Wolf Captured

by Jane Lindskold

  Derian flushed and scrubbed at the back of his neck with rather more vigor than necessary. He had enjoyed the time he had spent with Rahniseeta and Harjeedian yesterday evening—and for more reason than that he had finally had some questions answered. Derian still didn't much care for Harjeedian, but almost against his will he was coming to understand something of how the other man thought.

  Derian still didn't have much idea how Rahniseeta thought—except that she obeyed her brother with admirable loyalty—but long, intellectual conversation wasn't the first thing that came to mind when he was with her. His lips curved in an inadvertent smile as he thought of her beauty, of curves both rounded and slender, of the graceful way in which she walked.

  After shaving, Derian pulled on clean shirt and trousers, made sure his hair was neat, and with something of the same feeling he'd had before walking onstage to take part in a Horse Festival pageant, opened the door connecting his room to the courtyard.

  At the sound, Rahniseeta and Barnet turned to look his way. They were seated, Derian noted with almost absurd pleasure, across from each other at the low table, not side by side as he had imagined. Barnet held his guitar—one of the several instruments he played—in the position Derian had come to associate with tuning or otherwise working on the strings. It seemed that the damp played havoc with their ability to hold a note.

  Rahniseeta also held a musical instrument—in her case a long flute or recorder-like instrument. In front of her on the table was a broad, flat, covered basket of the type Derian already had learned was made for carrying snakes.

  "Good morning," Derian greeted them. "Any food about?"

  "Plenty," Barnet assured him, indicating one of the wheeled carts the servants used with a toss of his head. "We set your share over there so Rahniseeta could show me a trick. Hope you don't mind."

  Derian didn't mind that the food had been set aside, but he wondered how he felt about Rahniseeta showing Barnet anything, even—or maybe especially—a trick. Keeping his composure, Derian motioned for Rahniseeta to remain seated when she would have moved—whether to serve him or to make room at the table, he wasn't sure.

  "Stay put," he said. "Plenty of room for me."

  He found that the tea had cooled, but the fruit juice in its double carafe remained pleasantly chilled. He helped himself to a slice of bread thick with raisins, smearing on some lightly salted butter before carrying the lot over to a chair on Barnet's side of the table. The seat had the advantage of giving him a good view of Rahniseeta and putting him at a comfortable distance from whatever she had in her basket.

  Rahniseeta was obviously waiting for him to get settled before going on with whatever stunt she had been about to perform, and Derian felt oddly welcomed. He knew all too well how easily a young woman could make a newcomer feel he should be anywhere but in the same room where she was flirting.

  "This I will show you is a type of performance still done in our temples," Rahniseeta explained, lifting her flute and inspecting the mouthpiece. "However, the disdum say it is not sacrilegious to show it at other times and places. Indeed, some encourage it, for they say it dispels some of the fear so many feel for snakes."

  Without further explanation, she began to play a melody on her pipe, beginning with low notes that Derian imagined he could feel as much as hear. After a short phrase of this music, motion occurred within the basket and a snake's head rose above the rim. Its tongue flickered in and out, tasting the air, as if it were scenting the location of the sound. Moment by moment, it uncoiled further, holding its body unright, orienting on the pipe, and following the rise and fall of the musical notes in a swaying dance that was perfect accompaniment to the melody.

  The concord between the slender dark woman and the jewel-toned snake was uncanny, and Derian realized that he had frozen in place, the slice of bread halfway to his mouth. He made himself take a bite, but he had to remind himself to chew.

  Her gaze fastened on the snake, Rahniseeta played on and on, her music complex and intricate despite the limitations of the instrument. The snake emerged so that its upper length rose a forearm's length above the basket. Its tongue flickered as it attended to the music, adapting its swaying to every variation.

  At last, Rahniseeta drew the piece to a close. With the fading of the music, the snake lowered itself into the basket once more, coiling with a sinuous motion that was as captivating as its dance. When it was settled, Rahniseeta covered the basket with a matching woven lid. Then she leaned back in her seat, her eyelids lowering over the dark beauty of her eyes as if she were very weary.

  Derian found himself thinking that the performance had seemed somehow sad, with a sorrow that stilled all compliments in his throat. Barnet, however, was enthusiastic. Arms filled with guitar, he settled for thumping his open palm against his leg by way of applause.

  "That was marvelous!" the minstrel exclaimed. "How do you train the creatures? Do all snakes do that or only certain types? Could I learn?"

  Rahniseeta opened her eyes and smiled gently, then set her flute down next to the basket.

  "I am glad you liked it," she said. Derian noticed she didn't answer a single one of Barnet's questions. "Did you like it, Derian?"

  "It was captivating," he said, "and a little sad, too. Maybe it was just the music you played."

  She smiled a trace wistfully.

  "It was a sad song, perhaps, one about the parting of friends. It seemed appropriate for today." She brightened then, "But it is not an entirely sad song, for it also speaks of friends coming together again. So I hope it will be."

  Derian wanted to say something, to find out whether she meant his leaving for u-Bishinti or perhaps was referring to Firekeeper's departure for the islands, but his tongue got all tangled. Barnet's slightly quizzical smile, as if he was trying to decide how best to take advantage of Rahniseeta's evident melancholy, didn't help the redhead's composure.

  "Well, um, yes," Derian managed after a moment. "It was really a very astonishing thing you did there, making the snake dance and all. Tell me, was that a Wise Snake, or a more usual one?"

  Rahniseeta put her instrument down next to the snake's basket.

  "This snake is what you would call a more usual one. Indeed, there may be no Wise Snakes. Certainly, we do not think any have come to us."

  "Then are there no Wise cold bloods?" Derian asked.

  "There are," Rahniseeta said, "but they are more likely to be among the large creatures—the alligators and larger lizards. I will show you later."

  "That's quite all right," Derian said. He'd seen a statue of an alligator and wasn't sure he wanted to see the real thing.

  Rahniseeta smiled as if she had guessed his thought, but didn't press her invitation. Instead she changed the subject slightly.

  "Very few of the yarimaimalom dwell within the temples as does the jaguar Truth. Mostly the aridisdum and kidisdum must work through the lesser, or Simple, beasts. Some say they provide truer omens in any case."

  "Oh?" Barnet stopped twisting the pegs on the neck of his guitar, his eyebrows raised in question.

  Rahniseeta put her fingers to her lips as if physically stopping words from coming out. Then she went on more slowly, "This is a matter for aridisdum, not for sisters of aridisdum. I do not think I should discuss it."

  In an obvious move to change the conversation, she looked at Derian, "Are you going to u-Bishinti today?"

  "I'll need to know if Varjuna wants me," Derian replied. "I left things rather indefinite when I departed yesterday."

  "Oh, he will want you," Rahniseeta said. "He sent a message telling of how the Wise Horse carried you back to the city, and saying that as he read it this was an omen favoring your staying. Of course, he is a kidisdu, not an aridisdu, but ikidisdu are very wise in the ways of those they keep."

  "So," Derian said, a little confused, "I can go along there any time, then?"

  "That is right," Rahniseeta said. "I had looked forward to showing you something of our city… "

/>   She trailed off, obviously uncertain whether urban charms could compare to those of u-Bishinti.

  "I'd love to see the city," Derian assured her, "and I promised Harjeedian that I'd continue with what I can do to teach our language. Perhaps we can combine the two?"

  "That would be very fine," Rahniseeta said. She was about to say something else when Barnet interrupted.

  "What about me?" he asked, trying to sound jovial but sounding, to Derian's ear at least, a trace petulant. "I hope you haven't forgotten that I'll still be here. At least I don't think anyone has invited me to stay elsewhere."

  "Stay elsewhere?" Rahniseeta replied, and Derian was dismayed to hear her sounding rather indignant. "I should think not. Your knowledge is a gem and we hope that this temple will be a fit setting for it."

  Barnet was momentarily mollified, but then worry shaded his pleasure.

  "I am still free to come and go," he said, "just like the others?"

  "Just like the others," Rahniseeta assured him, "although if you choose to go to Misheemnekuru you will be restricted to the human compound. I think you would be much happier here."

  "So do I," Barnet said with a warm smile. "So do I."

  Derian wished he hadn't been so quick to state his intention of going to u-Bishinti, but there was nothing much he could do about it. Harjeedian had told him how the local post service worked, so after Rahniseeta had left—saying she had to settle the dancing snake into more comfortable quarters—he penned a note to Varjuna asking when he might come to u-Bishinti.

  Before the midday meal was served he had his reply. Varjuna himself came, driving the same light carriage, though a dapple grey had replaced the bay between the shafts. Harjeedian had not yet returned from Misheemnekuru, and Rahniseeta was not in the immediate vicinity.

  Derian decided he'd feel rather odd hunting her out—after all, hadn't he said he'd be coming back fairly frequently? Nor did he have the Liglimosh to write her other than the most simplistic note. Finally, he settled for the unsatisfactory solution of leaving his thanks with Barnet.

  The minstrel looked honestly sorry to see Derian depart and even walked to the gates of the Temple of the Cold Bloods complex to see them off.

  "I hope I can come visit you," Barnet said. "It gets rather dull when there's no one to talk to."

  Does he mean when Rahniseeta's not around? Derian thought jealously.

  He let no trace of his jealous thought color his voice, though, and only motioned toward Varjuna.

  "He's the man to ask, not me. I'm visiting on his sufferance."

  Varjuna gave one of his amiable smiles as he mounted to the driver's seat.

  "Of course Barnet is welcome to visit," he said, "but I think he is wrong if he thinks he will lack those with whom he can talk. When I stopped by u-Nahal on my way here, who would get access to him was the matter of heated debate."

  "Me?" Barnet said, apprehensively. "Whale's flukes, I hadn't thought about that… "

  They left Barnet on that note. Looking back to wave his farewells, Derian couldn't decide whether he felt at all sorry for the fellow—or just satisfaction in knowing that Barnet wouldn't have time for too many long talks, one on one, with Rahniseeta.

  Chapter XIII

  They came out or the forest's fringe, all with eyes the color of old pine-tree tears and fur in which silver-grey dominated the browns, blacks, and whites that usually intermingled within a wolf's coat. By this likeness, Firekeeper guessed them to all be members not only of the same pack, but of the same family as well.

  There were six present. From the sharp angle at which they held their ears and the attitude in which they carried their tails, Firekeeper immediately identified the One Male and One Female. She guessed that the slender female off to one side, deferring to just about everyone but a male of about the same age and build, was the wolf who had addressed them from the shrub. This one and her brother still had the darker outlines around mouth and eyes, so were probably two of last year's pups grown, but not yet dispersed.

  The remaining two were older. One was quite old, and, judging from his ragged fur, infirm as well. The other was an elegant female whose thick coat and abundant ruff made quite clear that she was a hunter who ranked just below the Ones in the order in which she claimed her share of the kill.

  Firekeeper guessed that there was at least one other adult member of the pack, probably attending to nursemaid duties with this year's litter. That there was a litter, Firekeeper knew without a doubt. The One Female's teats had not yet grown small after nursing, though probably by now the pups were almost—if not entirely—weaned. A healthy pack, then. Mother, father, children from earlier litters not yet dispersed, and one elder, possibly a previous One Male. Contrary to what Firekeeper had discovered most humans thought, defeated Ones were not slain by their rivals, nor always driven off. Usually, they accepted their demotion with grace, glad to remain part of the pack, sometimes moving into another pack where the loss of their former status might not sting as intensely.

  In a few cases, especially those where a One had been displaced owing to an injury that had healed or a sickness that had passed, the former One might regain his or her place, but this was not common. At least among the Royal Wolves Firekeeper had known, the choice to fight to take over heading the pack was made after a certain amount of deliberation, rarely on impulse.

  All these things flew through her thoughts during the long breaths during which the local pack examined the newcomers. Firekeeper did her best to stand tall during this examination, but she felt very vulnerable indeed. Blind Seer was a magnificent wolf, but the One Male in this pack matched him point for point where height and mass were concerned. She was all too aware that while Blind Seer would have only one human on his side if it came to a fight, this One would have five other adults to back him.

  The One Female was the first to step forward, and she did so stiff-legged and with her hackles slightly raised, but with her tail moving slightly to indicate that while she was not offering welcome, she was not offering threat either. Blind Seer stepped forward in the same attitude, and Firekeeper realized with a thrill of pride that he was greeting this stranger as One to One, not pressing her on her own turf, but not deferring either. It was an attitude that went well with how he had spoken with the scout and Firekeeper felt very proud of him.

  "You told my daughter," the One Female said without any of the preamble about the weather or titles or suchlike as in human conversation, "that you were not in violation of our treaty with the two-legs because the human who stands beside you is not human but, somehow, wolf. I see hairless, fangless, standing on two-legs. How is this not human?"

  Blind Seer replied with perfect courtesy, as if the One Female had not just called him a liar.

  "She has run with the pack into which I was born since she was a small child. Just as a wolf who disperses from his birth pack and forms another is no longer considered a member of his original pack, so it is with Firekeeper. She may have been born to human shape and human ways, but she has been a wolf far longer and claims us… as we claim her."

  The growl that underlay Blind Seer's final statement was almost inaudible, the lowest of rumbles, not threatening, but warning nonetheless.

  "She claims you?" asked the One Female. The flaring of her ears and nostrils indicated a degree of astonishment.

  Firekeeper decided it was time she spoke for herself.

  "I do claim the wolves as my people. Moreover, others among the Royal Beasts have acknowledged my allegiance. Even the jaguar called Truth with whom we spoke on the mainland sensed there was something of the wolf about me."

  Boasting is not bad form among wolves—not, at least, if the one making the boast can make it good. However, the One Female froze, torn between sitting in astonishment and going on defense against something truly strange.

  "It talks!" she said in amazement. "Fire burn off my fur and make me naked as a baby possum. The human talks!"

  The rest of her pack was le
ss astonished and more guarded. The two younger wolves slunk back, tails between their legs. The magnificent female hunter seemed to double in size as her hackles raised. The One Male stepped forward, ready to back his mate if it came to a fight.

  Only the old male seemed more amused than afraid. His tail moved in a slow arc, and he commented to the air in general: "Well, she could hardly have grown up with wolves without learning to understand them somehow, though I must admit, this goes beyond imagination."

  Blind Seer decided to address this one nonhostile member of the group, giving the others a chance to recover without feeling challenged.

  "So I have always thought," he agreed with some of the loose jointed amiability that he had learned put humans at their ease, "but then Firekeeper was there from my first emergence, so I have never really thought that her ability to speak to us was peculiar. That she lacks fur and fangs… "

  Firekeeper punched Blind Seer in the shoulder and he grinned at her, but neither completely dropped their guard.

  The One Female shook herself thoroughly. When she stopped her hackles were lowered. Her gait as she stepped forward to sniff tails with Blind Seer had lost most of its stiffness.

  Firekeeper had never indulged in tail-sniffing. She got little from it other than odor, but she had learned to let any wolves get a good sniff of her scent. Now, though she was still uncertain just how safe she and Blind Seer were among these strangers, she crouched and let the One Female poke her nose here and there, finishing with a lick across Firekeeper's face.

  "You smell something like a two-legs," came the assessment, "but there is no doubt there is something of the wolf about you, too. Your manners are good, a credit to those who reared you. Is there a name by which you prefer to be called?"

  "My pack calls me Firekeeper," the woman replied, well aware that there was a measure of respect implied in the name.

  "And I am called Blind Seer," the blue-eyed wolf said, asserting his rights One to One by not waiting to be asked. "Are we welcome in your hunting grounds, or would you have us go elsewhere?"