"And then you left?" Blind Seer persisted. "Why not go further north into New Kelvin? I think you might have found welcome there—among the humans, if not among the Beasts."
Questioner looked at the wolf, blue eyes meeting blue.
"I should give you my name, Blind Seer. You chase after a problem as if it were fresh game and you winter-starved for meat. Very well. I left because I was weak and tired and desperately homesick. I longed to go where my shape would not arouse loathing, my every word awaken fear. Do you think me a coward?"
Blind Seer lowered his head onto his paws, surrendering the anger that had motivated his queries.
"You forget, Questioner, I too have gone where my size and shape have made people fear me. I know some small taste of what you faced. Far from thinking you a coward for returning home, I honor you for your courage in setting out. I followed Firekeeper west in ignorance of what we would find. You went with full awareness."
Questioner's human face held astonishment while his tail, feathered like that of a wolf rather than smooth like a jaguar's, wagged.
"I think for a people who knew nothing of divination, your parents named you well. You see where others are blind."
"I try," said Blind Seer. "I try."
Chapter XXXI
Truth waded chest-deep through time, trying to feel the strongest current, the one that flowed into probability.
Finding probability was something at which she excelled, and had even when she was a small, blind kitten. Her mother had noticed how the still nameless kitten unerringly found a nipple without fumbling, without snuffling or wasting effort crawling where milk was not to be found. Before long, this kitten was the strongest of her litter, and with strength that internal vision grew.
True, their lineage ran to diviners, but this kitten's powers were unnerving. Usually, training didn't even begin until the kitten had passed the chaotic insanity of youth. With this kitten the training began before she had learned to kill. Teaching her to see the currents of probability was the only way to save her from starvation.
Truth, as she was called in an effort to fix her on finding the true path among all the other currents, was plagued with possibilities. Every leap she essayed she saw not only completed a thousand times, but the hundreds of times she fell short, the tens of times she was injured, the one time she twisted, broke her back or neck, and died.
She saw the dying, too. The slow deaths where she lay trapped by paralysis while starvation claimed her. The tortured deaths, eaten by ants and small birds. The quick, burning deaths where a white-hot flash of pain heralded only darkness.
The same ability that had brought Truth into strength before her time now threatened to make her wither away from fear. She could not kill without seeing all the consequences of that death. Never mind that most were nothing more than a fat, sated jaguar licking herself clean—she dreaded the possibilities that showed fires destroying forests or famine spreading through the land all for the lack of a single deer or beaver or fat woodchuck. So the teaching began.
First, Truth learned to imagine time as a broad ocean, an ocean filled with currents most never saw, currents that separated, intertwined, and went their own ways once more, someday, perhaps, to touch and intertwine again. More important, Truth learned to ignore the tug of the lesser currents, to block them from flooding her mind, their backwash granting them inordinate importance all out of proportion with the probability of their occurrence.
Later yet, Truth learned to focus on a limited segment of that ocean, to block out the futures affecting places that came to her mind only as a sparkling medley of colors and strong scents, cryptic icons for things for which she lacked a point of reference within her very limited experience.
With that lesson learned, Truth began to become an effective diviner. Even so, there were more years of training while she learned the cumbersome methods used for communicating visions to the humans. Sometimes, when frustrated by the complexity and rote memorization, Truth swam down currents that led her to a probability where some injury caused her ability to diminish so that she became merely an extraordinarily lucky hunter.
A few currents showed the complicated series of events that led her to lose her ability entirely. She swam this way only once. The jaguar she met and merged with was as one deaf, blind, and nose dead. Far from possessing the peace Truth had sought, this jaguar was trapped with no means of testing her actions.
Truth had torn herself free from that horrifying vision and resolved never to test those waters again.
Yet now she found herself almost as badly off as she had been that day. The currents were sluggish; their motions hardly perceptible. Whereas formerly Truth had been able to glance into that metaphorical ocean and note a tiny ripple here, a greater ripple there, and make her assessments with little effort, now, even when she submerged herself into the time stream, she could feel only the strongest currents.
What frightened her most was that all these currents reeked of destruction, of utter devestation to all she loved.
Had Truth not been a jaguar, she would have had someone to whom she could turn. Wolves served in packs, horses in herds, birds in flocks or pairs according to their nature.
Jaguars, even the Wise, did not share their territories willingly. They mated and parted, coming together for the occasional discussion or romp, then gladly going their ways again. Truth had no kittens she was rearing, no inclination to seek out any of the other felines who resided in Heeranenahalm. A wolf would have howled to another. It simply was not in the jaguar's nature.
Thus Truth swam alone through the ocean of time. The scent of bloody destruction permeated her brain and slowly began to drive her mad.
After the tumbling cascade of events that had filled the days from the moment Eshinarvash had taken Derian from the hilltop outside of u-Bishinti, the deliberate and contained quiet of the days that immediately followed provided a peculiar contrast.
Peculiar, Derian thought as he rode Prahini along the coast road to u-Seeheera, because I know all the activity boiling underneath.
Indeed, his own trip to u-Seeheera was part of that activity, for he had been nominated that day's liaison between those working from u-Bishinti and those who remained in the city.
"Two good reasons why you should do it," Zira had said. "One, you're already scheduled to go up there and assume some of the burden of teaching. Varjuna has had complaints from the disdum that u-Bishinti has grooms and trainers enough without stealing you as well. Secondly, you can dart in and out of the Temple of the Cold Bloods and ask to see young Rahniseeta, and no one is going to wonder why."
Zira grinned wickedly at this, and Derian felt himself blush. Moving down to u-Bishinti had helped him rein in his initial wild attraction to Rahniseeta. Reacquaintance wasn't only reawakening his earlier interest, it was intensifying it. Derian was learning that there was a lot more to Rahniseeta than her curves. What was equally fascinating was that she seemed to only just have discovered confidence in herself.
As Derian's road brought him alongside the green bulk of Misheemnekuru, he raised an arm and waved as if Firekeeper might really be watching. He'd had a note from her a few days before. Best as he could make out from the terse symbols, she was doing well, learning things, and missed him. As this note was followed by no urgent summons to meet her at the outpost, Derian decided that the note was a formality and grinned at the idea of his wolf-woman learning to write bread-and-butter notes.
In Heeranenahalm, Derian first dropped by the Horse Temple; then he met with a kidisdu of Bears who had apparently exhausted either the patience or the ability of her previous teacher. Then he went to meet Rahniseeta.
As arranged, she was waiting for him by one of the fountains outside of u-Nahal. A light basket rested on the turf near her feet, and she looked glowingly pretty. Her hair had been elaborately braided and piled up on her head, the dark mass intertwined with ribbons the same saffron yellow as her outfit. Even the smudges of ink on her fingers c
ouldn't mar her perfection.
"Ready for our picnic?" Rahniseeta greeted him, her dark eyes twinkling. "I've brought some things that will surprise you."
Derian bent to pick up the basket.
"This is certainly heavy enough to hold any number of surprises. Where would you like to go?"
Rahniseeta draped a light cotton blanket over one arm.
"There's a nice shady park out the gate and up the hills," she said, gesturing with a toss of her head that gave Derian proof—if he'd needed it—that she had a lovely neck. "We can see the water from there."
Derian found he had to swallow hard before he could make his voice come out something like normally.
"Sounds great," he said. "Lead on."
She did, chattering pleasantly about various items of interest as they passed them. A statue of Air creating the skunk as a joke, a tableau of Earth teaching the first diviners, a mural portraying the fractioning of Magic. Her explanations were so lively that a group of children started trailing them to listen—until Rahniseeta shooed them off with a reminder that their teachers would be looking for them.
Derian listened attentively, but realized he was taken far more by the music of her voice than by the stories she was relating.
Horse apples! he thought. I'd better take care or this playing at courting couple is going to get too real—for me at least—and that wouldn't be fair to her, not with my planning on going home and all.
Rahniseeta chose a spot for them in the spreading shade of a maple tree where they could, indeed, see the bay. The waters sparkled in the sunlight, giving diamonds to the sky. It was a lovely place, but Derian found himself wishing it were a trifle more private. Some lacy bushes provided token screening, but…
Rahniseeta said, her voice low and conspiratorial, "I chose this place because while it seems private, we can actually see around us for a good distance. No one will be able to sneak into hearing distance without our knowing—no human, at least, and I think the yarimaimalom are on our side."
Derian wasn't sure he liked the possibility that even the birds and rabbits couldn't be trusted, and found himself eyeing a robin suspiciously. Then he remembered that Firekeeper had told him that the Royal Beasts, at least, didn't include the smaller songbirds and little animals, and decided to relax.
Rahniseeta took the picnic basket from him and began fishing out cloth-wrapped packages.
"Most of what I brought are things I could get from the temple kitchen," she said, "but I really do have some surprises for you. One of the sailors—Wiatt—is a cook and has been trying to find out which of your foods we might like. He left a plate of meat pastries this morning. The spicing is good, but strange, so I was able to steal away only a few before they were all gone."
Derian was genuinely pleased, especially by her thoughtfulness. He took a bite and savored both the taste and the piquancy of hope. Then he realized that it was probably all part of the charade for Rahniseeta. The young lady walking out with a fellow, bringing him a few treats.
He sighed and stared at the pastry.
"Is it bad?" she asked worriedly.
"Oh, no." He bit into it again to prove his words and chewed quickly. "Wonderful. I was just… thinking about my mother. She'd like these, want the recipe for our cook. Then Cook would get all offended because she'd think Mother was implying that we didn't like her cooking and she'd threaten to quit and… "
He started laughing and Rahniseeta was laughing with him. Then she sobered far too quickly.
"You do miss your home. Well, we will do what we can to return you safely and with honor. Just this morning Harjeedian was saying that the sooner the disdum resolve their debates, the better for you. He says that ocean travel is more safe in some seasons than others and if we are not careful you could end up stranded until spring—and that is when the year changes."
"And it wouldn't be a good year at all," Derian said, understanding, "if it turned out to be a Water year, would it?"
"That is what I fear," Rahniseeta said. "The deities mean us well, but even they have difficulties if their servants become corrupt. I sometimes wonder how much of the worry over how our ability to talk to the yarimaimalom might lead to corruption comes from the hearts of those who have already tasted that temptation."
"Takes one to know one?" Derian asked. "Maybe. Probably for some of them, but I'm sure there are more good disdum than otherwise. Varjuna's wonderful, and I think Poshtuvanu shows signs of being just as devoted. It must be the same for all the other temples."
"I know," Rahniseeta sighed. "I have been looking into shadows so much these last several days that I am starting to see nothing but darkness."
Derian reached over and took her hand.
"Well, there's lots of light, Rahniseeta. Look out in the bay. How would you say it? 'Fire's home is casting gemstones on his brother's breast'?"
Rahniseeta smiled and removed her hand from his, but only because she needed to pull more things out of the picnic basket.
"I've never heard it put quite that way before, but I like it."
She unwrapped a dark loaf, a crock of already melting butter, and ajar of honey.
"We should start with these before the butter turns to oil," she said. "I don't know what I was thinking when I chose it. I have water infused with mint and also wine."
"Not white wine with honey," Derian said, glancing at the bottle. "Maybe after I've eaten and it won't go to my head."
Rahniseeta poured them both mint water.
"Do you wish to begin, or shall I?"
Derian swallowed the rest of his meat pastry and started cutting bread.
"I'll start. I'm already ahead of you when it comes to eating."
Rahniseeta nodded, her gaze drifted across the sparkling waters, then began smearing a thick slice of bread with soft butter and adding a thin bead of honey. Derian watched her hands move, but otherwise forced himself to concentrate.
"Zira is making progress on the matter of the white mare," he began. "She was right when she guessed there wouldn't be too many candidates. None born at u-Bishinti in the last several years are unaccounted for. She's sent letters to various private owners who offered u-Bishinti a white filly in the last five years, specifically asking not only if the mare is still available, but if it is not, where she might locate it. So far, there have been no replies, but there should be, maybe even by the time I've gotten back."
"That's good," Rahniseeta said. "Zira's researches may lead nowhere, but at least she has started something."
"I stopped in and saw Meiyal before going to my lesson," Derian continued, "on the excuse of dropping off some records on the most promising of this year's foals. Her clerk has been busy, and all I can say is that I can see why the yarimaimalom moved to have animal sacrifice banned."
"Oh?" Rahniseeta said, and from her tone Derian couldn't tell whether or not he had offended her, then she added, "I really don't know much about sacrifices. It is something the disdum learn about in the course of their training, but Harjeedian said it was an ugly part of our past and while best not forgotten, shouldn't be dwelled on either."
"I can see his point," Derian said. "However, we're rather beyond the 'not dwelling on' part. By the way, have you told him what I saw?"
"Not so far," Rahniseeta said. "I've been able to make excuses for the questions I've asked him. He has enough worries right now without this."
"So doesn't he wonder," Derian asked, feeling himself flushing and hoping that Rahniseeta would think he was reacting to the heat, "about your suddenly spending so much time with me? We've gone out nearly every day since that walk in the market."
Rahniseeta grinned. "Big Brother is quite pleased. He asked me to make certain the Temple of the Cold Bloods did not lose touch with you when you went to u-Bishinti. I told him quite roundly that I wouldn't play his games—but this is my game and if he thinks I've repented and am being dutiful, all the better."
Derian blinked at this convoluted but logical evaluation, an
d decided his pride could take it. After all, Rahniseeta had refused to play up to him just because Harjeedian told her to do so.
"Good," Derian said. "I think. No, really. Good."
He frowned, bit into a piece of buttered bread, and reorganized his thoughts.
"I was telling you about what Meiyal's clerk has learned. Well, it seems that not only were there regular rituals to commemorate major events—harvest, the first sailing of the fishing fleet, that sort of thing—there were rituals for routine divination."
Rahniseeta looked puzzled. "But that's how it is today."
"With one major difference," Derian said. "You people don't splatter blood all over the place for every one of these rituals. Before the treaty with the yarimaimalom it seems that practically no one did any rite without spilling at least a bit of blood. There's a whole area outside of Heeranenahalm that's now a nice little produce-and-flower market, but that Cishanol says once was where you went and bought your sacrificial animals. Common people had to settle for chickens or lambs, but the disdum were into wild animals—the harder to catch or more exotic the better, and if you could get a Wise Beast, well… "
Rahniseeta looked a bit sick, and put down her bread and honey. Derian decided he'd made his point.
"The thing is, Cishanol has had to wade through all of this to find what we need—the earlier sacrifices when lives were offered only on really important occasions. Cishanol's smart, and he cross-referenced with dates hoping to find that white animals were offered at a particular season. Well, that led him astray, but eventually he got back on track."
"Yes?"
"White animals were used for initiation," Derian said. "It's likely that what I saw was Dantarahma initiating a batch of new recruits. That means we have to be careful before eliminating someone who wasn't there because we can't be sure if the old hands were needed there."
Rahniseeta, who had been about to raise the bread and honey again, set it down.
"This is terrible!" she said. "Who can we trust?"
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