Wolf Hunting

by Jane Lindskold

  XXV

  TRUTH LICKED BLOOD from between her claws and watched with a certain appreciation as the two stranger wolves tore into the rats they had cornered and killed within one of the cellars of the stronghold. They must be hungry indeed to eat such poor game with such enthusiasm.

  Her bearing said as much. The slightly larger of the two wolves, one who had introduced himself as "Onion," looked up from his feeding, licking messy gobbets of flesh and fur from his muzzle.

  "They fed us very little there," Onion said, "only enough to keep breath in body - and sometimes not enough to do that. Never was what we were given full of life's heat and strength."

  Blind Seer, who had participated in the hunt but had not joined in the meal that followed, thumped behind one ear with a hind leg. He'd been shedding rather badly of late, probably because his body thought it should be putting on its winter coat, but the warmer southern temperatures were creating conflicting signals.

  "So they captured you but did not kill you," Blind Seer said. "That is very odd."

  "But fortunate for us," said the smaller of the wolves. He was called Half-Ear, and indeed part of his right ear - if not precisely half - was missing.

  "But fortunate," Blind Seer agreed. "I do not mean to sound rude. These same people have stolen away one of our pack, a strange creature called Plik. We have acted on the belief that they would not have stolen him merely to kill him; learning you were also kept alive gives us hope."

  "I don't recall anyone who called himself Plik," Half-Ear said, licking a bit of viscera from the ground. "You called him a 'strange creature,' so he was not also a wolf?"

  "He was more like a raccoon," Blind Seer said, "but with a bit of the human about him. As I said, an odd creature."

  "Very," Onion said. "I certainly never saw him."

  "Nor I," Half-Ear agreed. "Nor scented that strange mixture."

  "Are you sure?" Blind Seer asked. "He smells more like a raccoon than otherwise."

  "There were a few raccoons among those yarimaimalom who were taken, but not many," Onion said. "They do not have family feeling as wolves do. A few investigated the copse out of curiosity. When they did not return ... I suspect their fellows were among those who had the sense to flee when things got bad."

  Truth said, "We have heard something of this from an owl who still haunts the vicinity. However, she knows nothing of what happened to those who went into the copse."

  "It's simple enough," Half-Ear said. "Do you know how some of us made pets of the human pair that came here?"

  "We do," Blind Seer said.

  "Well, when the twins vanished and that strange copse appeared, some of us went looking for our humans. What met us were tangles of a strange briar..."

  "We have seen these," Truth said.

  "And the bracken beasts," Onion asked. "Have you seen these, too?"

  "We have."

  "Then you know how we were captured. These did the battling. Humans did the binding. They took us through that silver wall - the gate - and we found ourselves in a place... How would you describe it, Half-Ear?"

  Half-Ear considered. "It is not easy to describe. For one, mostly we are kept in one area, a series of pens no bigger than that over mere."

  He indicated a closet with a toss of his nose.

  "One beast to a section. Exercise once daily in a sort of long loop. No contact between us but by howls and other cries - and what we could say by scents left for the next one to come to the exercise area."

  "Those who kept us liked our sounds little enough," Onion added, "that they would withhold food and water if we were not quiet. Scents actually worked better. They did not think of scent, but there is little enough one can say in pee."

  Blind Seer said carefully, "You two are lean, yes, but not starved."

  "They feed us enough to keep spirit in body," Onion said. "Nor do I think they feed us always the same amount. Some days ago, my portion was increased."

  "Mine, too," Half-Ear said. "They do that when they think they will have use for you."

  "Use?" Truth asked.

  Half-Ear shook as if he could physically separate the thought from his mind. "Do you know what they are?"

  Truth said calmly, "We believe they are descendants of the Old World sorcerers."

  "Cats are truly mad, great cats madder than most," Onion said, but the words were so evidently a proverb that Truth took no offense. "Your belief is correct. The ones that call themselves the Once Dead are able to do magic still, and the magic that they find easiest uses blood ... preferably, someone else's blood."

  "Those bracken beasts," Half-Ear said, beginning to pant in fear, "they are kin to the blood briars, but they are far worse.... I don't know how it is done, but the sorcerers have discovered how to ..."

  He was panting hard now. Onion licked his friend's unmangled ear and took over the recitation.

  "It is worse for him. He has had it done. I have only heard."

  "Heard what?" Truth didn't even growl. The wolves' fear was too obvious, too real, for impatience. She thought it was a wonder they could discuss this at all.

  "They do something that takes your self and puts it within that frame of branches. You cannot hear or smell, but you can see after a fashion. Those who have had this done to them say the images are flat, like a reflection in a puddle broken by ripples, but good enough to navigate by."

  "And not only are you there in the thing they have made," Half-Ear said, crouching as if he could protect himself from horrible memories by protecting his belly, "something else, one of them, is in the thing with you. It has the will. It feels like thorns in your eyes. It makes you be the thing, the bracken beast, but it chooses what the bracken beast will do."

  Blind Seer froze as if he had spotted a herd of elk when the hunting was winter lean.

  "And this is what they were going to do with you here, isn't it? They were going to use you to feed the next set of bracken beasts they left to guard the copse."

  "After they had hunted you down and killed you," Onion agreed. "They learned soon enough - quite probably from the twins, but possibly from their own legends of the New World - that the yarimaimalom have more sense than do Cousins. They liked that very much, and they took to using those of us who could be made to act out of fear for our fellows. Wolves are easy to manipulate that way, but over time even bears and great cats - creatures who are not pack creatures - fell into their power. You see, there in the holding area, we became a tight community in our suffering. That closeness was used against us."

  "Then that is why you fought us when you came through the gate?" Blind Seer asked. "Have they threatened your pack mates?"

  "They have," Half-Ear said. "We have little pride left, but I can say with confidence that not one of us would let another be tortured to spare himself. To do otherwise is to be finally left alone, and still subject to torment."

  "What happens," Truth said, trying to keep ears or tail from betraying how important this was, "to one who is eyes and skill for a bracken beast when that beast is broken?"

  Onion swished his tail in a wolfish wag. "We know you and yours have broken many bracken beasts. Fear not that we will hold this against you. Indeed, we honor you for it"

  "But what happens?" Truth asked. "Have we been killing yarimaimalom unknowing?"

  "A few," Half-Ear said. "A puma, two wolves, a bear. Most however, were merely freed from the webwork and their sense returned to their bodies. Believe me, as one who has been in that trap, those who perished died grateful for their freedom."

  "Did you fight us?" Blind Seer asked.

  "No," Half-Ear said. "My torment was some time ago, back when the Once Dead were hunting the yarimaimalom from these forests. They feared the yarimaimalom, you see, feared we would carry rumors away."

  Onion added, "A foolish fear. Those on the outside knew too little to tell, but then fear motivates much of what these sorcerers do."

  "Fear of what?" Truth asked.

  "We are not certain," Ha
lf-Ear said, "but all agree that the Once Dead and Twice Dead are not universally loved even in the Old Country. I am sorry we cannot tell you more, but it is difficult to learn much when locked within a pen."

  Blind Seer perked his ears and listened. "I think I should go and tell Firekeeper what I have learned here. She may wish to pass it on to the other humans."

  After the Royal Wolf had loped away, Onion said, "That Firekeeper, what is she? She speaks as a wolf, but smells human."

  "She was raised by wolves," Truth said, "and is stranger even than Plik, for all she looks human. Take care to treat her as you would a wolf. She is very touchy on the subject."

  "Once," Onion said, "this would have seemed odd. Now, though, compared to the Once Dead and their servants, this Firekeeper seems comfortably normal."

  Truth flattened her ears. "That," she said, "may be the most frightening thing you have said so far."

  THEY WANT TO SEE YOU," Isende said, her voice tight.

  Plik turned his gaze from the window to the young woman's face, moving his head as little as possible. The worst of the querinalo might have passed, but he by no means felt well. Even moving his eyes made his head ache. When he focused on where Isende stood at his bedside, the strain he had heard in her voice was evident on her features.

  "Who?" he asked, hearing his voice come forth rough and deeper than usual. "Who wants to see me?"

  "The leaders of the Once Dead," Tiniel replied, crossing the room to stand at his sister's side. "They sent word through Zebel."

  Tiniel's tone shifted to something mincing and cold. "We did not bring the creature here in order for it to become a peculiar pet for the twins. It has answered one question already. Now we wish it to answer others."

  "I don't suppose," Plik said, "we could send word I don't feel up to interrogation? I don't, honestly."

  "The doctor already tried," Isende said, reaching and gently squeezing his hand. "They said they have no time to wait"

  Despite pain and fear, Plik felt a wash of hope, hope immediately followed by dread. The urgency might be because the others had done something that had alarmed the Once Dead. Plik had vague memories - memories he was not entirely sure were not hallucinations - of someone who had identified himself as the Meddler telling him the others were determined to find him.

  That was the hope. The dread was that he could not forget that in coming after him the others would be exposed to querinalo. He had survived, as had the twins, but in the old days Divine Retribution had killed many.

  Isende continued to stroke Plik's hand. "Don't be too afraid," she said. "We're coming with you. Some of the Once Dead speak a form of Liglimosh, but most do not. We have been asked to serve as interpreters."

  Plik wasn't certain exactly what good having Isende and Tiniel with him would do, since they were little more than prisoners themselves. He supposed it was a good that someone who understood something of the New World would be translating. It would save the need for lengthy explanations.

  "How long?" he asked.

  "How long until they wish to see you?" Tiniel said. "As soon as you can be made presentable. The doctor sent an infusion that will help with the pain."

  He produced a bottle from one pocket and mixed it with the mint tea remaining in Plik's mug.

  "It tastes vile," Tiniel said frankly. "I suggest you get it down in as few swallows as possible."

  "But it does help," Isende said. "While we let the medicine take effect, we'll clean you up."

  They did this. Isende brushed quantities of loose fur from Plik's coat. Tiniel took care of cleaning more intimate places. Plik found their respect for his gender amusing, but a promising sign that they thought him a person rather than otherwise.

  A knocking at the door announced when the councillors felt they had been kept waiting long enough.

  Plik's aches had receded fairly quickly following his drinking the doctor's brew, but he hadn't felt any particular desire to hurry to this interview. Nor did he think there was much advantage to giving away how much his thinking had cleared. Drugs that would work well on a human might not work well on a maimalodalu.

  Therefore, Plik rose slowly to his feet and walked stiffly, leaning on the arm Isende offered him. But when Tiniel asked if they should summon a wagon or litter, Plik declined, wanting to show how cooperative he was.

  "I'm fine. Really fine."

  Walking, he thought, would also give him a chance to see something of his surroundings. He didn't know how useful that information would be, but if that conversation with the Meddler had not been just a hallucination maybe he could pass something on to the others.

  The thought gave him courage, and he looked about with as much alertness and curiosity as he could without relinquishing his pretense of illness.

  He'd been right about his own prison. "Cottage" might dignify the structure a bit too much, but it was a small, detached structure built for residence rather than for storage - a step up in some indefinable fashion from a "hut" but not really a house. A similar structure a short distance away answered the question of where the twins resided. Both buildings were enclosed within a hedge heavily intertwined with blood briar, the whole surrounded by a scrubby forest.

  There was a guard posted at the enclosure's gate: a heavyset man, brown after the manner of the Liglim, but with a different style of features - wider lips and nose, very thick, coarse black hair. He wore a leather jacket that wasn't quite armor, but there was no mistaking the bow he strung as they emerged for anything but a weapon.

  Isende spoke to the guard politely in the language of the Liglim, her manner that of the mistress of the household releasing a trusted servant from duty.

  "We're going to be with the council, Wort. I don't know how long until we come back."

  Wort answered in a fashion that didn't quite make a lie of Isende's pretense that he was something other than a jailer. His accent was that of the city-states, making clear from whom he'd learned Liglimosh.

  "I'll walk with you to the council house, then stop by the kitchens for something. Can I order anything for you?"

  "Well, they certainly won't be feasting us," Isende said, "so a meal of some sort would be welcome for when we return."

  "I'll take care of that," Wort promised, "and I may drop in to see how things are going when I'm done."

  Wort didn't look at Plik with anything like curiosity. This told Plik that the man had been in and out of the cottage, probably frequently. Plik wondered how many of the inhabitants of this place knew him, at least by sight, and what deductions they had drawn from his appearance.

  The enclosure in which the twins and Plik had been residing proved to be on the lower edges of the inhabited area. As they climbed an upward-sloping path out of a protected hollow, the wind came strong enough that Plik's nose - congested from querinalo - finally caught the smell of the sea.

  When they mounted the rise, the trees became shrubs, and Plik got his first good look around. His immediate reaction was a pang of homesickness. They were on an island, part of a grouping of other islands, and though the twisted evergreens and low-growing shrubs were nothing like the lush forests of Misheemnekuru, still, there was something here that cried out to his soul.

  However, even on Center Island where the maimalo-dalum dwelt, there was nothing like the structures that dominated this island. The maimalodalum had preserved the five towers that had once been dedicated to the Elements worshipped by the Liglim and used by their sorcerers in their magical arts. But these had been New World buildings, constructed in an unsettled frontier, meant for service before beauty or ornament. When this place - wherever this place might be - had been built, something beyond mere serviceability had been intended.

  "What are those round buildings?" Plik asked, indicating an area farther inland, on the highest ground the island offered.

  "That's where the gates are," Tiniel said, attempting casualness, but his awe coming through nonetheless. "They're not round, not really. More like wedges of pie wi
th the doors coming out into a central atrium. There are gardens between the wedges, places where people could wait for their guests or for a transit"

  Plik realized that the rounded roofs were what created the illusion that each series of wedges made one round. They also offered some protection to the walkways and gardens between the wedges.

  Those wedge shapes would assure that any going in or out of each gate area could be inspected, Plik thought. They trusted, but not completely.

  The gate area showed evidence of having been abandoned for a long time, but also of recent attempts at cleaning and repair. Great effort had been made to clear an area surrounding these buildings, to expose their walls.

  In the past, the outer walls of each of the wedges had been heavily ornamented, apparently with mosaics or bas-relief sculptures that would withstand the vicissitudes of ocean weather. Today's weather was fairly pleasant, but island-born Plik could tell from the twisted trunks of trees and the way anything alive and growing tended to lean in one direction that there were times when the winds must blow hard, steady, and strong.

  Although the decorative medium on the wedge buildings was forced by necessity into a few forms, the styles varied widely. Colors and themes clashed, creating in their very clashing an odd but definite agreement

  Among the scenes, Plik recognized one as a depiction of the step pyramids favored by the Liglim for their temples. The pyramid was extended slightly from the wall, tiny figures of both animals and humans ascending the steps. Beside this scene, however, was a mosaic showing a grassland so open and vast Plik had trouble believing any such place really existed. Surely there could not be a place completely without trees!

  Each region, each sponsoring body, Plik thought, felt a need to cry out its own importance, to stress its own unique qualities. Here, where cultures and peoples came together because of the gates, there seems to have been no blending. Instead, they felt more than ever the need to emphasize what made each culture worth preserving. Interesting ... I wonder how these independent peoples reacted when querinalo swept through their numbers. Not well, I think, not well. Nor do I think their descendants would be too different. I wonder if the clearing-away was done to show off the art, or to make sure it would be hard for anyone to sneak into - or out of - the gates.