Wolfs Soul

by Jane Lindskold

  “True.” Wythcombe spoke as if he had been asked a question. “That’s Kabot. So you think a Meddler detected this passion, this idealization, and somehow attached himself to Kabot?”

  “Attached? Hmm… Not exactly the word I’d use. Insinuated is better. This Meddler lacks a physical form. In many ways, this makes him—or her—I can’t really say which, but don’t fall into the trap of thinking of a Meddler as an ‘it,’ because if we all share a single trait, it’s that we’re anything but impersonal. We’re the opposite—personality distilled.”

  He shook his head, much as a horse would to shoo off a fly, and Arasan spoke, “Trust me on that. Chsss saved my life, but it’s been a little like saving a drowning person by pulling them under until they can’t struggle anymore. Sometimes I wonder if the only reason I ‘surfaced’ again was because, without me, Chsss can’t tap my magical abilities, limited as they are.”

  The facial expression shifted and Chsss looked hurt. “I like you, Arasan. I like sharing a body with you. I wish you’d believe that. I just… but I am not going to get off the point.”

  Wythcombe interrupted the peculiar conversation. “So you’re saying that Kabot may have been taken over by this Meddler?” Wythcombe sounded hopeful, and no wonder. If Kabot had been taken over, then he wasn’t to be blamed for his more extreme actions, including the attack on Laria.

  “I wish I could agree with that,” Chsss said, his tones rich with compassion, “but I can’t. If Kabot’s associate ‘took him over’—which isn’t as easy to do as all of you seem to think—then he’d be restricting himself. However, if he advises Kabot, and then Kabot comes to rely on him, to call on him, that’s the first step to worship, to mana, to becoming first a demi-deity, then, depending on the size of Kabot’s following, a deity not so demi.”

  Firekeeper found herself thinking that it was a good thing that Harjeedian, the aridisdu of Liglim who had first told them Meddler tales, was back in his homeland. If he heard this, he’d be spitting sparks, not only because of the idea that a Meddler could become a deity, but because of the doubt this would shed on the divinity of those forces Harjeedian worshipped.

  Chsss continued, “So, while I can’t trace Laria—although I’ve tried—I can… Well, I think I can… trace Kabot by tracing his Meddler.”

  “Will this Meddler be able to scent you on his trail?” Blind Seer asked.

  Chsss shrugged. “Possibly. Thing is, this is one time when his being so much more powerful than me will work in my favor. As Meddlers we share access to the mana of our sodality. I suspect that I’ve been getting so tired because Kabot’s friend is drawing hard on that common pool. He’s probably already aware of me, not as a person, just as minor competition. Even if he notices my actions, he may think it’s me trying to reestablish my mana flow.”

  Ynamynet had listened with even more of her characteristic icy stillness. Now she nodded crisply. “I understand why you felt you needed to explain the background. I suppose you could have simply told us you could trace Laria and leave it at that, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from listening to Meddler tales”—her face broke into an uncharacteristically brilliant smile—“which my little girl loves, by the way, is that Meddlers rarely hide what they’re doing. Leading their chosen—well, Urgana always says ‘victims,’ but that’s probably insulting to you, so I won’t—leading their ‘chosen’ with full knowledge that they’re being influenced is part of the fun. I accept that. How long will it take you to narrow down where Laria is?”

  Chsss gave a wide, slightly insincere, smile. “Not long. This one is pulling hard at the pool. I only need to follow the current.”

  Something was wrong. Kabot knew it as soon as he awoke. He should feel horrible, aching in every muscle, including some so small that most of the time he would have sworn they didn’t exist. His head should be throbbing, and the very idea of any but the dimmest light should make him want to vomit. “Worse than a hangover after a three-day binge.” That was what Caidon had once said about the effect of overextension. Kabot, more abstemious by nature, had agreed as if he knew what he was talking about.

  What was wrong was that Kabot felt none of these ill effects. He didn’t feel exactly good, but he didn’t feel particularly sick or weak or wrung out. His stiffness was from sleeping on a blanket spread over an uneven floor, his nausea from lack of food or water. As he was marveling over this miracle, he heard people talking softly.

  Daylily and Uaid were discussing the best way to prepare cave crickets and water bugs for eating. Kabot wondered if he was hallucinating but, after a few more sentences, he decided they were perfectly sincere. Slowly, intellectually aware that light should hurt, Kabot opened his eyes a slit, discovering that he lay on his back near a wall. By tilting his head slightly, he could examine the rest of the room.

  The area was irregularly shaped and maybe fifteen paces across. There were no windows or doors. What light there was came from some strategically placed lantern spells—Daylily’s work. At first, Kabot thought this must be some sort of natural cavern. Then he revised his assessment. Surely this had originally been an artificial chamber whose doors and windows were now filled with rubble. Some of the walls had either partially collapsed or were hidden behind detritus. The air wasn’t exactly fresh, but it wasn’t stale, so there was some connection to an outer area.

  Uaid and Daylily stopped arguing—they’d pretty much decided on “steamed”—alerted by the slight movement of his head.

  Daylily crouched down next to Kabot and held a canteen to his lips. “Slowly… You’ve been unconscious for a long while, so you doubtless have both a dry mouth and a dehydration headache. We can’t waste water, so we’d prefer if you didn’t start throwing up. There’s water here, but gathering it takes effort.”

  As Kabot sipped, careful more because of the awkward angle then because he felt terribly nauseous, Daylily continued with forced casualness, “And, speaking of ‘here,’ do you have any idea where you’ve taken us?”

  She was trying very hard to be polite, but Kabot could see the anxiety in her still-green eyes, and knew that if her anxiety made her too agitated to work spells, they would be in more trouble than they apparently were already. Daylily’s eclectic magics would be necessary to keep them alive while they figured out how to escape. Of course, this time they had a source of mana they had lacked in that dripping jungle. Kabot let Daylily take the canteen away and help him to sit up. He slowly craned his stiff neck, until he located the girl, Laria. She sat huddled in front of one of the larger rubble heaps, about equidistant between where he had been sleeping and where the other two had set up a makeshift camp.

  Or, another way to see it, she’s sitting as far from any of us as she can get.

  The wound Kabot had inflicted on Laria’s throat had been neatly bandaged. Although her face still showed tear tracks, she was no longer crying. Instead, her expression had hardened into what looked like a well-practiced neutrality that didn’t change even when Kabot was sure she knew he was looking at her. This calculated indifference bothered Kabot far more than outright terror or loathing would have done, and he wasn’t certain why.

  Since Kabot actually didn’t know where they were—except that this was supposed to be where another part of Sykavalkay could be found—he decided to take refuge in his perceived infirmity. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then squeezed his eyes shut. He was rewarded by Daylily pressing the canteen to his lips. He swallowed tepid water, registering that it tasted strongly of dirt and was faintly gritty, then swayed. Daylily put a strong arm around him, then lowered him back onto his bedroll.

  “Can’t talk yet? I understand,” she murmured soothingly. “When we arrived here—wherever here is—both you and Laria were unconscious. I wasn’t feeling very strong myself, but I managed to make enough light so that Uaid and I could investigate. When we realized we were trapped underground, Uaid managed to reshape the stone floor to gather water from a seep. I’ve put a purification charm on on
e of the canteens. So far we’ve collected enough for our needs. So the good news is we’re not likely to die from lack of water. The bad news is pretty much everything else. We don’t know where we are—although we’re pretty sure we’re not in Rhinadei, Azure Towers, or that jungle. Our food supplies are limited to what I happened to have in my pack when we took off after the villagers. We might be able to augment that with insects and fungi, although the latter is always a chancy proposition.”

  “Therefore,” Uaid put in, his tone much less conciliatory, “if you can get us out of here the way you got us in here, that would be helpful. Also, Daylily forgot to mention that we’ve not been able to contact a certain advisor who, in times of past trials, has been of great assistance to us.”

  The Voice, Kabot thought. Uaid’s being careful not to mention just who our ‘advisor’ is because of Laria. That’s prudent. Who knows what she would think if she knew we all hear voices? That’s usually considered a sign of insanity. Of course, if Laria knows anything about magical communication, she’s already going to wonder who we think we can contact. Contacting someone over a distance is not as easy as the grandmother tales make it seem.

  Uaid continued, “Perhaps when you’re feeling stronger, we could attempt to reach our advisor. At this point, I’m willing to try anything.” His gaze flickered in the direction of Laria. “I’m done with being entombed—and this entrapment is not likely to be nearly as painless as the last…”

  “As the last time you got us stuck somewhere,” Kabot mentally filled in the words Uaid would certainly have said, might have already said to Daylily, but wouldn’t speak in front of their captive. Kabot stifled an urge to laugh hysterically. He really was developing a track record for transporting them into untenable situations, wasn’t he?

  Kabot raised an arm to rub the back his hand across a forehead that should ache abominably. When he dropped his hand back on his chest, he felt how the fabric of his shirt remained stiff with Laria’s blood. Beneath that lay Palvalkay, humming faintly as it continued to feed a trickle of mana into him. Somehow, it seemed excited. Kabot wondered what would excite an artifact. He wondered a lot of things. While he worked them out, he might as well take advantage of his perceived infirmity to think. His only regret was that he couldn’t ask for something to eat. That would be completely out of character.

  “Gotta rest…” he muttered, easing himself into a meditative state that would look much like sleep. Neither Daylily nor Uaid protested.

  “Phiona,” Kabot thought reaching out, “please help us. You got us into this, right? Now you’d better get us out.”

  “Sweet Firekeeper,” Blind Seer said, “have you forgotten the proverb? ‘Hunt when hungry, sleep when not, for hunger always returns.’"

  He knew that to their companions, it would appear that both he and Firekeeper were asleep, curled beneath an open window at one side of the large conference room in which, out of respect for Ikitata’s request that her children not learn that Laria had not returned with the rest from Tey-yo, they were camping. Ranz and Wythcombe could have had their own spaces but, like a true pack, stayed close. Even Rusty waited with them, drowsing and chewing his cud in a makeshift pen to one side of the room. His strong odor was why the windows were open, even though the spring nights were not at all warm.

  Kalyndra and Farborn were not with them. Kalyndra was helping Chsss prepare his spell. Farborn was small enough that he could leave without risking being recognized.

  “I am hungry,” Firekeeper grumbled. “Not for food, but to go after Laria. She must be so very frightened.”

  Blind Seer considered reciting any of a number of appropriate proverbs, but settled for nuzzling Firekeeper instead. “And what good will you do her, coming after exhausted? We have been in constant motion these last few days. Rest now. This may be your last chance to sleep safely for days to come.”

  Firekeeper’s breathing told him when her pretense became reality. Soon after, he slept as well. His dreams were troubled by spiders with legs like human fingers.

  The next morning, they wordlessly gathered to watch Chsss as he drew a complicated pattern by dipping his fingertips in oil, then moving them over a sheet of glass set upon the tabletop. Although Blind Seer could scent the magical currents Chsss was using, the wolf could make no more sense of these arcane breezes than a newborn pup would make of light, sound, and odor upon first creeping forth from the den. He lacked reference, even as a pup’s nearly blind eyes perceived light as an overwhelming, but meaningless, reality.

  The wolf-mage’s only comfort was that neither Kalyndra nor Ynamynet seemed to understand what Chsss was doing any more than he did. Even Wythcombe’s expression was mildly perplexed. But none of them believed that Chsss was putting on a show meant to impress them with his earnestness. He had made no effort to shield his workings from even the most senior spellcasters. Kalyndra reported that he had even asked for assistance—although never mana—a time or two.

  Finally, Chsss leaned forward on his elbows to better view the complicated pattern. His completed drawing resembled a spider’s web—if said spider had possessed far more than eight legs and a very different conception of how many dimensions in which it could weave. Chsss scrubbed his ears with his palms as if to rub away some music the rest of them could not hear. He accepted the glass of mulled wine Kalyndra offered him, not even wrinkling his nose at the odor of various fortifying herbs and spices with which she had enriched it.

  “I have a location,” he said, without any of his usual theatricality or sly humor. “If someone would bring the globe?”

  What Chsss did next gave the lie to his claims to have lost much of his magical ability. Flexing Arasan’s long-fingered and sensitive musician’s fingers, he peeled the design he had drawn from the glass. While all of them except for Wythcombe were goggling at the impossibility, he draped it over the globe.

  The globe had been crafted from quartz crystal in the days before querinalo, rediscovered by Urgana in one of the archive’s supply closets. The oceans had been left clear, while the landmasses were etched so that they were nearly opaque, although still sufficiently translucent that the orb below them could be seen.

  Wythcombe leaned forward, fascinated. “Is that globe accurate? In Rhinadei, we have maps, but they are by no means this detailed.”

  Urgana replied, “We haven’t had an opportunity to check every detail, but we asked King Hurwin the Hammer to take a look in reference to the parts of the world he knows. The Tavetchians are seafarers, and, for a portion of the world, their maps are as good as we get. We also asked some of the yarimaimalom gulls to look at it—the aerial perspective, you understand? As best as we can tell, the globe is fairly accurate. The avians had less to offer than you might imagine. They do see things from above, but they navigate by far more than sight. Interestingly, there is one region that is indistinct even on this globe—and the yarimaimalom avians didn’t know anything about it. “

  She tapped an area in the southern hemisphere. “Rhinadei, I suspect.”

  While Urgana had been answering Wythcombe’s question, Chsss shifted his pattern over the globe. Blind Seer could—not so much “see”—although he was certain this was how his humans would perceive the eldritch energies—but “hear” how Chsss shifted the complex artistry of his webwork until it covered the globe in the only fashion that did not create a jangling misfit. Many of the web strands went through the globe, crisscrossing in a fashion that hinted at geomantic mysteries. When the web was in place, Chsss flopped back into his chair, wiped away the sweat that beaded his forehead, then waved a hand toward the globe.

  “Wythcombe, will you do the honors? I think you should be able to trace what region in which the other Meddler has shown an interest in of late. If I do the interpreting, someone”—he gave Firekeeper an affectionate glower—“is likely to start accusing me of deception.”

  “I would be honored,” Wythcombe replied. “I’m curious. How far back does your tracing go?”

>   “Theoretically, into infinity. In reality, since I was most interested in the present, I focused on getting a clear view of the last year or so.”

  Wythcombe nodded, then closed his eyes in concentration. After a few slow breaths, he confidently placed one finger over a point on the globe, then began to trace portions of Chsss’s web. As he did so, a jagged line that moved not only over the globe, but at times through the surface, took brilliant shape. When he was finished, Wythcombe open his eyes and leaned to inspect his work.

  “I don’t know the geography of the entire world,” he said apologetically. “We of Rhinadei have been insular for centuries. Ynamynet, could you tell us where the line I have drawn takes us? The tracery starts here”—he pointed—“in what we suspect is Rhinadei.”

  Ynamynet joined Wythcombe, who moved aside, perhaps as much because of the chill she radiated as out of manners.

  Her tone was analytical, but Blind Seer could smell her excitement. “From Rhinadei, the path goes to Pelland, and, no surprise, to the coast, where the ruins of the university of Azure Towers are. From there it goes all the way down to Tey-yo.” She moved the globe on the complicated stand that enabled it to be tilted side to side as well as spun around. “Yes. This is the general location of Nalrmyna. From there…” Her fingers angled the globe with swift precision, seeking the endpoint where they would find Laria. “From there, it goes to the New World, north of our mainland gate in the Setting Sun Stronghold, past Liglim, past the inland channel, up…”

  She halted and looked at Firekeeper for confirmation. Although Firekeeper was not much for reading, she had learned to appreciate maps, and now she nodded stiffly.