Wolf Captured

by Jane Lindskold

  "Seems to me," Barnet pressed, his tones still cold, "that expecting someone to work for no reward is pretty much the same as slaver? Don't get me wrong, Rahniseeta, I'm grateful to be alive and all the rest, but the horses here"—he gave a broad-armed gesture that encompassed all of u-Bishinti's elaborate complex—"have more freedom than I do."

  Rahniseeta looked genuinely shocked.

  "Have you ever been truly hungry, Barnet Lobster?" she asked, and her voice was fire to melt his ice.

  "A few times at sea," the other replied levelly, "when something happened to spoil the provisions. I've been thirsty, too, so starved for water that drinking pee seemed like a good idea."

  Derian shuddered at the image that evoked, but Rahniseeta remained angry. He gazed at her, uncertain how he felt at seeing the seething temper that must have always lain beneath the sweet, kind exterior he had admired. It frightened him a little, but excited him. After all, the best horses were those who were brought into line without losing their fire. It seemed to him that it must be the same with women, too.

  Rahniseeta glowered at Barnet.

  "Well, I know something about hunger. My father died when I was very small. My mother took care of Harjeedian and me as she could, and in what time she could spare, she plaited mats from reeds and leaves. The money from selling these—or more often what she could trade for them—was all we had. Otherwise we ate what we could scrounge: fish caught in the canal, eggs when our hens were laying, and sometimes the huge oval insects that creep out into the light at night. They aren't too bad if you're hungry enough."

  Rahniseeta surged on without giving Barnet an opportunity to voice what Derian was certain had to be an apology.

  "You make my stomach twist more than those bugs ever did," she said. "You have shelter, fine food, good clothing, and if you would but ask, you would be given more. Yet you whine because you don't have money weighing your pockets?"

  Derian would have been stammering apologies and seeking to placate the angry woman, but Barnet was made of stronger—or at least different—stuff.

  "And if," the minstrel said, all silky sweet, "I wanted to buy a present for a lady, what would I do? Would I go to Harjeedian or the doorkeeper or Ahmyndisdu Tiridanti and say 'Give this to me'? What if I didn't wish to remain a lackey in the temple all my life? How do I earn what I need to build my own house or boat? Do I sing on street corners with my hat at my feet?"

  The woman who had been napping in the kitchen had come to the doorway to eavesdrop, but Derian doubted that she had heard much. The argument had taken place without voices being raised. Even at her angriest, Rahniseeta had never spoken above a fierce, hissing snarl.

  Rahniseeta suddenly reminded Derian of the jaguar, all sleepy indolence one moment, but revealing masses of muscular power when it moved. Varjuna had told him that even a lesser jaguar could haul a deer as heavy as itself into the treetops, where it would cache it against scavengers. Derian thought his earlier comparison of the young woman to a horse seemed as foolish as mistaking Firekeeper for a cottontail rabbit.

  Rahniseeta had cooled as quickly as she had flared up, and was studying Barnet with a return to puzzlement—and perhaps with a touch of wistful sorrow. "I have considered," she said softly, "much the same thing sometimes." Derian wondered if she was speaking of Barnet, then realized with a sudden illumination that Rahniseeta was speaking about herself.

  Rahniseeta was ashamed of her outburst of temper. It was a flaw she had thought she had conquered, but hearing Barnet whine after privileges as she had listened to other children whine for a sugared roll with jam inside when she would have given anything for a chunk of dry bread had infuriated her. Now she remembered too little, too late that it was her job to placate these strangers so they would do what the temple needed.

  Now she swallowed cool tea as if by doing so she could put out the fire in her belly and focused on Derian. The red-haired man was staring at her in fascination—but not in disgust. This relieved her. Her one chance at marriage to someone prosperous had been ruined shortly before the shipwreck victims had arrived in u-Seeheera. What had ruined it was her prospective husband realizing the force of her personality. What had attracted him had been beauty, soft voice, and graceful movement—and her brother's connections within the disdum. None of these were enough to hold him after he realized that she had opinions of her own and ability to express them.

  Since then, a few men had come courting, but as they were all within the temples Rahniseeta had found it easy to resist them. If she was going to live the temple life, she might as well do so with Harjeedian. He, at least, had few illusions about her and little belief that he could change her—use her, yes, but not change her.

  "I have washed the dust from my throat, and the cobwebs from my mind," she said, rising and punctuating the phrase by giving Barnet a friendly smile. "Shall we walk about and see how well Derian can show us his new domain?"

  The men rose with her, and she thought Derian had looked a little nonplussed when she had smiled at Barnet. To ease him, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, then her other into Barnet's. Seemingly escorted by the two fair foreigners, she guided them out into the sunshine.

  How to raise the question of the maimalodalum ? she thought. Perhaps Barnet can be made to do it for me…

  It was easy to find a horse with the same red-brown coloring as Derian's own hair, and she indicated it with a toss of her head.

  "That one's pretty." She lowered her voice and let her own very real discomfort show. "Is it much like the one… the one… "

  "The one your brother had killed?" Derian's reply was clipped, and she felt his anger in how the muscles of his arm tensed beneath her hand. "No. Roanne was bright as new copper and had white stockings on her legs. This one lacks the white and is a shade or two darker."

  "More like your hair," she said, laughing nervously with no pretense at all. Derian usually expressed his displeasure in sarcasm. Now she was aware that he was capable of a more direct response. She had forgotten what Harjeedian had told her about the violence Derian had shown aboard the ship.

  Barnet, Water wash away his woes, took the bait.

  "I bet Rahniseeta is wondering if you're really a horse in disguise," the minstrel said with a laugh.

  Derian's arm didn't tense beneath her fingers, and his expression of puzzlement seemed genuine.

  "What are you talking about, Barnet?"

  "Rahniseeta was telling me a local legend while we were driving here." Barnet shifted to the voice he usually used for storytelling. "Magical creatures, were the maimalodalum, sometimes taking the form of humans, sometimes that of animals. Some legends said they used talismans to make the change, such as the skin of the animal whose form they took or a bone from the rib closest to the heart. Even when these beast-souled took human form, they carried this talisman with them, so that it was one way to know the truth about them. Yet, even when they did not, a skilled observer might see upon them the mark of their animal self. The mark might be in the line of the face or their preference for certain foods or even their coloring. It might merely be their uncanny rapport with the animal of whom they were kin. Often they traveled with one of their own, and drew power from the relationship."

  Barnet trailed off dramatically, and Rahniseeta couldn't help but he impressed by how he had embellished the slight details she had given him, turning the whole thing into something much more interesting.

  Derian said nothing at first, only stopped in his tracks and looked down at her, his expression blending both hurt and amusement—and what might have been a hint that he felt flattered by her assumption.

  "Are you saying that I look like a horse?" he asked, starting to walk again down a long tree-shaded path between two pastures.

  "You do not look like a horse," Rahniseeta said quickly, "yet your coloring, you must admit… "

  "Firekeeper—Lady Blysse—calls me Fox Hair for that same coloring," Derian said. "My dad teases my mother—from whom I got
the hair—by calling her vixen, sometimes. No one ever called my hair 'chestnut.'"

  Rahniseeta persisted. "But you are so good with horses. Everyone says so. One of the Wise Horses let you ride him at a first meeting. I thought it might be because you were somehow related."

  "Eshinarvash's condescension to me surprised me as much as it did Varjuna, I assure you," Derian said. "As for my being good with horses, well, I've been around them all my life. So they could tend the animals when I was little, my parents would put me in a saddlebag with just my head poking out—they had a smaller operation then and Mother helped in the stables as well as in the office. Yes, I'm good with horses, but that only makes sense. I could no more not be good with horses than Barnet could fail to learn to swim and handle a boat."

  "Still," Rahniseeta said, vaguely disappointed, "there was your familiar."

  "Familiar?" Derian looked puzzled for a moment. Then his face stiffened as she had seen it do before when he was trying to hide his anger. "Oh, you mean Roanne. She was nothing more than a much treasured riding animal. We'd been a good many places together—across the Iron Mountains, about Hawk Haven and Bright Bay, even over the White Water River into New Kelvin. I'd thought to have her for many more years, and to breed fine foals from her. To have her killed as dog meat… "

  His voice softened to a rough growl and Rahniseeta felt truly frightened. Derian might be excited about acquiring Prahini, but he had in no way forgiven Harjeedian for the death of Roanne.

  When she didn't say anything, Derian went on.

  "You're not telling me that Harjeedian wouldn't be upset if something happened to those snakes of his, are you?"

  Rahniseeta chose her words carefully.

  "He would be upset, yes, but part of the upset would be because the snakes are connected to his role as aridisdu. We keep a few in our quarters—everyone in the temple does, because that is the best way for the snakes to become accustomed to human handling—but they are not pets. They are divine contacts."

  Barnet, perhaps to save her from the barely banked intensity in Derian's gaze, cut in.

  "Is that why Harjeedian brought them on the sea voyage with him?"

  "Yes," Rahniseeta said quickly. "On that voyage he served as kidisdu as well as aridisdu. It was a considerable honor."

  Derian interrupted as if he had not heard this last exchange.

  "So that's why everyone got so nice all of a sudden," he said stiffly. "Who was it who first got the idea that I might be one of these maimalodalum? I'm sure they suspected it of Lady Blysse all along."

  Rahniseeta heard her voice come out much smaller than she had intended.

  "It was I," she said. "When we were talking about the societies your culture has in place of temples. You mentioned you were given into the Horse Society. I thought of that, and what Harjeedian had said, and… "

  "Well, I'm sorry, lady," Derian said brusquely, "but there's nothing special about me. I'm just a man who likes horses and is good with them. That's all."

  "Hardly 'all,'" Rahniseeta said weakly, but she knew she had erred badly, and if she alienated Derian, how could she ever find out about Lady Blysse?

  She was still struggling for something to say, when Barnet smiled one of his impossible-to-resist smiles.

  "Hardly 'all,'" he said, echoing her. "Didn't you promise to help me teach Pellish?"

  Derian gave the minstrel an obviously forced grin.

  "You mean I can't go into a snit and avoid the lessons?"

  "Sorry," Barnet said. "I simply won't have it."

  Derian's smile was more genuine this time.

  "Then I surrender to the inevitable."

  They walked along. When Derian next spoke it was to comment on the superior structure of the fence rails. He sounded casual, but Rahniseeta knew without a doubt that she had lost a great deal of ground with him. To her surprise, she realized that she felt not only worried, but also somehow rather sad.

  Chapter XVII

  To her surprise Firekeeper discovered that the Wise Wolves were reluctant to let her nursemaid their pups. She found this reluctance very odd, for no one seemed to question either her or Blind Seer's assertion that she had watched over litter after litter for their own pack. Nor were the pups so young that they should need the constant attendance of a nursing female.

  Firekeeper noticed other strange things as well. Whereas the first pack of Wise Wolves with whom she and Blind Seer had joined had practiced puppy care in ways familiar to her from childhood, as packs joined and the puppies were lumped together for greater ease of care, differences became apparent.

  As far as Firekeeper knew, it was usual that when puppies were weaned or nearly weaned more and more of their care was given over to a young wolf. This nursemaid wolf was usually considered in some way or another to be less than an ideal hunter. Sometimes youth was the factor, other times ineptitude, temperament, or injury. In a few cases, the nursemaid was an older wolf, but in all cases, the nursemaid was one who was a lesser hunter.

  The borderland pack followed this tradition. Young Rascal was temperamentally ill suited for the hunt. He was also smaller than his littermates. Neck Breaker also served as nursemaid, and Firekeeper suspected that Rascal and the younger puppies both benefitted from exposure to the old wolf's wisdom.

  When the nursery was expanded to incorporate the puppies of more than one pack, this pattern began to change. It did not change with the first pack who joined them, but with the second and thereafter the difference was marked. The less suitable hunters were still often given the care of the pups, but now one or more very strong hunters also assumed the duty.

  "Do they fear some predator other than ourselves?" Firekeeper asked Blind Seer one afternoon when, bellyful and tired of even Moon Frost's overtures, the blue-eyed wolf had come to rest in the shade of her favorite apple tree. "Do the jaguars and pumas come to hunt the young wolves as we do the fawns and calves? Are the bears here so mad that they would challenge a wolf pack?"

  Blind Seer rolled lazily, exposing his stomach to the wind's caress.

  "I have scented no sign of any large predators other than ourselves, except possibly at tangled edges of the meadow fringes where the tree limbs hang low. Nor are the bears mad. In any case, why would these dine on wolf pups when spring is here, bringing plentiful game along with the warm weather?"

  "It doesn't make sense," Firekeeper agreed, "but neither does robbing the hunt of strong hunters when there are ample others to watch. Have you noticed that these guardians are always drawn from the packs which brought the pups? Outliers like Dark Death are never asked, and my offers have been most coldly rejected."

  "Odd," Blind Seer agreed drowsily. "I could ask Moon Frost if she knows the reason for this."

  Firekeeper felt a ice fist hard around her heart at this suggestion.

  "Best not," she said, hoping Blind Seer would not scent the reason for her evasion. "It is not Moon Frost's pack which made the rule, and I notice that she also is not asked to take a turn as nursemaid—though both the Ones in her pack have done so."

  Blind Seer rolled over and turned his blue-eyed gaze on her.

  "You have been watching very carefully," he said.

  "I have had little else to do," Firekeeper said bitterly. "There is no need for me to hunt. The Ones will not let me mind the pups. Neck Breaker and Cricket seem to enjoy speaking with me, but to the rest I am as strange as a white doe in a herd of brown—they do not quite reject me, but they shy away lest my odd color bring some danger upon them."

  The blue-eyed wolf rose and pressed his head against her, nearly tilting her backward with his weight.

  "Are you lonely then, sweet Firekeeper, though in the heart of this mighty pack?"

  The wolf-woman buried her hands in the scruff of his neck and felt a touch of anger when she felt the rough corrugations where Moon Frost had mouthed him. These were not true bites, but a wolf's jaws are strong and Moon Frost's teeth were sharp, even in play.

  "I am lonely," Fi
rekeeper said, holding back much more that she would like to say.

  "Come and run with me then," Blind Seer suggested, rising and stretching out his spine in a long bow. "Lately, when running in the forest I have seen things I would have liked to show you, but somehow night comes and I have forgotten—and these are things better seen in daylight."

  Firekeeper embraced the wolf with rough enthusiasm. Then she pushed back, leaping to her feet.

  "I will gladly go," she said, "wherever you will lead. What manner of things are these?"

  "Heaps of stone," Blind Seer said, "ruins, so I am told, of places where humans once lived. You and I have seen their like in the Gildcrest lands and again in New Kelvin, but the forms of the buildings seem different again here. I have been wondering whether the ruins might have been lairs to yet another pack of humans than those of which we have already heard. None of these Wise Wolves… " Blind Seer's inflection held a trace of arrogant dismissal… "know anything of lands other than their own."

  Firekeeper's heart surged full with the warmth of renewed happiness. She might not be able to spar with Blind Seer as the other wolves could, nor could she keep up with a running wolf in the course of the hunt, but there were things she and Blind Seer had seen and done together that none of these island-isolated, so-called Wise Wolves could begin to dream of.

  There was no rule that Firekeeper and Blind Seer—outliers as they were not only from any pack, but from these lands—must report their comings and goings, but Firekeeper's bow and arrows were near to where Neck Breaker slept. The old wolf roused at her approach.

  "Hunting, Firekeeper?"

  "Not for game," she said, bending to slide her bow from the dry shelter of the rock where she had cached it, "but Blind Seer wishes to show me some things he has found in his wanderings."

  "Be wary," the old wolf replied, beating his tail slightly at the pleasure in her voice. "Many of those who would hunt in the meadow but for fear of our packs circle on the fringes. Wise respects Wise, but many of the lesser beasts will only see you as warm meat."