"And handling wolf-women?" Barnet asked. "Does that take liking them?"
"Respecting first," Derian replied honestly. "Wolves are really hierarchical. They make us look like chickens running after feed. Firekeeper doesn't care if you like her, but you'd better respect her—or give her reason to respect you. Otherwise, she'll pay you no mind at all."
Barnet looked over to where Firekeeper slept sprawled against Blind Seer. She looked almost fragile, wrung out from sickness and defeat, not at all like the fierce, indeed dangerous, creature Derian knew she was.
"Respect… " Barnet mused aloud. "There's different sorts of respect. There's respect born from admiration and respect born from fear."
"And Firekeeper recognizes both," Derian said.
He was about to say "And I pity those who try to make her fear them," but held his tongue. That came to close to showing one of Firekeeper's vulnerabilities. He couldn't quite figure out her reaction to fear. She clearly valued the warning it gave, but resented it as well.
Barnet continued his thoughtful inspection.
"She was dancing when Shelby lured her away. I've heard she likes music."
"Music and dancing," Derian said. "She told me once that music was her first indication that humans had something to offer that wolves did not."
Barnet nodded.
"Well, I need to convince her to work with me. Waln Endbrook may like to believe otherwise, but all of us who were wrecked a year ago are living at the sufferance of Harjeedian's people. I'm useful, but I'm going to be a whole lot less so if I don't manage to teach you two at least some Liglimosh. If music is the way to Lady Blysse's respect, then I'll use music."
Derian cleared his throat awkwardly.
"What do they want with us?" he asked.
"I don't know," Barnet said. He must have seen the doubt in Derian's eyes. "Honestly, I don't. We were ashore for moonspans after the wreck, but kept close to our quarters—really semi-imprisoned to be honest. I've learned a little about the culture from talking to the sailors here on Fayonejunjal, but I'm still sorting reality from tall tales. One thing I'm sure of is that Waln's wrong when he thinks they want Firekeeper and Blind Seer as some sort of curiosity. There's something else they want, but Harjeedian won't drop even a hint."
Derian drew in a deep breath.
"If you don't know, you don't know," he said. "But I'd appreciate your passing it on if you find out."
"I will indeed," Barnet said, his smile warm and engaging. "I need your help, too, after all."
Derian wished he believed him.
Having the freedom to roam the ship didn't do Firekeeper much good for several days. Even with the rather noxious-tasting brews Harjeedian provided for her, the deck still seemed to move unpredictably under her feet, and if she rose from a seated position too rapidly, her stomach rebelled.
Eventually, Firekeeper either developed some tolerance for the motion or Harjeedian's potions took effect. Either way, as long as she took care not to do anything that drew her attention to the ship's progress through the waters, she did better.
Her early explorations were restricted to the area at the rear of the ship, where they had been told to sleep. That was when she learned that Harjeedian kept snakes in his cabin.
Blind Seer was the first to notice.
"Do you smell that?" he asked.
Firekeeper sighed. Her usually poor sense of smell—at least by wolf standards—had not been improved either by her illness or by the plethora of new scents aboard the ship. In reply, she simply glared at Blind Seer. He panted laughter at her.
"I smell something reptilian from Harjeedian's sleeping place. I can't be quite certain what. It isn't a scent I've smelled before, but my nose says 'snake.'"
Firekeeper tilted her head in inquiry.
"You're not teasing me, are you? Most humans I've met are afraid of snakes—a good thing, as I see it. It's too hard to tell by sight alone the poisonous ones from those who lack venom, at least until you're right next to them."
"Snake," Blind Seer insisted. He snuffled. "I don't think poisonous, but I can't be certain."
Firekeeper wasn't inclined to question further, but with the return of stability to her head, her curiosity was also returning.
"Let's look," she suggested. "Harjeedian is on the upper part in the front, talking to Barnet."
Blind Seer wagged his tail in a slow arc, indicating that he thought this was a good idea. Harjeedian's cabin door was closed, but not locked. Firekeeper lifted the latch, and they went inside. It was dark within, but her eyes readily adjusted to the available light.
The cabin was much like the one she was supposed to share with Derian and Blind Seer. It was small and cramped. A narrow sleeping shelf was built into one wall. Boxes for storage were built into the opposite wall. In between was a narrow place for standing.
What caught Firekeeper's attention immediately was the glow from the squat, covered brazier anchored on top of the storage box. The brazier was rounded, tapering at the top and bottom rather like an acorn. Slits to admit air had been cut in the top and a thin trickle of smoke worked its way out.
The brazier had been very carefully set on an iron plate, and the iron plate nailed to the cabinet. All these arrangements, Firekeeper supposed, were so the brazier wouldn't slide with the motion of the ship. From the amount of heat the brazier gave off, Firekeeper guessed there couldn't be more than one or two coals inside. However, this was enough for the snakes nestled in its vicinity.
The snakes didn't touch the hot metal, but coiled around stones placed nearby. Their scales were intricately patterned, the shine of the green, yellow, and black that dominated proof that they were well fed. They were torpid, hardly moving, even when she came close to look at them. Clearly, even with the artificial heat, a spring voyage was not to their liking.
Firekeeper wondered why Harjeedian had brought the snakes with him. She counted three, and a fourth stone suggested the existence of another. They were large snakes, larger than most she had encountered, even in the wild lands west of the Iron Mountains. Their brilliant colors suggested the need to camouflage in environments other than the brown, green, blacks of the woodlands she knew.
She was puzzling over this when Blind Seer gave a warning huff of breath.
"Harjeedian comes. From how he moves, I think he sees his door is open."
Firekeeper made no attempt to flee. She was interested, and Harjeedian was the one who could answer her questions. He, however, started talking before she could voice even one.
"What are you doing in my cabin?" he asked sharply, his tone holding both anger and anxiety.
Firekeeper looked steadily at him.
"I am parole. I go anywhere on ship."
Harjeedian pushed past her, and his anxiety faded as he saw the three snakes were untouched.
"Didn't anyone tell you it is rude to go into someone's private space?"
Firekeeper tilted her head.
"I am parole," she repeated patiently.
Harjeedian sighed. Derian had appeared from somewhere, and Harjeedian addressed his next remarks to him.
"Explain to her, when you have time, that parole does not include the right to invade other people's quarters. I do not care to think how the captain would react if she found Lady Blysse in her cabin. Seafaring folk have so little private space that they are quite protective of what they do have."
Derian glanced at Firekeeper, amusement and exasperation blended on his face.
"You know about this," he said. "It's the same as in Hawk Haven or Bright Bay or anywhere else."
Firekeeper repeated stubbornly.
"I am parole."
Derian looked at Harjeedian.
"I'll work on it," he promised. "It's a wolf thing. She tends to interpret very literally, especially where rights and privileges are concerned. It isn't just redefining a term. It's taking something away—and wolves are very protective of what they think of as belonging to them."
Harje
edian shook his head.
"I will remember this. You will explain how she thinks to Barnet and the captain—as well as explaining our customs to Lady Blysse."
"Right," Derian said.
He was turning away when Firekeeper asked, "Harjeedian, why do you have snakes in cabin? Where is snake four? What kind are they?"
For the first time, Derian seemed to notice the odd arrangement atop the cabinet. Firekeeper had to remind herself that he saw far less well in poor light than she did—and his eyes had been sunblinded from the glare of light against water.
"Snakes?" Derian repeated. "Here?"
Harjeedian grew momentarily defensive; then his usual arrogant amusement returned.
"Snakes here, here, and here," he said, pointing at the three rocks, "and here."
With the last he opened the folds of his shirt to show a fourth snake coiling close to the brown skin of his body. This one was less torpid than its kin, warmed by contact with the man. It raised its head and studied them, detached interest in its cold, flat gaze.
"Snakes?" Derian repeated. "Why are you wearing a snake?"
Harjeedian drew in a deep breath.
"Why shouldn't I? The air is colder than is comfortable for snakes, even with the heat from the brazier. It helps if I let them warm themselves against me. I would take them out on deck, but the chill from the wind would undo whatever good the sunlight would do. Also, I do not wish them to get lost."
One of Firekeeper's questions had been answered, but not in a fashion that answered the others.
"Why you bring them? Are they from where you come?"
Harjeedian closed his shirt over the snake.
"I brought them because I wished to do so," he said. "Does not your culture have societies affiliated with various animals?"
"Derian's does," Firekeeper said. "He is Horse."
Harjeedian gave a half-smile at her reply.
"My culture has something similar," he said, "although the only ones who choose a specific totem are those in direct service of the deities."
"Deities?" Firekeeper said. "Snakes are deities?"
She was still having trouble with the concept of deities. Her first explanation had been from Derian, triggered by her discovery of the societies to which every human in Hawk Haven—and later she learned, in Bright Bay as well—belonged. Young children were dedicated to one of the societies soon after they were born. Each society was named for an animal. Humans regularly called on their society patron in times of stress, but apparently they didn't expect these patrons to do much of anything. When humans wanted something done, they talked to their ancestors.
Every home had its own ancestor shrine, which celebrated past generations. It also celebrated the deeds of the living. Wedding pouches were hung in family shrines, as were items commemorating other important events. When Derian had been made king's counselor, his mother had a miniature replica of his counselor's ring made to keep in the family shrine. As Firekeeper understood it, she would have liked the real ring, but Derian was too often away from home for this to be practical.
Shrine or not, Firekeeper couldn't see that the ancestors did much for their descendants, but she guessed it made the humans feel better to have someone to ask for help and advice. It also seemed to soothe them to feel that when they died some part of them stayed on.
Ancestors as deities or counselors or whatever made more sense to Firekeeper than some of the other religions about which she had heard. Apparently, in Waterland they thought the stars gave advice. She had no idea what the New Kelvinese worshipped—though it was doubtless related to magic. One of the cultures in Stonehold worshipped their ancestors, but the other had developed some complicated system having to do with the sun and the moon and any number of other things. She had glimpsed an entire tent stocked with the paraphernalia related to this latter religion when spying on the Stonehold army during King Allister's War.
What puzzled Firekeeper most of all was that the humans didn't seem to be able to agree on their deities. Certainly, if there were deities then there would be no doubt about them.
Wolves had too much to do just to stay alive and raise their pups to worry about such things. She'd never heard them howl to anyone to stop the rain or save a dying pup. They hunkered down and took what came. They didn't like it, but they took it. What else was there to do?
Now here she was confronting yet another approach to deities, and this one seemed to have something to do with snakes.
"Direct service of the deities?" she repeated, leaving the question of totems for later.
Harjeedian straightened, leaving no doubt that he was very pleased with himself.
"That's right," he said. "I was selected for service, though my family had never before had the honor. My teachers have been pleased with me, and I have been a member of the initiated—our word is 'disdum'—for many years."
Firekeeper didn't understand any of this, so she decided to try totems.
"Totems?" she asked.
Harjeedian partially closed his eyes, looking very snaky himself for a moment.
"I suppose it does no harm to explain a little, though my teachers have reserved the right to tutor you themselves. All the deities are receptive to the prayers of all worshippers, but there are some worshippers who understand the will of the deities more clearly than do others. These become members of the elect. We have two orders within the disdum. The aridisdum, to whom I belong, concentrate mostly on interpreting the omens and offering guidance based on these. The kidisdum are special servants of the deities, keepers of the sacred beasts."
Firekeeper nodded encouragement, though she still wasn't at all certain what Harjeedian was talking about.
"Among the disdum," Harjeedian went on, "there are divisions according to who seems to understand the ways and will of certain deities more clearly. These are then initiated into the lore of those particular deities and take the deities' totems for their own."
"And your deity is snake?" Firekeeper asked, hoping she understood correctly.
"No. My totem is the snake. I serve all the deities," Harjeedian said.
"And so you take snakes with you when you travel?" Firekeeper persisted. "Why? If you like snakes, why take them where it is not good for them?"
Harjeedian glowered at her, obviously offended. Then his expression became merely nasty. He looked over at Blind Seer, who lay on the floor next to her, close enough that his fur brushed her leg.
"You might ask yourself the same question," he said.
Then he asked them to leave his cabin and closed the door, effectively ending the conversation.
Chapter V
Firekeeper grew alternately Angry and moody following her discussion with Harjeedian regarding snakes and deities, and Derian decided that a distraction was in order. He couldn't get anyone to tell him how long the voyage was likely to take. He wondered if even the captain knew, since the voyage to Hawk Haven was apparently the first time a ship from Liglim had sailed so far north—at least in post-Plague history.
He had already lost count of the days, having failed to start a record early enough, and by the time the idea occurred to him, it hardly seemed to matter. What did matter was that Firekeeper was in a snit, and Firekeeper in a bad mood was dangerous not only to herself but to others.
Barnet had been tutoring Derian on the basic elements of Liglimosh, starting with nouns, promising to move on to verbs, and warning Derian that the linguistic structure was not as simple as Pellish.
"In Pellish," Barnet said, "a noun usually has two forms: singular and plural. In formal Liglimosh, a noun has six forms, according to how it is being used. To make matters worse, as I hinted earlier, sometimes the only difference between forms is in the stress given to a particular syllable. I'm going to start by teaching you the informal form—nominative singular and plural—and leave it at that. To those with an educated ear, you'll sound like Lady Blysse speaking Pellish, but it's faster than making you memorize six different forms for each
word. You'd use them wrong anyhow."
Barnet gave one of his engaging grins when Derian stiffened.
"I did."
Derian found himself grinning in return. If he was honest with himself, he was rather glad he didn't need to learn all those forms just to make himself understood.
It was Barnet's easy charm that made Derian decide that Firekeeper needed to start her own language lessons. He'd let her sulk on her own—or rather with Blind Seer, since the wolf never left her—and that hadn't worked. Time to pull her out of herself.
He suspected he knew exactly what had her so upset. Harjeedian's parting comment had hit a nerve. In the two years since Blind Seer had crossed the Iron Mountains with Firekeeper, the wolf had come close to death twice. People feared him. Feared what he might do to their children, pets, and homes.
Firekeeper clearly loved the wolf. There was no doubt Blind Seer was the one person she completely trusted. Yet, by keeping him near her, she was endangering his life on a daily basis. Threats to him could control her, which also had to make her wonder about the wisdom of keeping him near.
However, Derian could do nothing about this. Moreover, he suspected that any attempt to discuss the matter with Firekeeper would simply upset her further, since there was no way that—even had she wanted to—she could send Blind Seer into safety. Therefore, a distraction, and an intensive one at that, seemed to be in order.
Derian didn't bother to explain any of this to Barnet. The minstrel hadn't been present for the entire encounter between Harjeedian and Firekeeper, but he had drifted into the group at some point during it, and had heard what Harjeedian had said. If he made the connection between that comment and Firekeeper's current mood, fine. If he didn't, well, he could think whatever he wanted. Maybe Barnet thought she was having female troubles or something.
That brought Derian up short. Did Firekeeper have cycles? If she did, he hadn't observed the evidence. Wendee and Elise had both been discreet during their various journeys, but Derian had both mother and sister and was pretty good at guessing what certain signs meant. He hadn't seen the like with Firekeeper.
Wolf Captured Page 8