Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  “Yes, Mother. How do you know so much?”

  The One Female smiles, lips pulled back from teeth. “I have watched such small fires being made, Little Two-legs. Only when they are permitted to eat more than their fill do they grow dangerous.”

  The pale new flames reach out greedily for a twig, lapping her hand. She drops the twig and sucks on an injured finger.

  “It bit me, Mother!”

  “Tamara! Don't put your hand in the fire, sweetling! You'll get burnt!”

  The voice is not the rumble of the wolf, thoughts half-expressed by ears and posture rather than by sounds. These words are all sound, the voice high but strong. The speaker is a two-legs, towering far taller than any wolf.

  “I didn't touch it, Mama. I was only looking.”

  Orange and red, glowing warm and comforting where it is contained within the hearth, the flames taste the bottom of the fat, round-bellied black kettle hung over them. The air smells of burning wood and simmering soup.

  “Good girl. We welcome fire into our homes but never forget that it can be a dangerous guest

  Dangerous.

  Smoke so thick and choking that her eyes run with water. Coughs rack her ribs. A band wraps around her, squeezing what little air there is out of her. Vaguely she realizes that it is a broad, muscular arm. Her father's arm.

  He is crawling along the packed earth floor, keeping his head and hers low. Moving slowly, so slowly, coughing with every breath. The room in the cabin is hot and full of smoke. Something falls behind them with a crash that reverberates even through the dirt floor.

  “Donal!” Mama's voice, shrill now with panic. “Donal!”

  “Sar…” More a gasp than a word. Then stronger, “Sarena!”

  A shadow seen through burning eyes, crouching, grabbing her.

  “Donal! What…”

  She is being dragged again, more quickly now.

  “My legs, a beam… when I went for the child.”

  “I'll get her out, come back for you!”

  “No! Get clear.”

  “I'll come back.”

  Outside, clearer air, but still so full of smoke. She is weeping now, tears washing her eyes so that she can see. Mama has brought her outside of the wooden palisade that surrounds Bardenville. Looking back she can see that all the buildings are aflame. Where are the people?

  “Wait here, Tamara.” Mama coughs. “I'm going to get Papa.”

  She can't do anything but wait, her legs are so weak. Though the air outside is clearer, she can barely breathe, but she struggles to reassure her mother.

  “I'll wait, Mama.”

  Mama turns. Even smudged with soot, coughing and limping, she is graceful. Tamara watches through bleared eyes as Mama goes into the burning thing that was once a cabin.

  Where are the people? Where is Barden? Where is Carpenter who made her a doll? Where is Blysse who plays with her? Where is …

  Something large comes out of the forest behind her. A wolf. What Mama and Papa call a Royal Wolf, though Tamara doesn't know why. The wolf licks her in greeting, whines.

  Tamara points to the burning cabin. “Mama…”

  The wolf barks sharply. A second wolf, then two more, come out of the forest. Clearly they fear the fire, but they run into the burning settlement. One even runs into the cabin, comes out dragging something that is screaming in raw pain.

  Tamara's eyes flood. She hears shriller screaming and realizes it is her own voice out of control, belonging it seems to someone other than herself She can't stop screaming and all around there are sparks, flames, smoke, and a terrible smell.

  She screams and…

  Firekeeper awoke, the scream still in her throat, the pups stirring nervously around her. Beyond them, a large white shape rose. The One Female nudged Firekeeper fully awake, lapping her face with her tongue.

  “Awake, Little Two-legs. The dawn is becoming day. Your journey is before you.”

  II

  GETTING THROUGH THE IRON MOUNTAIN GAP the next day proved only nearly impossible. There was III nothing like a traveled path—certainly a blow to Earl Kestrel's conjectures about renegade peddlers—but there was a fairly well used game trail.

  “Elk,” Race proclaimed. “Moose. Certainly creatures larger than deer. They may summer across the pass and then come east in the winter.”

  “Delighting our huntsmen to no end,” said Sir Jared Surcliffe. “Why do you say they come east in the winter?”

  “Just a guess,” the guide admitted. “Ocean and mountains both moderate the weather. My thought was that our winters may be milder because we are walled in by mountains on the west.”

  Derian, recalling some pretty nasty winter storms, bit back a sarcastic comment. He had his hands full with two of the pack mules, stubborn beasts who refused to follow unless dragged. His booted feet ached, and he cursed the boulders and loose rocks that made following the straightest route a fool's dream.

  “Must have been tough going for Prince Barden's group,” Jared continued. Still mounted, he was leading Derian's Roanne. “They didn't have just a few horses and mules. From what the steward reported to King Tedric, they pretty much stripped the manor of its livestock.”

  “It was the prince's property,” Earl Kestrel reminded them with gentle firmness. “West Keep was one of the estates his father had given to him.”

  Derian grinned despite his weariness. It was to the earl's advantage to make certain that all of them remained sympathetic toward a man who was—realistically seen—at the very least a rebel and perhaps even a traitor.

  Not for the first time he wondered just how much King Tedric would welcome back his third child. For some moon-spans now rumors had been flying around the capital that the king was considering putting off Queen Elexa, who was well past childbearing years, and taking a new bride in an attempt to get another heir.

  Of course, that would likely anger the queen's Wellward relatives, for she had been, by all accounts, a blameless wife.

  They paused an hour or so later so that Race and Ox could clear a path through some growth that moose or elk would likely view as a pleasant snack. Derian trudged down to the nearest brook and hauled water back to the horses and mules.

  “A little, not too much,” he cautioned Valet, who silently came to help him.

  Valet was a small, agile man who, from what Derian had observed, must be made entirely out of iron wire. Equally talented at handling a tea service or a hawk, versed in both etiquette and his temperamental master's moods, he had held up well through the long, muddy springtide journey.

  This had come as a surprise to Derian, who had expected, upon first meeting Valet, that the little man would collapse as soon as the going got rough. Who would expect hardiness from a fellow who made his final duty of every evening putting hot coals into a travelling iron and pressing his master's shirts and trousers?

  But Valet had proven Derian wrong. When Derian had shared his surprise with Ox, the bodyguard had told him that Valet accompanied Earl Kestrel everywhere, even into battle. Certainly, Derian would never have learned this from Valet himself. The man rarely spoke three words unless directly addressed.

  Even now, though he must have known not to overwater a hot horse, Valet said nothing in reproof (as Derian himself might have), but merely nodded.

  As dusk was fading into full dark, the expedition emerged from the pass and onto something like level ground. The light was almost, but not quite, too poor to make camp, a thing for which Derian's aching body was eternally grateful. A cold meal, then sleeping wrapped in a bedroll on lumpy ground, would have been more than he could have borne. Every part of him cried out for hot food, hot water in which to soak his feet, and the relative comfort of a proper tent.

  Of course, these things must wait until after the horses and mules were tended, after he had fetched water for all the camp, after he had unpacked the bedrolls, the horse feed, and the party's personal kits.

  He couldn't even feel sorry for himself while he
worked, for no one else was resting, not even the earl. The nobleman, between mouthfuls of sauteed pigeon with wild mushrooms and lightly braised greens, was estimating how long they could remain away from civilization without replenishing their supplies.

  Although Derian had no desire to seem less willing than any of the rest, he was grateful beyond words when, after a meal of journey cake and hard cheese followed by a withered apple for dessert, Jared Surcliffe ordered Derian to remove his boots.

  “As you wish, Doc,” Derian agreed, “but who will do the cleaning up?”

  “Race can handle it,” Jared replied bluntly. “I've watched you limping from midday on. He's more accustomed to tromping about over rough ground.”

  Race, complimented, accepted the menial chore without protest. “I wanted to set some fish traps in any case,” he said, gathering up the pots and cups.

  The lonely howl of a wolf, answered by a fainter, second cry, silenced for a moment the singing of the night peepers and shriller chirps of the insects. The humans froze in visceral, instinctive fear.

  “Take Ox with you,” the earl commanded.

  Race nodded and the two men departed.

  “Think they'll be all right, Doc?” Derian asked nervously as Jared helped him off with his boots.

  “I'm more worried about your feet than I am about wolves,” the other man replied. “Race and Ox are big men. The wolves should find much easier hunting this time of year.”

  “The horses don't like all that howling much,” Derian said, talking to keep his mind off the sting of hot water on his feet. “But that just makes sense. Wolves probably see the horses as an easy dinner.”

  “That's something to remember,” Doc agreed. “Whoever's on watch should keep a close eye on horses and mules alike.”

  A few minutes later, he lifted Derian's feet from the water, inspected them, then smeared some ointment on the blisters.

  “We'll probably stay in this camp until we locate Prince Barden,” Doc said. “I'm going to suggest to Earl Kestrel that you take camp watch so you can wear soft shoes and let these blisters heal.”

  “Thanks,” Derian said, not bothering to mask his relief.

  “My pleasure.” Doc grinned. “I had the privilege of staying on horseback most of the day rather than picking along the ground dragging a string of mules. You and Ox took most of the punishment there.”

  “Ox seems fine,” Derian commented enviously.

  “He's an old campaigner and knows how to pamper his feet,” Doc replied. “You should consult him before we continue.”

  “I will.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a long moment.

  “Doc, do you think we'll find the prince? Honestly?”

  Jared shook his head, but his words belied the gesture. “We'll find something—the earl insists.”

  Later, almost too tired to sleep, dismissed from guard duty for this night, Derian lay in the tent he shared with Ox and listened to the night sounds above the other man's breathing. Deep in his heart, he began to suspect that they would find no one. Nothing in the surrounding wilderness spoke with a human voice.

  A howl sounded and was answered by a chorus which continued even as Derian slipped into exhausted rest.

  FIREKEEPER SWALLOWED A hurried meal of lightly grilled brook trout while listening to the Ones’ parting advice.

  “We have sent the pack ahead to hunt for you,” the One Female said, her silver fur glinting in the morning light. “This way you will not be delayed along the trail.”

  “But, Mother,” the young woman protested, “you and the pups will go hungry!”

  “The One Male will hunt for us,” the One Female reassured her, “and we have kept the Whiner near to mind the pups so I can hunt as well. If you are worried about us, remember, the faster you make your trail, the faster the others can return.”

  Firekeeper nodded.

  “Blind Seer waits where the two-legs are,” the One Male added. “He learned of their coming from a Cousin wolf who came in panic before them. Blind Seer crossed through the gap to watch the two-legs’ coming and send word ahead. He will remain with you. The falcon should be with him, though by now she may have departed to report to the Mothers of her aerie.”

  “Good.”

  The young woman dropped to her knees to rub her face in each puppy's fuzzy coat. They looked more like little bears now than wolves: muzzles short, ears small and round. Their blue eyes were still cloudy.

  “I'll miss you all,” she said, embracing the Ones and punching the Whiner, who had emerged from behind a rock, lightly on one shoulder.

  “Sing your news,” the One Male reminded her, “and it will reach our ears.”

  Firekeeper promised to do so. Then, after extinguishing her fire, she departed. As morning passed into bright day-light, daylight into afternoon, noon into evening, she ran east, her gait the steady mile-eating jog of a wolf. When she grew tired, she slowed, walking a hundred paces, jogging a hundred. When even this became onerous, she climbed into the boughs of some spreading forest giant, an oak or maple by choice, and napped.

  As promised, her brothers and sisters met her along the way, telling her how winter had reshaped the trails, feeding her if she was hungry, showing her the closest fresh water.

  By night, she had met up with Blind Seer. This young, powerful male, some three years old, had been named for his eyes, which never changed from puppy blue to the more usual yellow-brown. For a time, the wolves had thought his vision damaged and had philosophically accepted that he would be among those pups who did not survive their first year.

  Blind Seer had surprised them all by demonstrating evidence of sight as sharp as any wolf's. His baby fur had grown out into a classic grey coat shading to ghostly silver at the tips and touched with reddish brown around his face. Content to remain with the pack his first two summers, this spring he was showing restlessness.

  Firekeeper knew that the Ones fully expected Blind Seer to disperse this spring, seeking territory and perhaps a mate of his own. The knowledge had saddened her, since Blind Seer had been one of her favorites since he was a pup. Perhaps the fact that he, like her, was marked by a difference had drawn her to him. Perhaps it was that he had never lost a puppyish curiosity about what lay over the next hill.

  Now she must face that, different as he seemed, Blind Seer belonged to the way of the wolf in a fashion that she never could. He would follow it and she would go on, as ever, somewhat apart from those she loved best.

  The thought sobered her mind even as her long day's journey had made her limbs weary. She was glad that Blind Seer had enough to say for them both.

  “The two-legs crossed through the gap today,” he reported, leading her to a sheltered place where she might kindle a fire and soften the rabbit he had caught for her over the flames. “What a trial they had of it!”

  “Tell,” she prompted. “Can we look at them tonight?”

  “Better if not,” he said. “They have gathered themselves into a circle and they have beasts with them who grow nervous when I close. They have a creature with them, a bitch, but of a breed I've never dreamed existed!”

  “Oh?”

  “Smaller even than the Cousins,” Blind Seer said, chewing on the rabbit fur and viscera she had tossed to him. “Her fur is lighter than even the One Female's: white as a rabbit's winter coat, but spotted fawn-like with fox-red. She is a weird parody of wolf or fox, but there's no doubt that she knows when I prowl about.”

  “I'd like to see this creature.”

  “Not tonight. If you wish to study the two-legs, it is best that we do not spook them while they are weary.”

  “Weary from crossing the gap,” Firekeeper asked, “or do they sleep as birds do, simply because the sun has set?”

  “Weary from the crossing,” Blind Seer replied. “Even before dawn, they started taking down their dens, making their food. They sear their meat as you do, overfire,but take much more time about it.”

  Firekeepe
r cut off a haunch of still pink rabbit meat and began eating, leaving the rest over the fire.

  “Tell on,” she prompted.

  “The two-legs have courage, I'll grant them that,” Blind Seer said, “and even some wisdom, but no great forest lore. The most skilled of them went ahead and marked a trail. The rest followed, bringing with them the beasts.”

  “This spotted fox?”

  “Not that,” Blind Seer replied impatiently. “She went with the scout and shivered when the wind brought her my scent. Other beasts. Large ones built like elk in some ways, but with manes and tails of long, soft hair—rather like yours is when you have not cropped it short.”

  Firekeeper, who found the constantly changing length of her hair a nuisance, nodded.

  “Why do they herd these elk? It seems a great deai of trouble to go to for fresh meat.”

  “They don't eat them—at least from what I've seen. They sit on them or put their belongings on their backs. These two-legs carry more with them than a raven or jay hides in its nest.”

  Firekeeper, remembering how she needed the Fang, the stones, the hides, just to stay alive, sighed.

  “I will enjoy looking on these things of the two-legs,” she said. “Tell more.”

  “There is not much more to tell. They sleep now, but one of their pack remains awake to guard the rest. If trouble is suspected—as I tested last night—they make a great clamor and all wake.”

  “Let them sleep,” Firekeeper said. “We will look on them come morning.”

  She finished her meal and waded into a shockingly cold stream to wash clean. Then Blind Seer mouthed her arm affectionately.

  “You will need to rest, sweet Firekeeper, but come with me first. Let us sing home the news of your safe arrival. I have found a rise from which the sound carries far.”

  Firekeeper went with him, refreshed, fed, and excited. They raised their voices in chorus, heard their howls augmented by the Cousins who marked this region for their own, and, after a time, heard a faint reply to the west.

  Even when the message had been passed on, they continued singing, enjoying the sound of their voices intertwined in friendship and in love.