nor I are fully wolves any longer. Then I take a deep breath of this enclosed air, feel how the darkness shrouds my vision, and I must laugh. If we were human in that worst way, we would not be here. We are still wolves, still putting the needs of a pack far greater than many wolves could embrace before our immediate hungers. But that does not mean we cannot satisfy our hunger and that of those who depend on us. The Ones eat first from a kill, not because of status or because the others fear them, but because strong Ones lead a strong pack. I will eat from the results of this hunt to make myself the strong One my pack needs. If at times that seems selfish, well, that is the way of the wolf.”

  Wythcombe was explaining that, although many mages preferred to carry staffs, these were far from the only option if a personalized magical tool was desired, when Firekeeper ghosted back to join them. When the wolf-woman motioned toward the lanterns, Ranz and Arasan slid the side panels down so only a faint glow remained.

  Firekeeper said softly, “We were near turning back, then Blind Seer think sounds have changed, so we go on. Part of the tunnel begins to go up like this.” The wolf-woman held up one arm to show a gradual slant. “Farborn scouts up, Blind Seer listens.”

  Laria glanced over her shoulder, only then noticing that the merlin was no longer perched atop her pack.

  “I too go ahead,” Firekeeper said, “to watch back and listen to make sure your sounds not carry too far. There will be a time when maybe you will need to go without light. Can you guide yourselves with a hand to the wall?”

  Laria saw how Firekeeper’s gaze flickered to her in particular, and she nodded firm assent. “I’ll take point. If we need to go forward in full darkness, I might be able to use my talent to help me ‘see.’”

  “Maybe we not need this much dark,” Firekeeper reassured her, “but best to be ready. I warn Rusty to be quiet, even if he smells something eatable or is frightened.”

  Laria knew that although Rusty was what Firekeeper would term “Cousin-kind,” and so did not share the yarimaimalom’s gift for complex language, nonetheless, Firekeeper could get some concepts across to Cousins. How complex depended on how intelligent the animal itself was. Derian enjoyed telling tales about Grey Patience, the only horse who had ever carried Firekeeper without collapsing into terror, mostly because the horse had resigned itself to its rider’s threats.

  Without a whisper of sound, the wolf-woman vanished into the dark tunnel. As she moved forward, for the first time in many hours, the sense of timelessness vanished, replaced by an acute awareness of every breath, every anxious step. Laria considered drawing Volsyl, but decided that even with its ability to guide her strikes, carrying a naked blade in near darkness was just plain dumb. She tried counting her paces
so she could estimate the distance, but she kept losing count somewhere around fourteen. That was when memories of her childhood intruded.

  Laria had believed that she had come to terms with her fear of spellcasters. Hadn’t she been traveling with a mage and his two apprentices for several moonspans now? But as she approached when they must emerge into the ruins, possibly to confront spellcasters who craved the opportunity to use blood magic, Laria found herself remembering events best forgotten. Oddly, it was not the great abuses that came back with the most force, but the small, almost casual, cruelties.

  Her father’s face bruised, his left eye swollen shut, because the boots he’d labored to produce on short notice had been judged inferior, then thrown in his face.

  Every child on the Nexus Islands under the age of five being shaved bald for reasons Laria still didn’t understand. She remembered how cold she’d been.

  Her mother straining to deliver Kitatos while an emaciated Spell Wielder shouted at her to hold still so he could collect the birthing blood.

  Other memories, fragmented because she’d forced herself to forget or be forever crippled by fear.

  Laria’s hand flew to her braid, grasping the ribbon twined within. This one had been worn by Nenean when they’d had their archery competition and held her younger sister’s secret excitement that she and Laria could do such a “grown-up” thing together. The memory stabilized Laria enough that when at last Firekeeper appeared before them, Laria dared hope her panic was no longer apparent.

  “You can keep light, but low,” Firekeeper said, her soft-spoken words husky. “Farborn says that the trail up ends in heavy door. I see if door is locked. When you come to Blind Seer, stop and wait.”

  Firekeeper gave Laria’s shoulder a quick squeeze and said softly, “No matter these others is older. You is in charge.”

  Laria felt a flash of anger, certain that Firekeeper was patronizing her, then she remembered what her mother had said about the wolf-woman, “In matters of life and death, there is no kindness in her.”