"What else was I to do? I had no idea she might be the man's associate. Barnet told me nothing of these societies. I simply saw a horse too notable to be sold, a creature who would be difficult to ship, even if I had been so inclined. Also her death meant solution to another problem—how to feed the wolf without drawing attention to ourselves by purchasing quantities of meat or livestock."
Rahniseeta was now as horrified as her brother, but loyally she tried to soothe him.
"I am sure you did the right thing."
"I am not," Harjeedian said bluntly. "After the wolf was first fed from the mare's flesh, Derian looked at me with great hatred, though he said nothing. I thought nothing of it, for after all, he was adjusting to the idea of being taken from his place—and that we had used Lady's Blysse's friendship toward him to lure both her and the wolf. Now I think the hatred may have been for other reasons."
He looked over toward the lovely carved boxes in which he kept his snakes, and Rahniseeta knew he was thinking how he would feel if someone slew any of his snakes and used them for animal feed—and that the matter would be worse if Derian Counselor was indeed a maimalodalu, for then the horse (a chestnut horse, she could not forget) would have been not merely associate but kin.
"The omens have been bad," Harjeedian said, "so bad that although there are many among the disdum who wish to meet Lady Blysse and to begin with her, we have not been able to get an agreement as to the propitious time and day. Now I may know why the omens have been so dark, and I must admit my actions may be the cause."
He straightened, glanced toward the snake boxes, remembered that the snakes had just been fed and so should not be disturbed, and then turned toward the door.
"Rahniseeta, I hope the teachers will be merciful and the omens will not call for me to atone for my error in the final way—but this is a jaguar year. If anything happens to me, you will find I have set by something for you."
"Harjeedian!" She flew to his side and embraced him. "Surely it will not be so terrible. I was foolish, romanticizing these foreign visitors. If they were really maimalodalum would they not have fled? Barnet, at least, could have called on the whales, yet he did so neither when his first ship was storm-wrecked nor on the return."
"Barnet thought he had an agreement with us that was to his liking," Harjeedian reminded her, "and who knows that he did not call on the whales and that is why he survived when so many who voyaged with him died. Or perhaps he is not a maimalodalu—as you said, there is little whale-like about him—but the other two may be. In any case, conclusions must be left to those who read the omens. I would be less than honest if I did not report what you have told me—and if they call upon you to tell your tale, do not change it on my account. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Harjeedian."
Rahniseeta kept her eyes on him as he left, her back straight and confident, but when he was out of sight, she ran from their rooms and went to the central Temple of the Cold Bloods. There she knelt before the towering enameled statue, praying with all her heart that her brother, who had served the elements so faithfully, would not be forgotten in this, his time of dire need.
Firekeeper WAS thinking about the story Rahniseeta had told earlier that day. It certainly made sense, explained a good many things about which she herself had occasionally wondered during these last two years, when merely finding enough to eat had not occupied her mind so fully.
The metallic jangle of the gate at the end of the corridor being opened broke her from her reverie, and she sprang to her feet. Derian and Barnet, who had been making an attempt to move the language lessons forward, turned to see who the new arrival would be. Contrary to their expectations, Rahniseeta had not escorted the servants who had brought the midday meal, nor could those servants say where she had gone.
When Harjeedian opened the gate into the courtyard, Firekeeper noticed that Derian's hazel eyes lost some of their animation, that Barnet leaned back into his chair. Neither man was rude, but it was clear that Harjeedian was not welcomed as his sister would have been.
Observing her human companions as she was, it took Firekeeper a moment to notice a change in Harjeedian's bearing. Always he had been confident, even on the day when they had nearly managed their escape. Today some of that confidence was missing. He looked, she thought, like a young wolf who has made a try for the One, but has been soundly beaten—like a wolf who has been forced to reassess his importance within his pack.
Firekeeper saw that Barnet and Derian were also aware that something had changed, but they did not see as deeply as did she and so were made edgy while she felt her own confidence rising.
"Lady Blysse, Blind Seer, Counselor Derian, Barnet Lobster." Harjeedian's greetings were punctilious and correct. Firekeeper noted that she and Blind Seer came first and was pleased. "Not long ago, you asked me to reconsider the conditions of your residence among us."
"He takes refuge in the big words" Firekeeper said to Blind Seer, "what does he fear?"
"I would like to say 'us,'" the wolf replied, "but he has not feared us thus far. I would say his Ones have thrashed him—but why?"
Harjeedian produced a rabbit-sized bundle of finely woven grey-blue fabric from within the folds of his shirt. He unwound the fabric, producing Firekeeper's Fang and the worn pouch in which she carried her fire-making stones. Derian's ruby counselor's ring rolled from the last fold and settled upright and glittering on the table.
"You," he said, bowing slightly to Firekeeper, "requested the return of your treasured belongings. Here they are. Am I correct in believing that you do not care unduly for the clothing you were wearing when you were taken?"
Firekeeper nodded. She cared little for any particular item of clothing, though having discovered the usefulness of attire for protecting one from thorns and scrapes she preferred having it to not.
Derian also nodded. He reached for his ring slowly, as if fearing its return might be a trap. Firekeeper had no such concern. She nearly pounced on her belongings and was pleased to see that knife belt and sheath were within the tangle of cloth as well.
She strapped them into place, feeling very pleased, not so much that she was armed again—for she knew well how little one blade could do against an armed force—but for the respect represented by the returning of her weapons.
"And you have the second knife as well," Blind Seer reminded her. "I would keep it hidden, as snakes hide their poison."
"You have snakes in your brain" she teased, though she agreed with him.
"Who would not in this place?" the wolf replied. "Ask him when we will be let out of this place. I must run or go mad with chasing my own tail."
Firekeeper did as requested.
"Do this mean we go from here?" she asked. "I would run more than a few paces, and Blind Seer with me."
Harjeedian looked uncomfortable.
"Yes, you will go from here, but not quite yet. My teachers have asked that your first coming forth be to the reception I mentioned earlier. There is… "
He frowned, not because he didn't know the word, Firekeeper was certain, but because he did not like telling them his thoughts.
"There is great interest in meeting you," Harjeedian finally said, "and rivalry that no one be given advantage over the others. Already the heads of other temples are less than pleased that you dwell within these walls, but they trust our word that you have not been seen by any but me, my sister, and a few servants."
"And I think Rahniseeta is not considered of much more account than those servants," Firekeeper said to Blind Seer.
To Harjeedian she said, "How long until this reception?"
"Omens indicate that tomorrow at midmorning would serve," he replied. "Will you wait until then?"
"Yes," Firekeeper said.
"But only" Blind Seer added, "until then."
Chapter VIII
Truth lounged on her ledge above the gathering crowd, amusing herself by thinking about how easy it would be to break necks and get away with it. It wasn't
that she hated humans. There were several she rather liked, but it was a heady thing being invited into their presence, being what she was, knowing what she could do. With this a jaguar year, she could get away with even more than usual. Yes. Such thoughts were amusing, but an amusement Truth did not plan to pursue beyond the realm of thought. The omens were against it, after all, and who should know better than she?
So she lay on the wide ledge, paws hanging over the edge, watching the eddy of the human herd. They were interesting in their dynamics, bouncing off of each other like ripples in a pond. Wise Jaguars were more social than their Cousin-kind, but even so, most adults ranged alone for moonspans on end without missing companionship at all. Humans were more like deer or fish, gathering in succulent groups, vying for domination within their group, never seeming to realize that their very grouping showed how expendable the individual was. This was not the way of her people. Yes, like deer or fish…
Motion in the crowd at the far end of the vast assembly chamber indicated the entrance of important new arrivals. Truth caught their scent as they came through the large double doors. Two humans, two wolves. Omen scent mingled with actual scent, muddying the impressions in Truth's highly sensitized mind. She sniffed again, forcing away the omen scent so she could concentrate on the odors riding the currents of the air.
Three humans, one wolf, the last large enough and confident enough that Truth did not need to further isolate his scent to know he was of the yarimaimalom, but she did not think he was among the yarimaimalom she knew. Scent again. No. Definitely not. She focused in on the newcomers, isolating the one whose scent had been so confusing. It was the smallest of the three, a dark-haired, dark-eyed female. Despite her size, she walked with quiet treading confidence, her hand resting lightly on the wolf's back.
This wolf-woman was afraid, Truth decided, but hid that fear admirably well. Truth did not disdain her for her reaction. It made good sense to dislike being so surrounded by strangers. This one bore watching. Around her swirled those uncomfortable omen scents that had so disquieted Truth some days before. They still refused to isolate themselves into omens for good or ill, and Truth growled and rasped her tongue between her toes.
But she did not stop watching.
The crowd parted to admit the newcomers. Individuals Truth recognized as important within the human community—individuals who had bowed and scraped before her just a few moonspans before, when she had been selected as the representative of this year—now made themselves known to the four newcomers. They did not bow or scrape, but they were hotly interested.
Truth scented again as she watched these interactions, so very different from her own regal isolation. These newcomers were more of the herd: deer or fish or…
She twitched her tail in amusement as she thought how most certainly offended the newcomers would be by her assessment, but they really were all one, all the same: deer or fish… or wolves.
Derian wished the elaborate costume with which he had been provided made him feel less like he'd been attired to play a role in a society pageant. It didn't help his feeling that he was dressing up that his entire ensemble was liberally embroidered with horses. He wished with all his heart for decent trousers and waistcoat, for brass-buckled shoes and fine knit stockings, and, lastly, a sharply creased tricorn hat.
However, wishing would not do him any good. It had been hard enough to convince Rahniseeta to let him tie his hair back into its accustomed queue. Apparently, men might do so for work, but left their hair loose for formal occasions.
Loose and bejeweled was the style for men's hair, it seemed, at least if the hair was very long and might interfere with sight. If not held back from the face with a neat clip, then longer tresses were adorned with a hat. Some of these would have been considered outrageous for either gender at home. Derian suspected they were meant to indicate the wearer held some particular office—at least he hoped so.
To Derian's right, Barnet wore his own whale-adorned costume with apparent aplomb. He'd even left his hair loose, and his pale blue eyes darted from face to face, outfit to outfit.
Collecting story material, Derian guessed sourly. Barnet Lobster hasn't resigned himself to staying here, not one bit. I wonder if he thinks he has something to barter for his freedom—or if he's already writing the ballad about his daring escape.
Derian grinned to himself, knowing he was being sour in order to cover his apprehension regarding this reception. Not only was he unnerved to be at the center of so much attention, but he had Firekeeper to worry about. The wolf-woman was much better about crowds than she had been when they first met, but he couldn't help but notice how one hand never strayed far from her knife, while the other rested on Blind Seer—both sure signs that she was ill at ease.
He watched her noting the exits. There were four, massive double doors, one to each side of the huge step pyramid within whose base the large room was built. Following Firekeeper's gaze, Derian noted that the building only had the appearance of a pyramid. The room they were within was clearly built along more conventional lines. The steps must be a cosmetic shell without.
Probably a great way to save on weight, Derian thought, though I wonder what they made the outer shell out of?
He shrugged the thought off. Architecture only interested him to the extent that it was either useful or particularly beautiful. What did interest him was how the huge room was decorated. Elaborate mosaics covered the lower walls, catching and giving back the light from both lanterns and openings higher up the tiers. High, wide shelves, many with ramps leading up to them, held vases, statues, and other items, probably of symbolic value.
Derian recognized depictions of the four elements done in gold, silver, and precious stones. Two other shelves set in places of similar prominence held items whose significance he could not work out on his own. One held a large lumpy rock—or maybe it was a chunk of partially melted metal. It was hard to tell at a distance. The other shelf held an amazingly realistic statue of a feline with a golden-yellow coat adorned with spots, like but unlike the spots on a young puma's coat. The feline was quite large and surveyed the gathering below with regal indifference.
Derian didn't have much more time to continue his inspection, for his line of sight was being interrupted by an orderly throng of elaborately costumed men and women, all of whom were clearly people of importance.
Harjeedian acted as translator, handling the introductions with more humility than Derian had glimpsed from him thus far. Names and titles flowed and blurred into each other: This One of the Temple of Flyers. That One of the Temple of Felines. There were kidisdum for just about any animal of which Derian could think: bears, deer, rabbits, horses, raccoons, deer, owls, mice.
Derian lost track rather quickly, just nodded, smiled, and exchanged bows. Barnet did the same. Firekeeper and Blind Seer merely stared. Even the man who introduced himself as the keeper of wolves did not press for acknowledgment.
Gradually it came to Derian that all of this was somehow associated with deified elements that had been mentioned in Rahniseeta's story. He wished he'd had time to hear other stories. The more names and titles he heard, the more elaborate costumes, each with their hint of meaning he viewed, the more confused he became.
Snakes, it appeared, were very important in the worship of Earth, though they had some secondary association with Water. The Temple of Flyers was interested in divining the will of Air. For some reason felines were associated with Fire. Nor were these divisions absolute. Derian's head began to spin as he tried to keep it all straight. Birds were associated with Air, unless they were water birds, like ducks or egrets. Horses were apparently associated with both Earth and Air.
It was as he was trying to figure out why the woman he'd just been introduced to was carrying a snake, though her clothing was embroidered with bears and wolves, that he made a startling discovery.
The enormous spotted feline he had seen lying on a ledge a few feet above the heads of the crowd was now sitting upright
, licking its shoulder. Derian froze, forgetting to even pretend to acknowledge the person to whom he was being introduced. His eyesight was good, and he was certain this was no dog dressed up in an elaborate costume as he had seen in New Kelvin. Nor was it a puma, dyed and painted. This feline had a stockier build, more compact. Its head was rounder, the shape of the ears different.
Moreover, there was something in how it seemed to notice his gaze, how its golden-orange eyes met his own, direct and appraising. He'd met such eyes before, though they were blue.
He tapped Firekeeper's shoulder and whispered into her ear, "Did you see the cat up there?"
Her soft snort meant "of course," but what she replied was "Yes. And, yes, as you think, it is Royal. Harjeedian did not lie. They keep some of my people captive as they keep me."
Derian was about to respond when a hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned and found a man of almost his own height standing to one side.
"Derian Counselor? I am Varjuna," the man said, "senior keeper of the Horse. I understand you have an interest in horses."
Derian blinked. He remembered thinking there was something familiar about the man when they had been first introduced. Now he realized that coloring and clothing aside, Varjuna reminded him somewhat of his father, Colby Carter. There was the same strength and stillness, the same broad shoulders and powerful legs. Varjuna might even be about the same age as Colby, maybe a little older, but about that Derian was not certain.
Derian gave a neat bow.
"You named me Derian Counselor," he said, searching for the words, "but that name is still new to me. For most of my life, I was called 'Carter'—a word that in my language indicates working with horses and the things they pull."
It wasn't a very good translation, but Varjuna seemed to understand. His expression brightened, and Derian had the sudden unshakable conviction that someone had suggested Varjuna come and talk with Derian—and that Varjuna had feared they would have little in common.
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