Harjeedian dropped his annoyance, and shifted into worry.
"I know. Lady Blysse has not been so much as glimpsed since she walked into the forest three days ago. The residents of the outpost report a greater frequency of wolf howls, but nothing else. Truth refuses to comment on anything related to Lady Blysse. Her refusal has u-Liall quite perturbed. Even the lesser beast auguries are inconclusive. All anyone is willing to commit to is that Lady Blysse is probably still alive."
Rahniseeta understood now why her brother was so agitated. He had staked a great deal on his mission to bring Lady Blysse here from her northern home. Now not only hadn't she proven tractable to their requests that she teach them how to speak directly to the yarimaimalom, she had completely disappeared. Probably no one was blaming Harjeedian, but that didn't keep him from blaming himself.
"And have the residents of u-Bishinti confirmed or denied whether Derian is a maimalodalu?"
Harjeedian didn't exactly brighten, but he did marginally relax at the reminder that he was not alone in finding it difficult to extract information from the foreigners.
"No. Although from what I have heard, Derian Counselor has demonstrated incredible skill with horses. Varjuna is quite taken with him—and so is Zira."
Rahniseeta understood the significance of this immediately. Varjuna tended to bond with the most troublesome people imaginable—as long as they shared his interest in things equine. Zira's vivid appreciation of the good things in life was matched with a complete intolerance for the bad. This intolerance had cut off what otherwise might have been a solid political career, for Zira had undeniable charisma that made people overlook her physical unattractiveness.
"So what has Derian been doing there?" Rahniseeta asked. "Has he been visiting with the Wise Horses?"
Harjeedian shook his head.
"As far as I can learn, he has not visited the Wise Horses at all. Varjuna offered to give Derian a horse, and for the last several days Derian seems to have been quite contentedly visiting every pasture and stable on the place. The denizens of u-Bishinti think this is wonderful, of course, but it tells us nothing about his true nature."
"Has anyone asked him directly if he is maimalodalu?"
Harjeedian gave her a sideways look.
"Odd you should ask that. Someone has tried. Poshtuvanu, Varjuna and Zira's eldest and an initiated kidisdu, did drop a few hints, but Derian looked at him so oddly that he said nothing more. Apparently, the general opinion is split. Half say Derian must be maimalodalu to have such a rapport with horses. Others say that his ability with the animals is nothing we haven't seen among our own most talented, and that his eyes are the wrong color."
"Wrong color?"
Harjeedian sighed. "Apparently it's pretty rare for normally sighted horses to have anything but brown eyes. Occasionally there are horses with blue or amber eyes, but Derian's are hazel—the brown-green mix. This has been held against him, though others argue the color of his coat—excuse me, hair—is equally telling."
"In other words, we don't know much more than we did before," Rahniseeta said. "And you would really like me to find something out."
Harjeedian nodded. "As I said before, Derian doesn't like me. He does seem to like you."
Rahniseeta considered. She was not going to prostitute herself to her brother's ambitions or even to his curiosity, but there might be another way…
"Barnet is growing restless," she said. "The number of people eager to learn Pellish is quite astonishing. I think he is about to go off his feed. What if I offered to take Barnet to u-Bishinti for a change of air and a chance to see his countryman?"
"And, perhaps to agitate for Derian to return and assist with the teaching?" Harjeedian said with a grin. "That could work. We have tried using the other rescued sailors as language teachers, but they lack patience or even interest. The only one who has applied himself at all diligently is Waln Endbrook—though I don't think we should mention that to Derian."
"No," Rahniseeta said. "Derian and Lady Blysse despise Waln—hate him, I think is not too strong a way to put it. It would be best if we do not remind them that Waln, too, is here in u-Seeheera."
"Of course, of course," Harjeedian said in that annoyingly absentminded way he had that meant that he was thinking about what was important to him and not at all about what she had said.
Rahniseeta was used to Harjeedian's manner, and had also learned that he actually remembered what was said to him at such times. Very well; she had warned him, and it was up to him to remember to act on her warnings.
"You will go down to u-Bishinti, then?" Harjeedian asked. "Barnet does give you a good excuse. I will see when he can be freed from his tutorial duties and check back with you."
Harjeedian departed with a brisk, purposeful step. With a sigh Rahniseeta returned to her copying. She found she was having difficulty concentrating. Her mind kept straying to the two foreigners and the problem of proving whether or not they—or Lady Blysse, the most likely candidate—were beast-souled. In her opinion, the aridisdum and kidisdum were being too cautious. She would try her own methods.
Rahniseeta stared down at the letter and noticed that she had narrowly avoided an error that would have meant recopying the entire thing. She forced herself to concentrate, but even as she did, her lips curved in a smile of quiet self-satisfaction. She would succeed where the others had failed. She would venture where they had not dared. She would learn the truth.
Bitter the raven perched in a flowering bush in the garden surrounding the step pyramid in Heeranenahalm and told the jaguar Truth of his interview with Firekeeper.
The jaguar was not pleased, but Bitter had chosen his perch well. The branch that would hold his weight would not hold that of the jaguar, so Truth was saved from giving improper vent to her indignation.
"You told her that much?"
"She will learn in time," the raven croaked. "I may not have your gifts, Truth, but that Firekeeper has a wolf's nose for game trail and a human's curiosity. It is a dangerous combination—at least for those who would keep secrets."
"And as she would keep Fire, so we must keep secrets," the jaguar replied, her tail twitching back and forth. "So say the omens, but I agree with you, Bitter, I do not foresee that we shall keep our secrets for long."
"And then?" The raven leaned forward, every feather of his body drawn tight. "What do you foresee?"
"It is as with everything related to that wolf-child," Truth replied. "There is no one tight, clean line. She knows so little that almost anything could happen."
"Perhaps then… " said Bitter, righting himself and plucking a half-spent flower from the shrub, tilting his head to one side as he contemplated the withered thing. "Perhaps then we should see that Firekeeper learns more. Already she and her pack mate move deeper into the islands. It would be possible for one of them to find something… "
Truth hung limp on the bough, freeing her mind to wander, but no images came, only disturbing fragments. Still, she was more than a diviner. Truth knew, if no one else did, that over half the omens she provided for the humans were based on her own good sense and knowledge. The same should serve in this circumstance.
"Yes. Let them be given opportunities to learn, but under no account let either Blind Seer or Firekeeper suspect we have beak or claw in this. Knowing we are interested in their reactions will color those reactions and further muddy a picture we hope to make clear."
"Wise," agreed Bitter. "Surely I can arrange something. Many wolves are gathering. It has been my observation that though the greater pack is strong, it is not always as intelligent as one with fewer heads."
"If so you say," Truth replied with the disdain of the solitary for those who herd or flock or gather in packs.
"I do," Bitter said, and without farewell or further discussion he launched into the air.
Truth watched him beating his heavy-winged way out toward Misheemnekuru. She knew that many humans would have observed the raven's coming and wondered at
their conversation. Doubtless before long someone would be coming to beg that Truth enlighten u-Liall at least as to whether Firekeeper continued alive and well.
It took no diviner to know this. The same question had been asked of her daily since the wolves had left for Misheemnekuru. Truth had been honest, indicating that the omens were unclear, but today she could give an answer.
For a long moment, Truth contemplated going to u-Liall of her own initiative, but she dismissed the idea with a sharp jerk of her tail. It would have been one thing if the five members had been scattered and her summons would have brought them running, but they were already in the step pyramid.
Truth settled herself higher in the branches where she was both better hidden, and in a better position to see when a messenger would leave the pyramid. Then she turned her face to the glow of the sun, letting the warmth wash away the uncertainty that, cat-like, she refused to show to anyone in all the world, no matter what the consequences might be.
To Waln's surprise, he was the only one among the Explorer's survivors bothered by their situation.
"Why kick up a fuss?" Rarby replied in response to Waln's question. "We're barely back from a long voyage. I, for one, am grateful that all they want out of me is talking. It's a shitload easier than hauling line."
"Think about it," Shelby, Rarby's brother, added. "If we'd fallen into Waterlander hands, we'd have been sold unless we could come up with a ransom. Only you might have had ransom money—and maybe not even you."
It was a cruel cut, but even cruder was Waln's realization that he was in no position to object. Not so long ago, if a common sailor had spoken to him like that, Waln would have backhanded him right off his feet. When Waln had been a younger man, his strength and size would have kept all but the foolhardy from intervening. Later, his wealth and social standing were more potent protections.
Shelby's comment forced Waln to face that he had neither his youthful strength—though he wasn't beyond improving on what he had left—nor money nor position. In the hardest analysis, he had very little left other than his knowledge of northern lands. As soon as more of these intellectually voracious Liglimom soaked up what he had to tell, and they had made a few voyages on their own, he wouldn't even have that.
Rarby, seeing something he didn't like in Waln's expression, quickly moderated his brother's imprudent comment.
"Maybe even if we had ransom we'd have been sold anyhow," Rarby added. "I heard tell of a man who… "
As the sailor rambled through a version of a tale Waln had heard in a dozen variations since putting to sea when he was boy, Waln thought about what made him different from the other survivors.
Except for Barnet, these are harbor scum. What do they have to go back to? I seem to recall that those chosen for the exploratory expedition couldn't have either wife or dependent children. Sure, they might have parents or siblings, but if they're like too many of the sailors I've known, they're accustomed to being away from their kinfolk.
It's different for me. I am a gentleman, wrongly accused of betraying my queen and nation, stripped of title and property. Not only do I have name and property to redeem, I must hope my father-in-law is taking care of my wife and children. I thought the Liglimom would help me, as I have helped them, but once again, I am betrayed.
Waln liked the shape of this reflection and didn't look too closely at it for truth. This interpretation of the facts gave him back his sense of self-respect and purpose. However, he was not the type to indulge in self-pity for long. Revenge was a meat more to his taste, and he immediately began considering how he might win his freedom and get the upper hand over those who had wronged him. These two things must come before he could even hope to head back home.
The first step Waln knew he must take was perhaps the most galling. Aware that he was being slighted, that his achievements were being overlooked, he still forced himself to smile and be as cooperative as possible. His altered attitude did him more good than he had dared imagine.
Eight men had survived the wreck. Among these, without a doubt Barnet was the most verbally acute. Waln came second, in his opinion not far behind the minstrel. The remaining six were good sailors, but not terribly brilliant outside of their limited sphere. They could tell how to trim a sail or stone a deck, how to predict the weather with fair accuracy, how to load a variety of cargoes. Beyond things having to do with ships and the sea, their knowledge was peculiar and limited.
Nolan knew more about rope than any one man should, but then that had been his family trade. He also was fond of part-singing, especially when he carried the melody. Tedgewinn knew how to carve in wood, ivory, and soft stone. He had been carpenter's mate aboard the doomed vessel.
Wiatt knew fish: what kinds swam in what waters, which were good to eat, which only showed at certain times of the year. He knew how to cook them, too, and how to make even salt fish taste good. Elwyn said that Wiatt had survived the wreck by being lifted up from drowning on the backs of schools of minnows, but then everyone knew that Elwyn was addled in the head.
Elwyn, a former deckhand, had little going for him but luck. Luck he had by the bushel, so though he was heavy-footed, tactless, and given to gas, he was welcome aboard any ship in the hope that his luck might rub off on the venture.
And, Waln thought, I suppose it did in a way—at least some of us survived, though the ship herself went down.
Having resolved that the end of his usefulness as a language instructor would not be the end of his comforts—or even of his existence—Waln began searching after information, any information that he could turn to his use. His initial interest in Misheemnekuru remained with him. In one of the aridisdum who came to him for daily lessons, Waln found someone who could tell him more about those mysterious islands.
Shivadtmon was associated in some way with the Temple of the Sea Beasts. Waln gathered that Shivadtmon preferred seals and otters, but that the temple also kept dolphins, muskrats, and even water rats. Although most of the temples were built in the vicinity of the step pyramid, Shivadtmon's was located down near the harbor.
Waln didn't know exactly what Shivadtmon said that made him aware that the other man did not precisely favor the giving over of Misheemnekuru exclusively to the use of the yarimaimalom. Perhaps it was the manner in which he spoke of the noise and bustle of the harbor area or the way he mentioned his fears for the safety of his more adventurous charges. Whatever the reason, in Shivadtmon Waln found someone who was willing to talk about the islands as something more than places both restricted and sanctified.
"I was permitted to do some of my training at the outpost there," Shivadtmon said proudly. "It is an honor granted to very few."
"Then humans do reside there?" Waln asked. "Or are my shortcomings in your language misleading me?"
Shivadtmon smiled. "Your command of the language is quite adequate to this understanding. The yarimaimalom permit us to maintain an outpost there for our mutual convenience. Otherwise, all messages would need to be relayed by birds or sea creatures, and my understanding is that this was not satisfactory to either those who would carry the messages or those who must send them."
"Interesting," Waln said. "Then the yarimaimalom who live there continue to interact with humanity?"
"Certainly," Shivadtmon said, a little surprised. "Many of those who now reside in temples came from the islands and will return there when the omens are appropriate."
"I understand," Waln said. "So Misheemnekuru is not nearly as isolated as Harjeedian led me to believe."
"Oh, the majority of the islands are no longer known to us," Shivadtmon hastened to correct. "We may sail around the outer perimeter, but even the inner waterways are forbidden to us."
"Inner waterways? Do you mean rivers and streams?"
"Those, yes, and also the inlets where water flows between individual islands. The yarimaimalom are jealous of their privacy—as well they should be," Shivadtmon added hastily. "They build neither walls nor houses. The elements themselv
es provide their homes."
Waln thought fleetingly of wolf dens and rabbit burrows, but there was something more interesting he wished to pursue.
"But I am certain I glimpsed buildings there," he said. "These are then not in use?"
"Perhaps as aeries for fish eagles or haunts for bats," Shivadtmon said with what Waln was sure was envy in his tone, "but not as proper residences. I doubt if a human has walked within them since the last of our corrupt rulers fell beneath the Divine Retribution."
"Until now, of course," said Waln, not certain why, but trusting the impulse that guided him.
"Now?" Shivadtmon looked genuinely confused.
"Lady Blysse has been permitted to explore Misheemnekuru," Waln reminded him, "and for all her claims otherwise, surely she is human enough."
Shivadtmon's expression went from confusion to understanding and then to anger. He took his leave soon thereafter, and Waln felt well pleased. Time enough to ask more about the islands, time after his new friend had absorbed the injustice that was being done to him and his fellows.
Plenty of time.
Waln rubbed his hands together as he might have after finalizing some deal of a more routine type, then returned to his studies. It would not do for him to be unable to communicate with the Liglimom—not when so much was coming to depend on at least some of them coming to learn to see the world as he did, rather than through the veils of superstition that had held them back.
It wouldn't do at all.
Once the packs had moved to the meadows where the elk herds had gathered, Firekeeper had to struggle to keep her spirits up. Even the praise old Neck Breaker gave her when her straight-shot arrows brought down a panicked elk cow and so spared young High Howler from a nasty kick did little to lighten her mood.
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