Wolf Captured

by Jane Lindskold

  Firekeeper was no healer, but she had learned everything she could from those who were, and even had the skill to shave and stitch the longest of Blind Seer's slashes.

  "My work may rob you of a scar or two," she told the wincing wolf, "but we both have enough of those that none may doubt our courage."

  By the time she had finished, Hope brought report of Dark Death's condition.

  "He lives and will walk again, but he'll do so without that hind leg for a good while to come. Healer used a bit of her power to knit the worst tears, and has asked any other duelists to hold their challenges until she has had time to recover."

  Firekeeper looked up in shock, appalled at the thought there might be others, but saw that Hope was joking about this last.

  "From what I have heard, both of you have made your preferences clear enough that none here will challenge you," the bird-woman said reassuringly. "Dark Death wishes to speak with you. Will you come?"

  Firekeeper didn't want to do so, but she knew her manners and, with Blind Seer as entourage, went.

  She found Dark Death stretched out on his side, his ribs rising and falling steadily. He was attended by Integrity and Moon Frost, but he had eyes for none but the two who approached.

  "I made an offer when I challenged Blind Seer," Dark Death said proudly, "and I would offer it again rather than have you doubt my sincerity."

  "I never accepted those terms," Firekeeper said, but Dark Death went on as if he had not heard her.

  "When I said you were marvelous, I meant it. Yours is a wolf's heart, imprisoned in a human body. I would give you the means to set it free—and yet to allow you the freedom to return to the human shape that, as we saw today, grants you abilities wolves do not have."

  Firekeeper met Dark Death's gaze, not to dominate as might a wolf, but with the frankness humans so valued.

  "Dark Death, I never accepted your offer. Once I heard how the first maimalodalum came to be, I thought the practice foul. Even were you to offer your life willingly—as those sacrificed to the ambitions of the Old Country sorcerers did not—I would not accept. Blood magic seems to have a dangerous taste. I think one swallow would only make one hunger for more."

  Dark Death growled.

  "My life is yours to use. Take it! Let me at least give you what you desire. If I cannot have you, let me have that."

  "No."

  "Then when I can stand, I will throw myself into the ocean or from a cliff. These breaths I draw are an illusion, for from the moment I surrendered, I gave myself to death. Since I will die anyhow, can you not at least make my death worth something?"

  Firekeeper stared at him in incredulity.

  "Dark Death, I thought you a wolf, but now I realize you are naught but a pup. Ask Sky if he would have thrown away his life for nothing more than bruised pride. Ask those who are buried beneath the stone."

  She wheeled away, disturbed and somehow disgusted, and Moon Frost limped after.

  "Firekeeper," the silvery wolf said hesitantly. "If you have relinquished your claim… "

  Firekeeper put a hand on Moon Frost's head.

  "Win him for life, sister," she said softly. "There has been too much death."

  She looked to the star-shaped tower where one alone had not emerged after the conference—but into which the maimalodalum had been unobtrusively slipping for some time now.

  "And I fear there will be more."

  Truth paced, shoulder deep in the rivers of possibility. She was in so deep, she could hardly see where the streams split, but could only go where the strongest currents carried her. She was beyond choosing now. The drifting was almost restful, but for the concern that she would be carried in over her head.

  The currents carried her through the collapse of the tower of Magic, streamlets flowing from many into one as Firekeeper resolved to save Shivadtmon rather than let him die. Truth felt a certain abstract pride that it was the wolf-woman's faith in Truth's own wisdom and goodwill that guided her actions, but this was not enough to pull her from immersion within the myriad ways time could split, to drag her back onto the relative dryness of contemplation.

  Other currents flowed into one as Elwyn emerged from the ruins and was accepted, not killed, as the conference met and resolved how they would act on various matters. There was a great tangle where Dark Death challenged Blind Seer, varying from the blue-eyed wolf's refusing the challenge to the many ways the battle might end, and through Firekeeper's final decision. When these were resolved, a single current began to dig a deeper course than all that surrounded it. In the way of water, a deep river begins to flood its banks, flowing wide and slowing without losing power.

  Truth found herself merely submerged to her knees now, but she would not get out and search for higher ground. From higher ground she might see—and in seeing try to choose and in choosing see and so go back in beyond her ability to control.

  Even so, she felt when the swift swimming dolphins caught up to the boat that carried Dantarahma and his adherents south. There were twisted deltas here as lives lost meant lives touched more ways than the mind is fit to contemplate, but Truth was within the river, not above it, and she let the probabilities wash over her until resolution was reached.

  Dantarahma's body was being pushed back to the harbor of u-Seeheera. When it arrived there would be another storm of questions. Each answer, each conclusion would create its own currents, some doubling back into the main, others cutting potential courses of their own.

  Truth lowered her head and swam in the broadening stream, refusing to look.

  Blind seer walked beside Firekeeper as the wolf-woman made her way to the star-shaped tower. She laid her hand lightly on the wolf's neck, taking strength from his presence, forcing herself to walk toward when all she wanted to do was to run away.

  In the pale light of a few lit stone panels, Questioner lay, and Firekeeper did not need a wolf's nose to know he was dying. She pressed her lips together tightly, fighting back sobs, but the tears came anyway, and she made the last few steps to the maimalodalu's side guided by Blind Seer.

  She collapsed to her knees and found the strangely furred but very human face by touch.

  "Is there anything that will save you?" she asked in desperation. "Only name it, even if it is my own life, and I will give it to you. I only have this life because of what you did for me, and I would give it back."

  "No, child," Questioner replied, his voice wispy but distinct. "I said twelve years past that we would need you. We have only begun that need. In any case, why do you think I would accept the blood magic you yourself reject?"

  Firekeeper hung her head, accepting, but the tears still fell and she dashed them away so she might see Questioner more clearly.

  "This life has not been without its pleasures," Questioner said, "and I will be sad to leave it, but the deities have been kind to me. They let me see you, grown to all and more than what I dreamed."

  "And I have seen you, and been given back my human father and mother as well," Firekeeper managed, "but I would have had more time. I wish I had not gone back to the mainland so quickly!"

  "We make our best choices," Questioner said, his voice so soft Firekeeper had to bend to hear him. "Knowing too much only drives us mad as Truth."

  He didn't say anything for a long time after, and Firekeeper drew back slightly. The maimalodalum had already lost Sky, but they didn't run from this new death in their small circle. There was courage in this that she could emulate, so Firekeeper wrapped one arm around Blind Seer and rested her free hand lightly on Questioner's flank, and waited.

  Time passed in breaths. Some of the maimalodalum wept, others remained stoic. A few talked softly to Questioner, telling him how they valued his courage, his willingness to look beyond their own borders, and even to doubt when that doubting might lead to deeper understanding. They promised him they would not forget his example, and this would be his heritage.

  But Questioner did not answer, only breathed, each breath becoming mor
e laborious. Water dribbled from his mouth and matted his fur. Firekeeper wiped it away as gently as she could.

  A shiver ran through Questioner's spotted flanks, a shiver that shook him from head to foot. He drew a ragged breath, and though they waited, no breath followed. They waited, and not even Firekeeper's sensitive hand resting on his flank could feel a rise or fall.

  "He is gone," said Powerful Tenderness, and the massive, blocky bear body bent and lifted the other as if with the release of spirit, Questioner had suddenly become light.

  Then Firekeeper could take no more. Rising to her feet, she ran before the tears could blind her step. She ran into the light, and when she could run no more, she threw back her head and howled.

  The sound of her grief was so terrible that—as the maimalodalum told it after—had the Moon not already been broken, it would have shattered at the sound.

  Chapter XLI

  Firekeeper had vanished into the forest almost immediately after Questioner had died. Over a day had passed and she hadn't returned, but Derian was resigned to not worrying about her. Given her dislike of boats, he doubted she'd left Misheemnekuru, and the yarimaimalom had shown themselves quite adept at keeping track of what was going on throughout Misheemnekuru.

  Derian and Harjeedian had been encouraged to remain in Misheemnekuru until Rahniseeta was ready to be moved, and they had accepted. Full reports had been sent back to the mainland, along with Shivadtmon and Barnet Lobster. The aridisdu was more than willing to redeem himself with his deities—and their earthly representatives—by talking. As had been predicted, Shivadtmon was already less inclined to boast about being chosen by Magic, and more pragmatically interested in keeping his life.

  The remaining members of u-Liall were prepared for Dantarahma's eventual return—and were making plans for the selection of his successor. These apparently involved a variety of rituals and invocations, followed by a yarimaimalo representative of the year in question guiding the members of u-Liall to the chosen new member. Harjeedian was quite ready to speculate regarding who this would be, but Derian couldn't make himself care.

  He suspected that Harjeedian cared less than he seemed, but lectured on about past successions to keep from expressing what he—and Derian—were both worried about to the point of distraction.

  Rahniseeta was not doing well at all. She had not come around until a day after Questioner's death. When she had learned what had happened she had sunk into such a deep depression that even Healer the wolf was obviously worried about her. The mind could have a powerful influence on the body's ability to heal, but as long as Rahniseeta did not try to heal, complications from her injury that she otherwise would have easily thrown off would continue to plague her.

  "Rahniseeta blames herself," Harjeedian explained pedantically, "not just for what happened to Questioner, but for everything. She says none of it—the deaths of the northerners, the collapse of the tower, Sky and Questioner's deaths—would have happened if she hadn't meddled."

  Derian nodded. He'd sat his share of vigils alongside Rahniseeta's sickbed, had heard what she murmured in the periods between drugged sleep and dazed waking.

  "And Rahniseeta doesn't see how events might have turned out worse if she hadn't gotten involved?" Derian asked, knowing the answer already.

  "No one has been able to convince her so," Harjeedian said. "Perhaps if the jaguar Truth was able—and if Rahniseeta would believe a translator—Truth might convince her, but Rahniseeta knows Truth is gone again into madness, and blames herself for that as well."

  "How can she?" Derian said, mostly to himself, but Harjeedian chose to answer.

  "Rahniseeta feels that if she had not been captured, the yarimaimalom would probably have subdued the northerners long before they reached the towers."

  "And how would they would have managed this without anyone getting hurt?" Derian asked.

  "That isn't the point," Harjeedian said. "Rahniseeta has convinced herself this would be so—and although Hope has explained that the yarimaimalom would likely have suffered grave injuries and many deaths in such a battle, Rahniseeta will not permit herself to be convinced."

  Derian shook his head, but deep down inside he understood.

  "Have you had a chance to tell Rahniseeta she'll probably keep her arm?" he asked hopefully.

  Harjeedian nodded. "But the news didn't do much to help her state of mind. All Rahniseeta said was that she'd have been glad to lose the arm if one of the others could have been saved."

  "Who's with her now?" Derian asked.

  "Powerful Tenderness," Harjeedian replied. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you wanted to take over. I'm going to check the tinctures I have brewing in the maimalodalum's stillroom. Rahni's getting some feeling back in her arm, and she's going to be in a lot of pain."

  Derian nodded. He'd done his share of sitting with the wounded, and it had always seemed rather cruel that there were times when pain must accompany healing.

  "I'll let Rahniseeta know where you are," he said.

  After Powerful Tenderness had lumbered away, Derian sat watching Rahniseeta sleep. His hands moved automatically, shelling a large basket of beans intended as part of the evening meal.

  Outside he could hear the buzzing of insects complaining about the heat. An occasional raven called, and in the middle distance, Elwyn's odd, flat voice droned happily as he sang. He'd been assigned to carrying stones to build a cottage for himself and Wiatt. Wiatt was also at work, but unlike Elwyn, he didn't sing.

  Otherwise, the area was quiet. One never would have guessed a thriving community lived here. Most of the yarimaimalom slept through the heat of the day. The maimalodalum seemed to have adapted to their wild cousins' habits. Only humans, dependent on the sun for light, paid tithe in sweat.

  "I wanted to be something other than Harjeedian's sister," Rahniseeta said, speaking as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

  Derian started and dropped an unshelled pod into the pot between his feet. Rahniseeta gave a thin smile as he ducked to pull it out.

  "I seem to bring disaster whenever I open my mouth," she said.

  "Don't say that," Derian replied. "It's just a bean pod."

  Rahniseeta's smile faded.

  "Are all the rest just bean pods?"

  "No, but I think you're taking too much on yourself. You didn't make Waln and the others sail here. You didn't take up watch in a tower you knew was unstable. You didn't make all those choices. Might as well blame the storm that first shipwrecked the Explorer as yourself."

  "But if I hadn't run up there," Rahniseeta said, her tone torn between anger and pleading, "Shelby and the rest wouldn't have followed me."

  "They would have gone up there anyhow," Derian said, "once Firekeeper and the yarimaimalom let them know they were trapped."

  "But they would never have gotten up there," Rahniseeta said. "The yarimaimalom would have stopped them."

  "The yarimaimalom would have been arrow-stuck," Derian said with brutal bluntness. "That much I've learned from what Truth said. Leave it alone, Rahniseeta. Why do you think Truth went mad? Seeing what would have happened, what might happen, is too complicated. Leave it alone and concentrate on what you can do."

  "Which is?"

  "Get well. Give us something to celebrate. Give me back a girl I can hold without worrying that I'll break her. Give me… " Derian faltered, heard himself go on as if he were listening to a stranger, "Give me back the girl I fell in love with, Rahniseeta."

  "She's gone," Rahniseeta said, and Derian even wondered if she'd heard him. "That innocent who thought she wanted to make a difference—to be someone outside of her brother's shadow. She started dying at about the time she woke up aboard the Islander and realized that all she'd brought was trouble."

  "The girl you're talking about isn't the girl I fell in love with," Derian said. "I fell in love with the one who was already making a difference—the one who could find the things no one else could, who made strangers feel at home. Sure, later y
ou were willing to go against a member of u-Liall and that made me love you more, but I already loved and admired you."

  "Loved?"

  Rahniseeta stared at him as if she'd finally heard what he was saying.

  "Love. Do I have the wrong word?" Derian asked. "What I mean is I like you. I admire you. I enjoy spending time with you. I don't want to leave you behind. I want to take you home to meet my family. I'd like to marry you."

  He swallowed hard. Rahniseeta's expression flickered through a course of emotions revealing disbelief, wonder, even anger—but any of these was better than the dull indifference mingled with self-hatred she'd shown to this point.

  Derian put out his hand and took hers. They were very different, his heavy freckled horseman's paw engulfing her slim, brown, long-fingered hand. His fingers were slightly green from the bean pods. Her fingers were still dirty under the nails, but despite the differences, they fit together surprisingly well.

  "What do you think, Rahniseeta? Is there someone other than you I should ask for permission to marry you? We could get married twice, once here, once in Hawk Haven. It seems to be the way it's done when the bride and groom come from different countries—I have this on royal authority."

  "There's no one whose permission you would need to ask," Rahinseeta said. "I'm an adult. But, I… I don't want your pity, Derian Carter."

  "Rahniseeta, I'm not proposing out of pity! If you don't believe me, hop on a boat and visit Poshtuvanu. Ask him. Ask Zira. She's been teasing me about you practically since I moved to u-Bishinti. Horse! I think you're half the reason I went to u-Bishinti."

  "What?"

  "I was going crazy being so close to you, but separated by the fact that—no matter how prettily your bosses insisted we northerners were guests—I was a prisoner and you were my jailer. That made anything between us just plain impossible. In u-Bishinti I really felt like a guest—and an honored guest. That made it possible for me to start thinking about you—and did I ever… "