Rahniseeta frowned. "I don't see how that could be done."
"Oh, there have been numerous suggestions," Harjeedian said. "The simplest is that we gather up the lot of them and ship them back north. This becomes less simple when people start arguing about what we do with the knowledge they will bring home with them."
"You mean, do we welcome trade or not and on what terms?" Rahniseeta asked. She hadn't spent many hours in the company of the northern sailors without grasping some sense of their priorities.
"Precisely," Harjeedian replied approvingly. "Some want to send a message that we're open to trade. Others want to say essentially, 'You've done fine this long without us. Leave us alone.' Others say, 'Trade is fine. Keep Lady Blysse out of here, though.'"
"I get the picture," Rahniseeta said. "It's already as complicated as a nest of hibernating alligators."
"And about as nice," Harjeedian agreed. "That very complexity has created another faction, one of the most dangerous so far—at least to our northern guests, but I fear to any of us who made that voyage."
"What do you mean?" Rahniseeta said, though she thought she knew. Hadn't she entertained rather ugly thoughts in her own despair?
"Kill them all," Harjeedian said bluntly. "They'll end up listed as missing, but who will know? A bunch of sailors and three wanderers—all of whom have enemies. It may cause some ugliness, but that ugliness won't land here."
"You mentioned danger to those who went on the voyage." Rahniseeta said, not quite making it a question, knowing that this was because she feared the answer.
"That's right," Harjeedian said. "If we take that course, there are going to be those who will worry about someone letting the rest of the snakes out of the bag. They're going to think, 'But those sailors know the way… our sailors, true, but they're merchants. Harjeedian isn't a merchant, true, but for the good of the land, for keeping faith with the deities, he'd understand if the deities required his death.'"
"Would you?" Rahniseeta gasped.
"Not unless I read the omens myself," Harjeedian said tersely.
The bay sensed his tension along the reins and craned her neck to glance back at him. Harjeedian shook the reins and she trotted on, content.
"Good," Rahniseeta replied. "And I hope you'd insist on choosing the snake."
"I would," he said. "We all know there are tricks one can use, especially with the lesser beasts… "
He trailed off.
"I sound like one of the blasphemers, don't I? Doubting that the omens come from divine sources."
"You sound like an observant man who knows everyone isn't as devout as himself," Rahniseeta said.
She tried to sound staunch and loyal, but her stomach was twisting. She'd never imagined that Harjeedian would be in danger of losing his life. All he'd done was put his gift for languages at the service of u-Liall. He didn't deserve this.
The gig picked up pace and she realized that the bay mare had quickened in anticipation of home. They said nothing more on the matter.
It's as if we think the horses might be listening, Rahniseeta thought. We're growing afraid of our own breath.
She admired Harjeedian's poise as he reined in the mare in the designated area and handed her down from the gig.
To the young woman who came hurrying up, Harjeedian said, "Could you tend the mare for us and tell us where we might find Ikidisdu Varjuna?"
"I would be happy to see to the mare," the woman said. "Varjuna is up at his house. He has been there all day."
For the first time, Rahniseeta realized something was wrong. The woman was tense. She hadn't made the usual show-off gesture of naming the mare and her lineage—a thing those stationed at u-Bishinti often did, as if to show they never forgot a single one of the animals in their care.
Harjeedian sensed the mood as well.
"We need not trouble Varjuna," he said with as much courtesy as if he were addressing u-Liall. "I simply wished to pay my respects. I am actually here to see the northerner, Derian Carter."
The woman's hands stopped in midmotion.
"See Varjuna. He will know where Derian is."
There was dismissal in her tone, not rude, but more as if she had forgotten her manners. Rahniseeta walked with Harjeedian in the direction of the ikidisdu's residence. Zira herself answered the door.
"We are looking for Derian Carter," Harjeedian said after greetings were exchanged. "He did not arrive for the lessons he usually teaches in Heeranenahalm on this day."
Zira motioned them in. "Come with me. Varjuna will wish to see you."
Rahniseeta knew that the iaridisdu of the Horse had her residence in Heeranenahalm, so she was surprised to find her sitting with Varjuna in a comfortably shabby office. The iaridisdu of the Horse was quite old, old enough to have given up riding. Everyone knew that Varjuna usually called on her rather than the other way around. Yet here the old woman sat, looking quite exhausted.
Harjeedian and Rahniseeta said all the correct formal things, and then Harjeedian asked again.
"Might it be possible for us to see Derian Carter? He did not arrive to teach today, as would be usual, and I was asked to make certain he was well."
Varjuna glanced at the iaridisdu. She nodded.
"You might as well know," Varjuna said, "but we'd prefer you'd keep it quiet. As of yet the matter seems exclusively one for our temple."
Harjeedian responded quickly, "I will keep silence—although I beg leave to tell my superiors."
"I can leave," Rahniseeta put in.
Varjuna shook his head. "Stay, child. Derian has always spoken well of you and I know you will keep silence if asked. The fact is, Derian vanished this morning. He went out for a ride in the early morning as he usually does. His mare returned without him, but with a note tied into her forelock. Later, I found a rather tattered copy of the same note lying in the middle of my desk."
Varjuna handed a piece of paper to Harjeedian, and the aridisdu held it so Rahniseeta might read it with him.
"Eshinarvash is the Wise Horse who honored Derian by letting him ride on his back," Harjeedian said. "It does not sound as if Derian was frightened—confused maybe, but not frightened."
"We're taking some hope in that, too," Harjeedian said, "and in the fact he had energy to worry about his tack. The thing is, the Wise Horses will offer nothing further. The liaison—not Eshinarvash this time—came forth but was politely noncommittal when I asked after Derian. The iaridisdu had no greater luck."
Rahniseeta now understood why the old woman was there. Aridisdum read omens and divined the will of the deities. This silence was disturbing—especially since there was no doubt that the Wise Horses themselves were directly involved.
"We've searched the grounds for Derian, but there is no sign of him. One of my younger sons is good at tracking, and he says it does seem as if a Wise Horse climbed up to where Derian typically rode. Derian had a child's passion for the Wise Horses and they did not seem to take offense. There even seems to be some sign that Eshinarvash knelt."
"As he would to take on a rider?" Rahniseeta heard herself ask. Derian had related his marvelous ride on the Wise Horse several times, and this detail had stayed with her.
"That's right," Varjuna said.
"In brief then," Harjeedian said, "one of the northerners is gone—possibly taken away by one of the Wise Horses—and we don't know where or why."
"Or even," Varjuna added somberly, "if he's still alive."
How are you doing with Waln Endbrook?" asked the master.
He always began these private meetings with Shivadtmon in this fashion. The repeated words infused the routine meetings with a note of ritual, and the master was very aware of how important ritual could be—important and powerful.
"Very well, Master," Shivadtmon replied. "Waln has become very interested in Misheemnekuru. I am making certain he receives access to written material about the islands."
"Have you guided him toward the interior?"
"It was hardly
necessary, Master. As you have already noted, Waln Endbrook is not a stupid man. He realizes that raiding an area that is within full view of the mainland would be extremely foolish. Moreover, he has noted that one of the interior islands is recorded as possessing a cluster of buildings."
"And buildings, of course," the master said, "would be very good places to search for treasure. What are the northerners doing with the freedom you so kindly acquired for them?"
"They have reestablished their social contacts with Barnet Lobster. Waln has visited the library in Heeranenahalm. He concentrated on old maps."
"Very good. Now you must help him to move his plan along. However, it is essential that he not move on Misheemnekuru until Lady Blysse returns. Is that understood? Even if you must manufacture some reason for the sailors to be put under house arrest once more, they must not leave for Misheemnekuru while Lady Blysse is there."
"The omens are that bad?" Shivadtmon asked.
"The omens splinter into chaos," the master said. "They are much clearer when she is not present at the time set for sailing."
"I understand," Shivadtmon said solemnly.
The master nodded, colleague to colleague, but he doubted that Shivadtmon had the faintest idea how heady were the currents the master had tasted of late. How could he? That was a secret the master was keeping to himself—and would continue to keep until what he had sensed dwelling in the heart of Misheemnekuru was destroyed.
Dawn came slowly to those trapped in the cellar, filtering pale light through the lacework of broken vines that still clung to the beams overhead. One by one, Firekeeper let her fires go out, glad for relief from the smoke.
In the pale light, she inspected their situation and found it no more encouraging in daylight than it had been in darkness. If anything, it was more discouraging. In darkness there had been hope. In daylight, there was none.
Firekeeper paced the perimeter of the cellar, inspecting the walls with minute care.
"What are you looking for, Firekeeper?" asked Dark Death.
He was the only one awake. The other two slept as only injured animals slept, seeking healing in dreams.
She didn't pause in her restless circuit.
"This was once a cellar—a room beneath the ground," she explained. "Humans built it, so they must have had a way to get into it. I had hoped to find a staircase, but I think they must have used ladders."
"Ladders?"
"Stairs are like this." Firekeeper built a rough model with some segments of broken tile. "You climb them as you would a rock, each stair a foothold. Ladders are more like leaning trees. They have footholds, too, but more shallow. Staircases are fixed. Ladders can or cannot be. I see no place where a staircase would have been, so I guess they must have used a ladder."
She inspected the cellar further. The hole they were in was very deep. The walls looked to have once been sheathed in stone. It was odd to think that people would have gone to so much trouble and then gone up and down via ladders. Then again, a stairwell could be concealed behind one of the enormous piles of dirt and debris that had fallen with them.
We could dig, she thought, but that would just make us tired and hungry. There is no promise that even if we found a staircase it would still be solid. If the builders made the treads of wood, they would have rotted long ago.
Dark Death rose and padded over to the seep. The water from it was fresh, probably from the same source Blind Seer had been tracking when he fell. The sound of Dark Death's lapping was the loudest sound in the enclosed space. In contrast, the morning songs of the birds without was distant and unreal.
Firekeeper continued her inspection. The task before her was almost impossibly difficult. She must get not only herself but three wolves out of this deep hole. Normally, the wolves' size was to their advantage, but down here, where vibrations might cause further landslides, it added to the difficulty. Moreover, two of the wolves were injured and could not be expected to move with their usual strength and grace.
She paused before a mound of dirt and debris, the one under which Moon Frost had been trapped. It reached halfway to the edge of the pit, but the material that made it up was loose and compacted under Firekeeper's weight. She could not climb here, nor could she climb even if she moved all the dirt and made a great heap. It would still be too soft to bear her weight.
Before Firekeeper had left the mainland, Harjeedian had urged several items of camping gear on her. She had accepted the canteen and medical kit with alacrity. Now she wished she had taken his offer of a length of strong line.
You could have carried it wrapped around your waist, Little Two-legs, she thought, calling herself by her puppy name as she often did when angry with herself, but you did not wish to be encumbered. Still, maybe there will be a way.
One thing there was in quantity was vines. Generations of the plants must have snaked across the cellar, gradually creating the impression of solidity that had fooled Blind Seer. The vine mat might even have been dense enough to bear the weight of a small creature like a mouse or rabbit.
Especially if it grew across remnants of the floor—or should I think of it as a ceiling, since I am now below ? I felt something give before Moon Frost and I fell. I suspect the ceiling had held until then.
With a methodical patience that would have surprised those of her human friends who thought her impulsive, Firekeeper sorted through the tangle of twisting vines. Moon Frost awoke while she was doing so and lay watching for a time.
"What are you doing, Firekeeper? Are you finding what you can eat and what you cannot? Remember that wolves cannot eat vines. We eat meat."
Firekeeper knew the wolf was in pain from her broken leg. There had been nothing in the medical kit Harjeedian had given her that would dull pain in something the size of the wolf. For this reason, Firekeeper excused Moon Frost's rudeness—and even the threat implicit in her final statement.
"I cannot eat vines either," she said, "or at least not to get nourishment from them. I am hoping to make a rope from the greenest and longest lengths. The small dry pieces I set aside for kindling, so if night finds us here again, I can make a fire."
"Rope?" Moon Frost asked, tilting her head to one side. "I have seen rope, but how will it help us here?"
"If I can make a rope strong enough to bear my weight, I hope to get it over one of those beams above. I have been studying them, and that central one looks sturdier than the rest. It may have been protected from the worst of the weather by the flooring above it."
"So then you are out," Moon Frost snapped. "I have seen you climb like a squirrel. The rest of us cannot climb so."
"No, but from above I may be able to get help. Would your kin not come?"
Dark Death replied. "Closest kin are my pack, across the inlet we would have crossed last night, but Firekeeper, what good would they do? All they could do is drop in food and sing dirges when at last we die. They cannot change the nature of this trap. I do not think any Beast could do so."
Firekeeper was startled. She had already thought of several ways they might get out of the hole. True, they were adaptations of things she had learned from humans, but didn't the Wise Wolves know human ways?
She didn't wish to anger the wolves by questioning their abilities. It hadn't taken Moon Frost's words to make her aware that she was trapped in a hole with three large carnivores. Blind Seer would not eat her—at least not unless she was already dead and he was truly hungry—but these other two might feel differently, especially if starvation was chewing out their bellies.
Nor did she think Blind Seer could protect her. He was stronger than he had been the night before, but the blow to his head had made him disoriented. This was not a condition in which she would wish a fight on him.
To turn the conversation away from this, Firekeeper asked something that had been much in her thoughts.
"Do your people ever call on the humans for help? Let us say in a circumstance like this one where they might be of assistance or in a time of flood or
storm?"
"Never," Dark Death replied. "The ban against humans coming to Misheemnekuru is absolute. If we cannot help ourselves, we die."
Moon Frost agreed.
"Even those of us who guard the territories closest to where the humans dwell observe this. Our stories tell of times long past when the occasional heavily armed human violated our sanctuary. We dealt with them ourselves, even when the humans offered aid."
Firekeeper had enough long lengths of strong, green vine by now and started plaiting a rope. It was tedious work, and more than once she had to start over when a section proved too brittle. After a time, she learned which vines would handle the strain of being worked without breaking and the process moved along more quickly.
Silence had followed the discussion of whether aid could come to them, but now Dark Death snuffled at her handiwork.
"What are you doing, Firekeeper? Why do you twist the pieces that way?"
"I make them stronger," she said. "It is like a wolf pack. Three are stronger than one, and if there is one that finds itself a bit weak, then the other two will keep it from breaking. Even before I knew humans, I did a little of this, but humans have taught me a better way. I would prefer lengths of hide, but these should do."
"Will these bits of vine hold you?"
"There is only one way to know," Firekeeper replied levelly, "and that will be in the testing."
By the time she finished her rope, the sun was high enough to make them glad for the shadows cast from above.
Firekeeper took up her bow; she had carried it in her hand when she fell and it had not been damaged. To the shaft of an arrow she attached the vine rope, then put the arrow to the string.
"This will be easier than throwing," she explained, seeing Moon Frost struggling not to cringe at the proximity of the weapon. The wolves knew well how deadly an arrow could be. "All of you come away from the walls and back from that central beam. If anything collapses further, we should be safe."
Blind Seer was awake enough to understand this and staggered away from where he had lain close to the seep, both so that he might drink without effort and to cool himself. It hurt Firekeeper to see him so, his fur matted with wet and moving as if he were older than Neck Breaker and Cricket combined. Still, she said nothing. Weakness was not coddled among wolves, and she knew he would not appreciate her hovering over him.
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