Wolfs Soul

by Jane Lindskold

  Being a wolf was so wonderful it was almost a disappointment, because it was precisely as Firekeeper had always imagined it would be. As she ran behind Blind Seer, the landscape around her was alive with information that her wolf brain neatly categorized by degrees of importance. She knew where there was water. She knew what creatures lived in this apparently inhospitable landscape. She scented their fear when they realized that two very large carnivores were close by.

  Best of all, Firekeeper felt as if she was finally perceiving Blind Seer as he was perceived by other wolves. No wonder Moonfrost had tried to steal him away! He truly was magnificent. She felt her ears melt flat in humility that he had chosen her, then perk up as she laughed at herself for such a very unlike herself reaction. Happily, the wind was coming from in front, and her momentary lapse should have escaped even Blind Seer’s sensitive nose.

  The wash of information didn’t overwhelm Firekeeper any more than the myriad colors and fragrances of the flowers in the formal gardens of Eagle’s Nest Castle had overwhelmed her human senses the first time she had encountered such massed planting. What use would be hearing that noted the bending of grass stems or the rolling of pebbles if the mind that received the information could not filter what was important from what was not?

  Blind Seer’s scent held a wealth of information, including his pride that his spell had worked. There was also a level of weariness one would never have guessed at from his steady trot as he led the way up a trail that would have been nearly invisible to human eyes, but was easily detectable to lupine noses because of the number of creatures, large and small, that used it on a daily basis. The area held no human scent at all, confirming their conjecture that whatever means Kabot had used to reach the castle had taken him directly within the defenses.

  Wythcombe’s instructions took them not to the massive barred gate, nor to either of the smaller doors that flanked it, but to a section of unremarkable masonry tucked behind a curve of the outer wall. The first challenge to Blind Seer’s plan would be getting through this door. Wythcombe knew the ritual needed to unlock it, but if that had been changed, then they would need to beg assistance from Varelle.

  Sniffing after scents that Firekeeper could not detect, even with her wolf’s nose, Blind Seer pressed a paw against a stone mostly buried beneath the earth, then reared on his hind legs to scrape lichen from a brick. He made several more actions that would have been incomprehensible except that Firekeeper had heard Wythcombe explaining their purposes. Finally, Blind Seer pressed his nose against a stone where a door latch would be on a more usual portal. With a rumble that would have been inaudible to human ears, the stones slid aside, revealing a corridor.

  Now to find out if the ward would let two yarimaimalom wolves pass, or if the spell had been designed to eliminate all human-born intruders. Blind Seer stepped through first. Firekeeper, heart pounding in an unfamiliar location in her torso, padded after with what she hoped was confidence. She felt a slight tug, similar to what one feels when diving into water, and then she was through.

  Blind Seer licked the side of her face. “I was right! The ward neither broke nor reacted more than I saw it do when a dove landed upon one of the walls as we were mounting the trail.”

  Farborn wheeled overhead, whistling congratulations. “Hurry now! Getting inside is only the beginning! I will go fetch the humans!”

  Blind Seer gently tugged one of Firekeeper’s ears between his teeth. “Next we lower the ward.”

  Firekeeper bumped her head and shoulder against him in agreement, knowing her scent would reveal her regret that the transformation would be over so soon, comforting herself with the thought that this would be far from the last time. If she had been raised to believe in deities, she might have prayed. She even considered sending a quick request to her ancestors after the fashion of her human birthland. As she ran after Blind Seer, wolf paws reading flagstones, ears alive to every sound, she dismissed this impulse. Now, when she was finally a wolf, was not the time to become human.

  Wythcombe had told them the route to the room they needed to reach, and after racing up stairs, along corridors, they at last emerged into a vast chamber with floor and ceiling of night-black marble, walls of shimmering dawn pink, lit by a forest circle of glowing crystals.

  Until this point, the universe of scent had been all but sterile, but as soon as they entered this rom, Firekeeper immediately caught a human scent. Blind Seer rumbled a growl that said, “Kabot.”

  His nose dropped as if to seek a trail, but he stopped himself before he had taken more than one step after their adversary.

  “First we let the others in.” He raised his head to examine their surroundings.

  Wythcombe had told them that within the seemingly natural veins of the rose quartz walls was concealed a panel that, when pressed, would temporarily lower the ward.

  Firekeeper sat to better study the ceiling, appreciating how her fur protected her from the cool of the stone floor without cutting her off from sensation as her trousers did. She enjoyed how her tail balanced her torso, so she didn’t need to put a hand behind her or to stiffen her back muscles. She struggled not to lose herself in the pleasure of her new form, to analyze the constellations arrayed in gems and gold on the domed ceiling above, seeking a specific pattern.

  “Locate ‘Ox Pulling The Plow,’” Wythcombe had told them, sketching the fanciful array of stars that was supposed to represent this. “The line of the ox’s right horn will point to the correct wall. On that wall, midway, the veins of the marble shape a rough building.” He had drawn this as well, an irregular rectangle with a lopsided triangle at the top. “Stretch your fingers so that you can touch the peak of the building’s roof, the two corners where the roof meets the walls, and the bottom of the right lower wall. Push evenly on all these points. This should release the ward.”

  Firekeeper was mentally tracing the line of the ox’s horn when she felt herself returning human. After having fur, the room felt a little chilly, but she’d never let herself get soft, so accepted the change of temperature stoically. She slung her belt around her waist and, as soon as it was buckled, gave Blind Seer a sad smile.

  “It was nice,” she said, deliberately speaking Pellish, and he whined agreement.

  That was all the self-pity Firekeeper would permit herself. Now that she had her human vision with its great ability to discern color, she searched for variations in the color of the rose quartz until she found what might be the correct pattern. She placed her fingers as Wythcombe had indicated, pressed, but felt no change. She was about to press again when Blind Seer nudged her.

  “You chose correctly the first time, dear heart. I caught the scent as the ward lowered. Listen! There are the footsteps of our comrades.”

  “I’ll intercept the others so they don’t muddle Kabot’s trail.” Firekeeper ran lightfoot to the door through which their pack would enter the large domed chamber. Farborn emerged first. Next came Arasan who smiled Chsss’s wicked grin and extended her pack to her.

  “Not that I don’t think you’re delightful in belt and little else, but you’ll distract Ranz and Wythcombe.”

  Laria shrugged eloquently. “I’d like to say he’s being obnoxious again, but he’s probably right. I put your clothes in at the top.”

  As Firekeeper dressed, she gave them a quick briefing.

  “Can Blind Seer track Kabot?” Wythcombe asked.

  “I can try,” Blind Seer said, and Firekeeper translated. “Happily for us, Kabot’s shoes hold dirt from beneath Queen Zorana’s tomb. That has a distinct odor, since the rest of us have been elsewhere between.” He dropped his head and cast about. When he raised it, his ears were canted back. “Here’s something to think about. Kabot’s trail originates here.”

  “That means he arrived by magic,” Wythcombe sighed, “which surprises none of us. We need to assume he has a several-days’ head start on us. We should move quickly.”

  Blind Seer rumbled a warning growl. “‘It is too l
ate to take cover after the prey has been flushed.’ Tell Wythcombe to be patient, or we will make him be patient. Where Kabot is concerned, he is a puppy who sees a mouse, and dashes off over black ice.”

  Firekeeper was about to obey but, from Wythcombe’s expression she thought that Wythcombe had gotten the import of Blind Seer’s growl. She smiled, pleased as ever by evidence that the learning had not gone all one way.

  Before heading off in pursuit of Kabot, Blind Seer permitted himself a final sweet whiff of the scent of Firekeeper-As-Wolf. He’d never confide this to the humans, but he hadn’t been certain he could actually manage to shapechange her. When he had succeeded, the awareness of what he could do had nearly overwhelmed him, but even more overwhelming was scenting Firekeeper as the wolf they both knew her to be. Had they been on the trail of some prey less dangerous than Kabot—and, more importantly, his Meddler—Blind Seer would have run wild for the raw joy of knowing that Firekeeper could keep pace with him.

  Another day. Another day. Certainly there will be another day. But something deep inside Blind Seer made him fear that by his hasty action he had both won and lost his only chance to have Firekeeper run as wolf beside him.

  Such worrying about the future was hardly worthy of a wolf, so Blind Seer lowered his head to signal to the humans that he had Kabot’s scent trail, although the traces were sufficiently pungent that he didn’t need to hold his nose anywhere close to the marble floor. As he led the way from the large rounded chamber, Blind Seer mused that although Kabot had arrived in this gaudy hall, there was no indication that he had returned. Instead, the trail took them away from elaborately decorated areas that, even now, preserved faint scents of incense and perfumed oils, into areas no less well-constructed, but far less ornate, clearly intended to serve the more routine needs of the inhabitants. Here, for the first time, Blind Seer caught a variety of fresh scents, including one that fascinated him.

  “Kabot has passed back and forth through this area numerous times,” he told Firekeeper. “More interesting than that, his scent has changed. He is cleaner, more rested.”

  Firekeeper touched his shoulder lightly in acknowledgement, but didn’t bother to translate for the humans. These were doing their best to move quietly for fear of alerting Kabot. Blind Seer did not think this mattered. He believed that Kabot was long gone, but what if he was wrong?

  “Don’t tell the humans yet, but there are multiple Kabot trails here. Only one holds the old dirt and exhaustion. That is the one I will follow first. I want to learn what new resources he may have.”

  Ignoring various fascinating side jaunts, Blind Seer traced Kabot’s original scent trail to where it ended at a closed and locked door. Chsss quickly disabled the lock, then checked to make certain there was nothing unpleasant waiting for the first person to open the door.

  “From this point on,” Chsss warned, his lowered voice so filled with tension that he seemed to shout, “we go slowly, check every door, every place where we might be expected to hurry. Kabot knows he’s being followed. We can’t expect him to make it easy for us to catch him.”

  Behind the locked door was a tidy little apartment, completely empty. Nonetheless, even to the nose-dead humans there was ample evidence that someone had been staying in it for long enough to cook several meals, sleep, and bathe. However, other than the mute testimony of damp towels, of freshly washed plates and cutlery, Kabot had left no obvious trace of himself or his intentions.

  While the humans searched the apartment, Firekeeper and Blind Seer examined various of the side trails. Where a human tracker would have found nothing, Blind Seer’s nose found a history. When they returned to their companions, Firekeeper reported, her dark eyes shining with anticipation.

  “Kabot search much of this part of the fortress. Over and over his trail goes down stairs, so what he wants is below. Finally, his trail tightens near the large kitchens. We show you. It will be faster.”

  How quickly the humans followed, their lack of comment or complaint, told that their more detailed search of the apartment had found nothing to add to what had been learned initially. Blind Seer could scent the eagerness in the humans’ sweat as they followed the wolves, an eagerness that was unmuted when the great grey wolf halted in front of a perfectly ordinary-looking pantry closet.

  Chsss carefully inspected the door. “Seems fine, so all the more reason for me to check again.” But when a second check showed nothing more, he shrugged and pulled the door open showing a closet for holding cleaning supplies, the back of which had been removed to reveal a downsloping passage. Doubtless the mops, brooms, and buckets now moved to one side had stood in front of the panel.

  Blind Seer tilted his head at Chsss/Arasan, inviting them to check to see if Kabot had left some sort of snare. When they indicated that there didn’t seem to be anything dangerous, Blind Seer padded forward to take point. Wythcombe held up a hand to stop him.

  “This may be a place where Chsss and I will recognize dangers you will not.”

  Firekeeper answered for Blind Seer. “You forget. He can scent magic. Do you think he such a pup that he not stop then?”

  Wythcombe forced a rueful smile. “I did not overlook his gift, but scent alone may not be enough. Although I am not personally acquainted with this particular passage, it must be one of those that leads to the shield. The ‘scent’ of magic already pervades the entire area. It will only get stronger as we close on the shield.”

  Blind Seer considered. He wanted to believe his senses were keen enough to sort fresh scent from that of the background, but it would be foolish to risk himself and the others on that belief. He swung his head to gesture Wythcombe forward. The tunnel was wide enough to accommodate them both.

  “I take the back,” Firekeeper said.

  They had barely gotten to the tunnel’s end before Blind Seer sneezed.

  “Is that cinnamon?” Laria asked softly, “and lavender?”

  “And more,” Firekeeper agreed. “Kabot is no fool. A sharp-nosed one follows, so he confuses the trail for the nose.”

  “Maybe his trick will work against him,” Ranz offered. “When we get beyond whatever spices Kabot has scattered here, surely some will linger on his person. Blind Seer can use that to trace him.”

  “We have a bigger problem,” Wythcombe said. “I recognize this. We’re on one edge of the old maze. When the shield was anchored here, the maze was left in place. Checking all the false passages could take hours, and that’s without dealing with the other defenses, some of which are very nasty. Meanwhile, Kabot…”

  He trailed off, the frustration in his tone making further words unnecessary.

  Blind Seer sneezed again, pawed at his nose, and growled. “Firekeeper, translate for me. A rabbit may be dug from her burrow, not only followed through the tunnels she has dug. Let us think like wolves, not humans, and consider what digging we might do.”

  Kabot began to realize that he’d gotten into something far bigger than he’d anticipated when he felt Rhinadei’s pulse twisting through Guulvalkay deep into the beating heart of the land. As soon as he did, he realized that he hadn’t been intended to feel this, but Zazaral’s repeated reminders that Wythcombe was on his heels had made Kabot acutely paranoid.

  Zazaral, ancient as she was, bodiless for so long, must have forgotten how the body competes with even the most sophisticated mind. Doubtless Zazaral had meant merely to blow the wind into the sails of the boat that was Kabot, to move him more swiftly across the ocean of action. But Kabot, friendless Kabot, Kabot who had never been brave so much as brash, Kabot had reached the limits of where fear could push him.

  Kabot huddled into his deepest center. He had become a revolutionary more from pride than from conviction. Envy had played a part, too. Envy of the boy he had called Goldfinch, that bright little spark who had grown into a raging fire. Yes. Envy had played a part, too.

  Driven before fear’s wind, heeling over, about to spill, Kabot sought the center of his personal gravity. He graspe
d the quietly analytic nature that had convinced him that treason was reason. Steadied, he groped for security, and almost accidentally pulled the ward Zazaral could not penetrate around him.

  Did he mean to shut Zazaral out? Not Zazaral as such. Not the kind, comforting Voice, not the almost-Phiona. Only the fear that—had Kabot himself not been so afraid—he would have long realized was as much Zazaral’s fear as his own. Kabot only feared shame and death. Zazaral feared dissolution.

  Once the force of Zazaral’s fear was muted, Kabot could begin to think again. He let the pulse of his heart serve as timekeeper as he sorted through the confusion of mana threads that surrounded him, much as a knitter might sort back into order balls of yarn the cat had rolled across the floor: These shape the general ward; call them lamb’s wool. Here is the ward meant to keep Zazaral out: sticky silk.

  What is this? Great ropey cords, heavy but flexible. Kabot’s breath quickened as he realized that this must be the great shield about Rhinadei, patched at this location, new fibers spun into frazzled old. Within the fibers was twisted in a metallic thread, seemingly fragile, but possessing a tensile strength that made the others seem wisps. He recognized the source of that fiber and swallowed a gasp of pure astonishment. This was Guulvalkay, no mere thread but the lifeline of Rhinadei itself. In Palvakay, in the half of Xixavalkay, Kabot felt this merely as mana, but this he knew as an infant knows its mother’s heartbeat.

  Suspicion dripped into Kabot, suspicion of Zazaral. When only his intellect had considered what the rejoined Sykavalkay was, Kabot had been able to convince himself that Zazaral was steering him toward a useful artifact. Now Kabot doubted. Sykavalkay was not a mere artifact, a taunt created by a sorceress to display her power to her uncle. Sykavalkay was a halter wrapped around the world, a halter that could be shoved down to become a garrote.