Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  “Thankyou, ma'am,” Tamara echoes, taking the berries Blysse thrusts at her with pink-stained fingers.

  The strawberries are still sweet in her mouth. She sits on the ground outside Blysse's cabin, playing dolls with her friend. Distantly, she hears Barden come inside from the fields.

  The prince's boots thump solidly against the new plank floor. A scraping sound is the slate being pushed to one side. A clunk is his heavy pottery tumbler being set on the table.

  “It's a beautiful day, Eirene,” he says. “Too beautiful to sit indoors and tutor little girls.”

  “They need to learn how to read, Barden,” Sweet Eirene replies. Her voice twangs a little under its gentle melody. They argue about this frequently.

  “Let them play,” the prince urges. “There's no need to force them along. We have few enough books and they're only four years old.”

  “Blysse will be five in a few moon-spans. At her age, I could cross-stitch my alphabet. She can barely recite the letters!”

  “She can lead a horse, feed a chicken, and tell a weed from a seedling.” Barden's tone is affectionate. “Her education must needs be differentfromthat of a lady of Kestrel.”

  “Maybe.” Sweet Eirene's voice is no longer so sweet. She sounds determined. “Barden, I swear that these children will not grow up like wild animals!”

  Wild animals, animals, animals…

  The words echo through Tamara's head and she is kneeling on the ground next to her mother. Mama holds a furry grey ball in her lap. It stares fuzzily at Tamara from cloudy blue eyes.

  “Careful, Tamara,” Mama says when Tamara reaches to touch the puppy. “This is a wild animal, not one of your toys.”

  Tamara pats the wolf puppy very, very carefully. “Wild, Mama? It doesn't seem wild. What is wild?”

  “Wild is not obeying humans,” Mama says after a moment. “Wild is that.”

  “Wild,” Tamara tries the word out. “Wild. Wild wolf. Will the wild wolf bite me?”

  “If you poke it or hurt it or tease it,” Mama says, “and well it should. But its mother might bite you even faster.”

  Tamara senses rather than hears the she-wolf emerging from the brush. Her grey head is taller than Tamara's dark one. Her yellow-brown eyes study the girl; then herfanged mouth opens in a panting smile.

  “Wild,” Tamara says, putting out her hand to pat the wolf “Wild.”

  She throws back her head and pipes a thin howl.

  Wild.

  * * *

  FIREKEEPER AWAKENED SLOWLY from her dream, feeling it clinging to corners of her mind dense as fog and just as impossible to grasp. The garment Fox Hair had given her was draped across her thighs, puppy-fur soft.

  Suddenly she was homesick. Confiised and forlorn, she didn't know who she was homesick for. Her pack? Mama? Blysse?

  The loud clang of the iron pot being slung over the camp-fire brought her fully awake. Gratefully Firekeeper pushed homesickness away with anticipation and curiosity.

  From outside her shelter, she heard Fox Hair calling in a low voice, “Blysse? Blysse?”

  This word was followed by other sounds that almost, coming as they did on the heels of her dream, made sense. So Firekeeper yapped a greeting and pushed her way outside. Fox Hair smiled greeting in return. Then, to her astonishment, his face turned as red as the setting sun.

  DERIAN’S PLEASURE AT LEARNING the wild woman had not fled in the night vanished in a wash of embarrassment when he realized that she had emerged from the tent completely naked. The wool shirt, incomprehensibly covered with bits of bracken, trailed from her left hand. She grasped her sheathed knife in the right.

  Moreover, she was staring at him in astonishment, as if he, not she, were displaying himself naked before a company of the opposite sex. Dropping the shirt, she reached out and touched his cheek. Only when he felt the coolness of her fingers did he realize that he must be blushing furiously.

  Frozen in shock, he regained control of his limbs only when he heard Doc comment dryly:

  “Well, from what I see, I'd concur with the estimate of her age as somewhere between twelve and fifteen. She's thin as a rail, poor child. No wonder she doesn't have much up top.”

  Derian bent and picked up the discarded shirt, not caring this once if his sudden movement frightened Blysse. His fingers were touching the cloth when he felt it snatched from beneath them.

  The woman was glowering at him, holding the shirt close to her. When he straightened, she fixed him with her dark gaze. Then, clearly and distinctly, she growled.

  Behind him Derian heard murmurs of astonishment as the other men registered her speed and agility. Then Ox said calmly:

  “Well, Derian, she may not want to wear it now, but I'd say that she plans on keeping that shirt.”

  Coming to himself, Earl Kestrel snapped, “Stop staring at Lady Blysse, all of you! Get on with your chores! Derian Carter, try to convince her to redon her garb. Then I want to speak with you.”

  Derian convinced Blysse to dress, helped by the fact that she obviously had intended to do so in any case. With some effort he convinced her to remain with Ox.

  Seeing her safe, Derian reluctantly crossed toward the earl's tent. He glanced behind him to check on Blysse and saw her standing behind Ox's bulk, peering out to watch the others as they prepared breakfast and fed the horses.

  When Derian reached the area marked out as Earl Kestrel's own, Valet glanced up from the quail eggs he was scrambling for the earl's breakfast to give Derian an encouraging nod. Even so, Derian didn't feel any braver as he announced himself and obeyed the earl's invitation to enter.

  Earl Kestrel's tent was larger than the one Derian shared with Ox. It had straight sides and a peaked roof, rather like a small house, whereas the other members of the expedition slept in simple triangular shelters. When Derian entered, he found Earl Kestrel seated on a campstool, making notes in a leather-bound book resting on a collapsible table.

  “Be seated while I finish this,” Kestrel ordered curtly.

  Derian balanced on a second campstool, his hands folded stiffly on his knees. After an eon or so, the earl blotted his ink, sanded the page, and turned to Derian.

  “We have a serious problem,” he said bluntly, “with the Lady Blysse. We may have located her, but ten years of living like a wild animal have made her unfit for civilized company. At first I intended to head back to Eagle's Nest as soon as we could regroup. Now I see this would be unwise. I want Blysse to be presented to the king as a human being—one who has suffered trials, surely, but as a human being. If we go back now, even with the weeks we must spend on the road, she will still be little more than a freak.”

  Derian had expected to be reprimanded for staring at the naked woman, for not keeping the woman covered, for some-thing he'd done wrong. These confidences startled him so that all he could do was nod.

  “Last night I consulted with both my valet and with my cousin,” the earl continued. “They advise that you would be the best choice for the girl's tutor.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Thus far, she trusts you more than she does any of us. You are closer to her age. Moreover, you are educated, unlike Race and Ox. Jared and I should return to our homes, at least briefly. Therefore, we cannot teach her.”

  “Valet?” Derian offered tentatively.

  “She does not seem to respect Valet,” Earl Kestrel said. “He is very good at what he does, but he himself has noted that he lacks the force of personality to impress her.”

  “Oh.”

  “I am offering you an important job, a great opportunity to serve both my house and the throne.”

  Derian bit his lip, reviewing his options. Could he really civilize this wild woman? What would be the penalty for failure? He was certain that he was still considering when he heard his own voice saying:

  “Yes. I would like to try teaching her, sir.”

  “Good!” The earl briskly rubbed his hands together. “I always knew you had potential as an aide
. As you may be aware, after Prince Barden departed, his father sold his property.”

  “Departed.” Was disinherited, you mean, Derian thought, some of his usual sardonic humor returning to him now that the worst shock had passed.

  “I purchased West Keep—the place from which Prince Barden departed into the wilds,” Earl Kestrel continued. “It should make a fit place for Barden's daughter, my niece, to begin her education. I will speak to Race Forester about his remaining in my employ and staying there to support you. The rest of us will depart, but I will expect regular reports from you.”

  “How delivered, sir?” Derian asked, his head swimming.

  “I will send a courier. He will take your first report and leave a covey of homing pigeons with you. Hopefully, that will suffice.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Earl Kestrel kept talking, but Derian heard little of what he said. He knew he would regret his inattention later, but for now only one refrain kept going through his head.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  FIREKEEPER SPENT AN EXCITING but nerve-tightening day among the two-legs. Three or four times she ate their food, finding it overcooked and full of the taste of strange plants. It was warming, though, with a warmth that stayed like sunlight in her belly.

  When Fox Hair observed her pulling the leaves out of her soft shirt, he brought her another set of garments. This time there were two parts: one to be worn on her lower body and another for the top.

  As easily as a mockingbird mimics sounds, Fox Hair communicated with Firekeeper by acting out what he wanted her to know. In this way he showed her that the one part went over the soft shirt, the other over her lower parts.

  Thinking the stuff these garments was made from smelled familiar, Firekeeper chewed the material and found that it was indeed leather, but leather that had been made soft and supple, as if the animal were still wearing its hide.

  Initially, she wore the clothing in the fashion that Fox Hair had suggested, but she found the combination of two tops along with the bottoms stifling. As much as she liked the soft top, she found the leather one stronger and less likely to accumulate leaf matter. The bottoms protected her legs and rear far better than her hide had ever done, though she missed the feeling of the wind against her skin.

  Firekeeper compromised by wearing the leather top and bottoms, setting the soft top aside for another time. When the little brown man made as if to touch the soft top, she growled.

  She might not be using it that moment, but she wasn't going to give it up!

  During the brightest part of the day, Firekeeper slept for a while, leaving her rested and clearheaded when night fell and the two-legs went into their shelters to sleep. Shedding her new attire, since she was not quite comfortable in it, she slipped out to meet Blind Seer.

  They romped for a time, celebrating their reunion with such enthusiasm that she was slightly bruised and soundly scratched. When they had stretched out on some young grass, Firekeeper with her head pillowed on her brother's flank, the wolf sighed.

  “What troubles you, Blue Eyes?”

  “Elation said that the two-legs plan to depart tomorrow. Tawny has pulled his fish traps from the water and taken down his snares. There are other signs the falcon sees. Although they mean nothing to me, I believe her.”

  Firekeeper's heart started beating far too fast.

  ‘Tomorrow?”

  “Probably as soon as there is light.” The wolf thumped his tail on the ground. “Do you go with them?”

  It was far to soon to make such a decision, but in her belly Firekeeper knew that the decision was already made.

  “I will.”

  “Across the mountains?”

  “Let us see how they treat me in the days it takes to reach the mountains,” she temporized.

  “But if they treat you well?”

  She sighed. “Then I go.”

  Sitting up, she rubbed the wolf behind his ears.

  “I could miss you, Sister,” Blind Seer said at last, “but Mother and Father reminded us that all wolves feel the urge to disperse from the pack. Why should our two-legged sister be different?”

  “Could miss me?” she said, teasing to lighten this serious moment.

  “Could, if I were parting from you,” he replied, “but I think I will go with you to see what lies over the mountain. It is long since any but the winged members of the Royal kind went there. Now that the two-legs have come here, why shouldn't I go there?”

  Firekeeper howled her delight, thumping Blind Seer so hard that he leapt up and trotted out of range.

  “Easy, Sister! Easy!” he protested. “You're not a tiny pup anymore. There's strength in those funny hands of yours.”

  “Will you come meet the two-legs, then?” she asked eagerly.

  “Not yet,” he replied cautiously. “Their beasts fear me as we fear fire. Let them grow a bit accustomed to my scent. We should learn, too, if the two-legs also fear wolves. The Cousins who have crossed the mountains don't speak well of them.”

  “True.” She smiled, though, too happy at the knowledge that he would be nearby to worry yet about how the two-legs would take to him. “Have you told the Ones what you will do?”

  “How could I?” he replied. “I didn't know until you made your own choice.”

  “Then let us sing our news to the pack,” she said. “The Ones will want to know that we are both departing.”

  Trotting side by side, they went to a rise from which their voices would carry far. Two voices began a song that became a chorus as it was relayed through trees whose branches reached as if to brush the stars.

  “EASY, NOW! Easy, Roanne!” Derian jerked the mare's headstall, but still she danced nervously away from Blysse.

  The woman, clad in leather vest and riding breeches, stood barefoot, watching the horse's antics in evident amusement.

  “Problem, Derian?” Earl Kestrel asked from where he stood a polite distance away.

  “Yes, sir. I'd thought to have Lady Blysse ride my horse while I rode one of the pack animals. We can spare one since we've used so much of the fodder they were carrying. Roanne won't go near Blysse, though.”

  Exasperated, he punctuated his reply by loosing the mare into the corral, where she promptly trotted to the far side of the enclosure, shuddering her skin as if it were crawling with flies.

  “None of the other horses will either,” Derian continued. “They're scared stiff of Blysse.”

  The earl thoughtfully stroked his beard with one forefinger.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Well, then, until we get a horse accustomed to her, she will have to walk.”

  He looked as if he was considering declaring that everyone else must walk as well, but self-interest came to the fore.

  “Perhaps your horse will grow easier around Blysse if you are in the saddle and she walks alongside.”

  “Perhaps,” Derian agreed doubtfully.

  “In any case, how does Blysse seem to take to the idea of riding?”

  “Well enough.” Derian gestured to where he had flung a saddle across a fallen tree trunk. “I showed her the basics there and she took to them so fast that I think Doc's right. She must have been watching us before she got her courage up to come out and meet us.”

  “Either that,” the earl said thoughtfully, “or she remembers something of her childhood.”

  A look came into his grey eyes then, a look Derian was beginning to recognize as his facile mind weaving an explanation from the minimal information they had. Earl Kestrel frowned slightly, as if the matter would take more consideration than he could give it now, then addressed Derian.

  “Camp is nearly broken. I would take it as a signal courtesy if you would inspect the packing. Ox and Race have done their best, but you are the expert.”

  Derian hid a grin. Earl Kestrel was taking Derian's promotion quite seriously, a thing that amused Ox and infuriated Race.

  “I would be glad to, sir. However, I'm going to ask Blysse to wa
it here while I do so.”

  “Wise,” Earl Kestrel concurred.

  Derian had found it almost too easy to work out some basic hand signals with the young woman. She quickly grasped a nod for “yes” and a shake of the head for “no.” A hand held up, palm outward, combined with a head shake meant “stay.” A beckoning gesture combined with a nod meant “come.” Derian thought that soon the latter two gestures would simplify to a simple hand signal, but for now he wanted to build on what they had.

  Now he signaled for her to stay, saying, “I need to go check the horses, Blysse, and you're sure to scare them.”

  He thought that his pointing toward the horses, rather than his words, transmitted his message, but she grinned agreement. By his way of thinking, there was a touch of wickedness to that grin, as if she understood perfectly well why he wanted her to remain and was amused.

  As Derian checked and balanced packs, tightened or loosened girths, he periodically glanced over at his. charge. She was sitting on a large rock near the edge of the camp, absorbedly watching the last stages of the breakdown.

  When they left, Blysse walked alongside the pack train, staying to one side of Derian, just far enough away that his well-schooled chestnut mare was almost willing to forget her presence.

  The young woman's gait was easy and tireless, the sound of her passage inaudible. Race Forester watched her with interest and poorly disguised envy, for she made his claims to woodcraft seem cheap. Knowing how dangerous envy could be, Derian was relieved when Earl Kestrel cleared his throat, and Race shifted his attention to his patron.

  “After observing Blysse,” Norwood began, “I have come to some conclusions…”

  Conjectures, Derian corrected silently.

  “… about the manner of her survival following the fire that destroyed the community. I would like to share them with you as you have shared my rediscovery of my lost kins-woman with me.”

  And so we won't, Derian thought, mess up your big presentation to King Tedric by offering our own theories.

  After his followers voiced their willingness to listen, Earl Kestrel continued: