Wolf Captured

by Jane Lindskold

  "One seems to be missing," he said softly.

  "And I think it may be the Islander," Harjeedian said. "Let us look more closely, and if Rahniseeta is still watching, she may come out to meet us."

  The wooden pier bore some interesting marks, visible even in lantern light.

  "Fresh mud," Derian said, kneeling to inspect it. "Damp. Someone was here, perhaps with mud on his boots from the storm earlier."

  "And a sailboat is definitely missing," Harjeedian said. "We must assume then that the northerners have indeed gone out—the question is whether they went to Misheemnekuru."

  As one the two men scanned the dark expanse of water, but there was no telltale light to give testimony.

  There wouldn't be, Derian thought. Waln is mean and dangerous, but he's not dumb.

  He glanced back at the shadowy bulk of the buildings set back along the wharves. There was no sign of anyone coming out to meet them. His heart beat uncomfortably fast.

  "No Rahniseeta," he said uneasily.

  Harjeedian's expression, glimpsed in the light of the lantern he shifted in his grip, was also uneasy, but he did not let that uneasiness touch his voice.

  "She may have gone to Heeranenahalm by a different route than the one we took and be waiting for us—wondering where we have gone, and we forgot to leave her a note. Why don't you go up there and look for her? I will meet you, but first I want to go by the building where the shipwrecked sailors were quartered and see if they are still there."

  Derian nodded. "I can do that. It's a good idea if you check. We'd look pretty stupid if we raised an alarm and they were sleeping soundly in their beds."

  "My thought exactly," Harjeedian said. "Rahniseeta may have even had a similar thought and gone there to see. As you said, Lucky Elwyn is not the best witness."

  "We'll meet in your suite," Derian said, "and decide what to do."

  Harjeedian nodded, and together they began to walk quickly down the pier.

  "There is one other thing you can do," Harjeedian said as they walked.

  "Name it."

  "If you do not find Rahniseeta—or Barnet Lobster—where they should be, you might see if Lady Blysse is easily found."

  "Firekeeper at night?" Derian snorted. "As easy as pinning down the wind."

  "Our stories say that was done once," Harjeedian said. "Don't go far, but if you can find her, it might be a good thing."

  "Fine, I'll do it, but why?"

  "Because," Harjeedian said, "if this rumor is indeed correct, and Waln and his men have gone to Misheemnekuru, Lady Blysse is likely the only one among us who the yarimaimalom will not view merely as the second wave of an invasion."

  Chapter XXXV

  Firekeeper ran alongside truth, with Blind Seer on her other side. They had left the House of Fire some hours after Firekeeper had finally broken through the jaguar's abstraction. Although the great cat's mind could now interact with what Firekeeper rather stubbornly insisted on defining as "reality," Truth demonstrated an alarming tendency to slip in and out of focus.

  A thunderstorm in early evening did much to clear both the air and the jaguar's head. When Truth demonstrated a desire to leave the screened house and go hunting, Tiridanti, who was well aware she had too long neglected her own duties, was glad to facilitate this wish.

  "But would you go with Truth, Lady Blysse?" asked the ahmyndisdu. "She may think herself strong, but I know better than she how little she has eaten these last days." Firekeeper, who had already been invited by the jaguar, and who had only hesitated lest this apparent mark of favoritism make her an enemy she could ill afford, went happily.

  Now, free of the city, the oddly sorted trio ran beneath the dripping foliage, hunting nothing so much as an escape from the constraints that had bound them all. When they were wearied, they collapsed upon a mat of thick, damp moss near a streambed.

  Firekeeper, always the quickest to grow hungry, for the great predators often go days between meals, found a stand of sturdy yet flexible reeds and began to weave a fish trap.

  "Tracking through probability," said Truth, "is not unlike what you are doing there."

  "What do you mean?" Firekeeper asked.

  "Humans often talk as if divining the future is like divining for water or ore," the jaguar replied. "There is a source and one scents it. When seeking what course the future may follow, one must twist over and under the various currents, seeing which is strongest, which fade into nothing, which—given the right stimulus—might become reality."

  Blind Seer, who Firekeeper knew had been wondering a great deal about divination, sneezed as if the jaguar's description had tickled his nose.

  "It sounds complicated," he said.

  "It is," Truth said, bending in a curious arc to wash between the toes of one hind paw. "But I was very good at it."

  Something in the statement lacked the jaguar's usual easy self-satisfaction, and Blind Seer sprang on it as he might have upon a running deer.

  "'Was'?" he asked.

  Truth contorted to groom the underside of her tail.

  "I do not know," she admitted, "if I will ever again dare look into the currents of time and possibility. I am afraid… "

  A pause came, as if she awaited mockery for admitting to fear. When the wolves remained listeningly still, Truth continued.

  "I am afraid I will become trapped there again."

  Firekeeper, leaning on her belly, close to the water so she could see if the fish trap moved, agreed.

  "I can see why. It was very hard to get you out, and you were far from pleasant when we succeeded."

  "If you had seen what I had seen," Truth replied, "your mood would have been less than sweet."

  "Can you recall what it was you saw?" Blind Seer asked.

  "A little. I had become trapped while trying to discover why I could see so little about Firekeeper and what she will do to us. At first I thought it was only some indecisiveness in her own character that hid her from me, but eventually I became aware of a… I don't know how to describe it. It was like deafness but not of the ears, blindness but not of the eyes. It was a little like the way a fawn's spots make your eyes slide over where the little morsel lies, even when your nose proclaims it must be near. In short, something other than Firekeeper herself was keeping me from seeing her.

  "I did what I could to dig through this obstruction, and that is when I became trapped in the ripples of possibility. I cannot say it any better than that. Rather as the fawn's spots fool the eyes, so this fooled my ability to divine by splitting possibility into finer and finer ripples. I came away with one certainty, though. It was not Firekeeper who was being hidden from me, but rather that her fate was intertwined with some other—and that other was hiding… or being hidden."

  The jaguar shook her head as if flicking water from her ears. "I cannot think of it any more. Even now my head is spinning."

  "Let us tell tales, then," Firekeeper suggested. "Let us tell you of our venture to Misheemnekuru and what we did there. Doubtless the ravens have already told you much, but there are things we learned upon our return that you may not have heard."

  Truth seemed grateful for this respite. She listened for a long while, holding herself with such stillness that only the flicker of gold in the burnt-orange eyes betrayed how carefully she listened. She listened with the same motionlessness even when Firekeeper kindled a fire and cooked some fish, even when Blind Seer finished off the guts. Only when Firekeeper and Blind Seer had finished relating Derian's report did Truth move, stretch, and yawn.

  "I knew pieces of this," Truth said, "but it is good to hear how you saw events."

  Firekeeper waited to see if the jaguar would say more, and when she didn't, asked a question that had been troubling her for some time.

  "Truth, from what Derian and the others have discovered, this cabal of Dantarahma's is no newly hatched fledgling. Why did the yarimaimalom wait for our coming to ask for help?"

  Truth stretched, her rear end rising, her tail curvi
ng over her back as if to remove silence from her limbs. Then she sat with her paws before her, her eyes giving back the light from the fading embers of Firekeeper's cook fire.

  "You speak of yarimaimalom as if we were one beast with one mind," the jaguar replied at last. "Are you not yet old enough to realize that the very intelligence that makes us different from the Cousins assures that we will not all think the same way? But, I forget, you are wolves, and wolves follow the rule of the pack, not their own minds."

  Had she possessed fur, Firekeeper would have bristled, but Blind Seer's hackles remained smooth.

  "We have seen," he said, "differences even between wolves. We can accept that, but Firekeeper and I are not your prey that you may toy with us. Can you answer her?"

  Truth's feline arrogance did not quite admit an apology, but there was a softening about the angle of her whiskers that said she was amused at being challenged, even—or especially—so mildly.

  "I can and will," Truth said. "The answer is like the progress of time, simple and complex. The simple answer first. The yarimaimalom have indeed been aware of Dantarahma's desire for what he thinks of as 'religious reform.' How could we not be aware when we move in and out of the humans' lives so that they hardly notice us? Indeed—and this is no taunt—the birds are difficult to tell from their Cousin kin unless upon close inspection."

  "True," Blind Seer said, making his response sound like a proverb. "Who can tell the size of a raven on the rooftops?"

  "Or a hawk in the trees," Truth agreed. "So we knew, and initially we did not worry. Dantarahma began by using older forms of prayers. He restricted these to small groups worshipping in private, and if these prayers spoke of blood and death rather more than seems tasteful—especially given that these humans are well fed—we did not worry much about it. Surely you have noticed how humans speak. They often say things they do not mean—not literally."

  " 'I'll kill him,'" Firekeeper agreed, "or 'I hate his guts' or 'I love him more than life itself.' These puzzled me for a long time. So you thought these prayers were more of the same."

  "Exactly," Truth said. "The blood sacrifices are a recent development, and even then we were not too worried. What difference does a chicken or rabbit make? The worshippers were even eating what they killed—though raw, which is unusual for humans."

  "Very," Firekeeper said, remembering how many times her taste for undercooked meat had aroused revulsion in her human friends. "Here it would be even odder than in Hawk Haven, I think. The cooking favors heavy sauces and long stewing."

  "I hadn't thought of that," Truth admitted, "but you are right. It does make this eating of raw meat even odder. Now, the large sacrifices, such as your friend Derian witnessed, these are very new—the first was reported soon after Tiridanti came into office. An owl brought the news—to me, as it was the beginning of a jaguar year. I tasted the omens, and found nothing immediately dangerous if we waited, and some rather unsettling possibilities if we acted. Therefore, we agreed to wait."

  "For how long?" Firekeeper asked.

  Truth's tail switched in annoyance.

  "For as long as we needed," she replied. "But it seems that what I thought not too long a wait seemed too long to Eshinarvash. Perhaps someone in his herd saw more clearly than I. Perhaps they allowed for Derian's participation, and this shifted our chances for success. To be honest, I don't know. I was born on Misheemnekuru, and am not in the confidence of those of the mainland."

  She licked her paw complacently. "And horses are rarely comfortable around the great cats."

  "And," Blind Seer said, not to be diverted, "I think your mind was even then not entirely your own. We were told that you were having trouble reading the future regarding Firekeeper even then. Perhaps you were reluctant to hunt in those currents you mentioned."

  Firekeeper expected the Wise Jaguar to growl or snarl, but Truth only laid her head on her paws in surrender.

  "That is so," she admitted. "Perhaps it would have been better if this had not been a jaguar year, and some more cooperative beast walked in my place."

  Seeing the great cat humbled gave Firekeeper no pleasure.

  "Your deities said it was a year for fire," she said, "and fire burns as well as warms, destroys as well as clearing the way for new growth. Serving fire is a complicated matter."

  Truth raised her head and looked with unblinking eyes at Firekeeper, but seeing nothing but sincerity, her tail did not twitch.

  "Maybe this is somehow part of Fire's clearing," the jaguar said, "but such wildfires are rarely pleasant for those caught within them."

  "As I know all too well," Firekeeper said with a shiver. "Ever since we spoke with Questioner, my dreams have been fire-haunted. Now that Eshinarvash and those like-minded have acted, will you support them?"

  "I will," Truth said. "You and Blind Seer have done well in relating what dangers may follow Dantarahma's rise. This is yet a jaguar year, but nothing is more certain than that summer will pass into winter, winter into spring once more—and if the deities listen to Dantarahma's prayers, he may sit in Tiridanti's place among u-Liall."

  "But what are we to do?" Firekeeper said. "Already there is word that we will be sent north again, and though I hate sailing, I hate being a prisoner even more. Although I could go home afoot, the journey would be long and, at least for Derian, very dangerous."

  "That decision is not yet made," Truth said, her tail lashing, "and after what you have done for me, you have a strong ally in your desire to come and go as you wish. Let us leave that, and concentrate on how Dantarahma might be undone."

  She licked her forepaws, one then the other, with nervous, anxious strokes of her tongue, the action so violent that Firekeeper could easily hear the rasp of tongue against fur.

  Blind Seer thumped his tail reassuringly.

  "You are wondering whether it would be wise to look again into the currents of time and see what we might best do," he said to Truth. "You are thinking you know so much new now that what was unclear, might become clearer."

  Truth jerked up her head to stare at him.

  "Are you a diviner then? Truly a seer where others are blind?"

  "No more than any who listens with heart and mind," Blind Seer said. "I am not very old, but I have learned to recognize the signs of indecision and of fear."

  Truth did not relax, but she lowered her gaze to where the cook fire had died to smoky embers.

  "I think I should try," she admitted, "and I fear that trying. I hardly know how to think without divination to guide me. It is not that it told me how to think or what to do, but that it provided me with options more rapidly. Now I feel as if I am trying to hunt without scenting the wind."

  Firekeeper laughed a trace harshly.

  "I must do that nearly all the time," she said. "You have my sympathy."

  Truth's claws slipped from their sheaths, but only to savage the moss.

  "A quick dip," she said, "concentrating hard as I did when I was first learning. Shaping the question tightly in my mind, then diving in."

  "And knowing," Blind Seer said, "that you have friends on the bank ready to pull you out. Try it, otherwise the dread of attempting will cloud your thoughts as efficiently as whatever caught you there before."

  Again Truth gave him an appraising look.

  "Whatever gifts you have, Blue-Eyes, divination or not, your parents named you well. I will look and trust your strong jaws to haul me out."

  Firekeeper felt warmed, for Truth clearly referred to them both, but she said nothing, only sat ready and waited alert for any sign, no matter how small, that Truth was in difficulty.

  The jaguar did not lie down, or close her eyes, but the inner lid did droop, opaquing the gemstone brightness of the ember-lit eyes. Truth grew still, her breathing deeper yet more rapid, as she took scent on something neither wolf could detect.

  Her tail tapped on the moss; then she stiffened and jumped up, fur standing out from her body as if she were a startled house cat of impossible si
ze.

  "All the currents stream in one direction," she snarled, leaping to her feet. "They move toward Misheemnekuru. Something terrible is going to happen there, something that at best will lead to the rise of Dantarahma, at worst could lead to the destruction of all we hold dear."

  Firekeeper was already scooping dirt over the embers, pulling up the fish trap and breaking it so no fish would die without serving as food first.

  "Is there anything that we can do to stop it?"

  Truth was beginning to run in the direction of Heeranenahalm, but her answer came back on the notes of a jaguar's roar.

  "You must be there. Only if you are there is there a chance of stopping what will come. Only then! I have known! How could I be so blind!"

  Firekeeper stared at Blind Seer; then, without discussion, they began running, following in the now silent wake of Truth.

  I don't see how we can go after them before dawn," Harjeedian said.

  He'd returned from checking the building where Waln and the others had been quartered, and told Derian that although some care had been taken to make it seem as if the northern sailors were still in residence, he was certain they had departed with no intention of returning.

  "We can, however," Harjeedian continued, "do something about their plans to take the ship upon their return."

  Derian's head was pounding with an unpleasant mixture of apprehension and exhaustion as he listened, but he managed a coherent reply.

  "Nothing too obvious," he said. "Until we know for certain what is going on. You don't want to start something unnecessary."

  Harjeedian nodded. "Good point. Then again, we cannot go after them until dawn."

  "What about Rahniseeta?" Derian asked. "I'm not happy she hasn't returned—and that you haven't found her."