The Clockwork Wolf (27 page)

“I've started a war?” I sat down with a thump. “How? I've never done anything to offend the natives.” That I knew of, anyway.

“I don't think it's you.” He frowned. “Dredmore is summoning me, the cheeky bastard.”

I could imagine the deathmage riding out to lay waste to the village. “Go, but don't tell him where I am, not yet. And don't stay long with him. You have to finish bespelling the unborn.”

“I've hardly a moment to myself anymore.” He started to turn transparent, and then said, “They bury you in the desert only if you break one of their laws. So don't do anything unlawful.”

Shortly after Harry disappeared I heard the native
woman and a man talking in low, hostile voices. I got up and moved to the back of the hut, picking up one of the gourds, which was harder and heavier than I'd expected. When the feathered curtain moved I hid it behind my back.

The native man was younger, and dressed in the working clothes of a stable hand. “You are the one brought from the city?” he asked in flat-toned but flawless English.

“I am, unless your people stopped along the way to take some other unsuspecting citizens hostage.” I didn't bother to hide my contempt. “You obviously work in Rumsen. Are you acquainted with the punishment for kidnapping a Torian woman? I believe it includes public flogging, loss of your pact lands, and spending the rest of your life in prison.”

“I did not take you,” he said.

“Yet here you are, aware of my circumstances but doing nothing to release me.” I made a tsking sound. “That makes you an accessory to the crime, which carries much the same punishment, including the flogging.”

He stiffened. “I am not afraid of your people.”

But he wasn't happy about my abduction, either, I could see that. “What's going to happen to me?”

“It has not been decided.” He approached me, halted, and gestured at me. “Please put down the gourd. I will not hurt you.”

I carefully set down the gourd and then straightened. “Can you at least tell me your name, and why I was brought here?”

“Your people call me Trainer.” He looked uncomfortable now. “I think you are to be traded.”

I tried to fathom that. “I am not merchandise to be taken by or offered to anyone.”

“Those of us who work in the city know your laws,” he assured me. “We are against the trade.”

So Trainer was an ally. “Well, then, perhaps you could speak for me to the others who are in favor of it.”

“The others who are against the trade,” he continued, “want you killed so no revenge will be taken against the tribes.”

I shouldn't have put down the gourd. “You know, now that I think about it, I wouldn't mind being traded at all.”

“I do not wish you dead or used as barter, miss.” He glanced at the feathered curtain and lowered his voice. “You were brought here because a sacred object of great power was stolen from our holy man.”

“The War Heart.” I nodded as Trainer gave me a shocked look. “Blue Fox spoke of it to me when I met him in the city.” I touched my sling. “He tried to help me.”

“He has been in the city watching over you for weeks.” He sounded grim. “He did not say that he had approached you.”

So I'd been right about that, too. “Does he understand that I didn't steal the War Heart?”

“Blue Fox knows you did not take it.” He seemed to silently debate whether to say more, and then told me, “He calls you the daughter of his spirit, and claims you have great magic in you. But what he has said, it frightens our people. No woman of the tribe has even been shaman, and you . . .”

“I'm not of the tribe.” I heard more voices outside,
and sensed things were coming to a head. “If you really want to help me, Trainer, tell them that I am willing to be traded, and that I will say nothing about this to the authorities. Say I give my word, out of respect for what Blue Fox did for me.”

He looked skeptical, but finally gave me a curt nod and ducked back outside.

The next to enter was the shaman, two men with many gull feathers in their hair, and the stable hand. Remembering Harry's warning, I dropped into a deep curtsey and remained there.

One of the chiefs spoke, and Trainer said, “You may rise, miss.”

I remembered not to look directly at the shaman or the chiefs. Since the stable hand was acting as translator, I kept my gaze on him.

Blue Fox began to speak, and as he did the younger man repeated his words in English. “The tree-man has been using the War Heart to make beasts of men. We cannot allow this to go on. He has said if we bring you to him, he will return it to the tribe.”

“I understand,” I told him, “and I am willing to be traded.”

Blue Fox held up one gnarled hand to silence the stable hand, and in broken English said, “Tree-man think you fix spell, make beasts not die. I know you break all spell. You break
his
.”

I nodded. “You are very smart, and I will. But I must know how he is using your magic, and why it doesn't work.”

As soon as Trainer translated what I'd said both
chiefs made furious protests, but Blue Fox only looked at one and then the other to silence them. He then said something that sent them both stalking out of the hut.

“Our holy man will tell you what you wish,” Trainer said. “But first you must agree to become his daughter.”

“He wants to adopt me?” I glanced quickly at Blue Fox's impassive features. “Why?”

“As daughter of Blue Fox you become one of the people, and you must follow our laws.” The stable hand looked weary now. “You cannot speak of the magic he teaches you. If you do that, or break any of our laws, you will be hunted by our warriors. You will be brought before the tribe and tortured for many days, and buried alive in the desert.”

I swallowed. “Then your shaman had better teach me all of the laws, too.”

•   •   •

We left the small hut and moved to the largest in the village. During the next hour there I was adopted by the shaman, and learned more than I ever wanted to know about hunting magic and native law. Because Blue Fox knew only basic words in English, Trainer (who grudgingly revealed his tribal name, Night Snow) remained to translate for us. He watched with jaded eyes as Blue Fox first presented me with a leather thong from which hung an abalone pendant.

“Once he has performed the naming ritual you will be known as Little Fox, daughter of Blue Fox,” Night Snow said as the shaman hung carved and polished shell round my neck. “This is your tribe name. It is to be spoken only among the people.”

I admired the abalone, which had been etched with the image of my namesake. “I'm called Kit in English. It also means little fox.”

The shaman spoke again as he touched my cheeks with his hands in a fond manner.

“Hearing your English name is how Blue Fox knew you were the daughter of his spirit.” Night Snow gestured for me to sit down beside a large, rounded piece of slate in the center of the shaman's hut. Shells had been arranged in strange circling designs atop the slate, which first appeared speckled. A closer look revealed the slate had been meticulously inlaid with hundreds of pearls.

“Blue Fox will now instruct you,” Night Snow said. “You are the only invader ever to know the secrets of our magic.”

I could see he was still feeling a bit put out by that. “I'm honored.”

Through Night Snow, my new father described how the magic of the tribe had been practiced since the earliest times, when the first Alone crossed a bridge of ice to come to Toriana.

I wasn't especially enthralled by his tale of how the tribes learned to borrow the life force and talents of the animals through sacrifice and blood ritual, but it soon became obvious that such measures were not frequently taken. Minor spells and charms were most often worked from the bones the tribe saved from the game hunted to provide food. Rats, skunks, and other unpleasant vermin were reserved for sacrificial rites, as only their blood had value.

“When the tribes fought the redcoats who came to our land, the shamans were called to council,” Night
Snow said. “Our warriors could not fight against muskets and sabers, and died along with their villages. It was decided to create the War Heart, to aid them in battle. One shaman went into the hills and there fought a white wolf of great strength and cunning. The shaman cast a spell to take from the wolf its spirit and contain it until he could send it to walk the land again within our warriors. This made our men change, and hair covered their bodies like pelts. Their teeth grew long and sharp, and from their fingers came claws.”

“They became Wolfmen.” I leaned forward. “That's the same spell Lykaon is using on the men in the city.”

Blue Fox spoke sharply. “Not same.” He reeled off more in his own language.

“Our warriors walked with the white wolf spirit only on nights of the round moon,” Night Snow said. “By dawn the spirit always returned to the War Heart.”

“They wouldn't have had much time to battle, then.” I felt confused. “What
is
the War Heart, exactly?”

The men exchanged a look. “The spirit of the white wolf resides in its skull,” Night Snow said.

“I think I've seen it.” I recalled the strange bone fetish I'd spotted at the White Lupine. “If Lykaon is changing his men in the same way your warriors were, then why is it killing them?”

As Blue Fox answered he made a fist with one hand, and then extended the other as if he wanted to shake mine.

“Tree-man sends the spirit into his warriors, but he does not release them,” Night Snow explained. “White wolf's spirit will not be trapped so. He will hunt for a time, but then he grows weary. He kills the warriors so
that he may be free to return to the War Heart and sleep.”

“But why doesn't he release the spirit?” I covered my mouth. “Oh, my God. He doesn't know he has to. He's the one who's killing them.”

Now I suspected exactly why Blue Fox had chosen me to trade for the War Heart. There was more to discuss, but I would have to be alone with the shaman.

“Night Snow,” I asked, “may I have a moment in private with Blue Fox?”

The younger man scowled. “You would speak without me?”

“Make daughter,” the shaman said suddenly, and gestured for Night Snow to leave us.

Something like envy shone from the younger man's eyes as he turned away. “He will perform the naming ritual now.”

I waited until he stomped out of the hut before I regarded Blue Fox. “I cannot allow you to adopt me, sir. I would make a very bad native woman. Also, I had a father, and I cherish his memory. He was also a very clever man, like you. I'm sure you understand.”

“I see him.” He touched one corner of my eye. “You see with his spirit here.”

That hadn't offended him, so I pushed on. “You know that the thief—the tree-man—will never give you back the real War Heart. Not even for me. All you will get is the skull of another wolf.”

“Tree-man think Blue Fox fool. Blue Fox let him.” He reached across the slate to take my hands in his. “I send you, Little Fox.”

“I want to be sure of what you wish me to do.” I told
him what I suspected, and when he confirmed it, I was compelled to ask if what I described was really what he wanted.

“Yes.” He clenched his fist. “Make him fool.”

“I will, sir.” That much I could promise. “But what will your people say?”

He tapped his chest. “I know.” He nudged my shoulder. “You know.” He glanced over his shoulder at the hut's curtain. “They not shaman. They never know.”

“All right.” I touched my abalone pendant, and for the first time noticed it seemed to be glittering. I held it up and saw what was causing the sparkle. To the shaman I said, “Do you know what this is?”

Blue Fox grinned. “Big magic.”

•   •   •

The shaman escorted me personally through the village back to the horse cart. While the tribe followed us, and seemed even more curious about than before, Blue Fox's presence kept them at a respectful distance. Shocked murmurs erupted from them as he placed his hand on my head and chanted at length before handing me up into the cart.

“Daughter.” He inclined his head before turning about, scattering the nearest gawkers before he strode like a king back to his hut.

Night Snow climbed in with me and closed the doors before he produced a bundle of cord. “I have to tie your hands, miss. The thief will expect it.”

I carefully removed my sling and extended both wrists. “When we meet him should I fuss and resist, or can I simply go quietly?”

His dark brows arched. “Do you
know
how to be quiet?”

“Ha-ha.” As the cart began to move I sat down and propped my bound hands on my knee. “I'm sorry if it upset you to be sent from the hut. You've been very kind.”

“I am not offended. Naming is sacred.” He settled down beside me. “Blue Fox is glad to be your father. He has waited a long time for you.”

That seemed an odd thing to say. “Surely he has other children?”

“Shamans do not take wives. When they grow old they choose a man from the village to be their son. When they die, the son becomes shaman.” He rested his head against the cart's wall and closed his eyes. “It is a great honor to be chosen.”

I would never fathom native customs. “Perhaps he'll choose you.”

He glared at me. “You are his child now. You are his choice.”

I couldn't let the poor chap go on thinking his chances were ruined; being named Blue Fox's son must have meant everything to him. “Tell me, Night Snow, does it break tribal law to tell a lie?”

“We do not lie,” he snapped. “That is what
your
people do.”

“Very well. What if you say you're adopting an English gel as your daughter simply to keep the unruly members of the tribe from killing her so that she can help you recover a sacred relic?” I smiled at his astonishment. “Law broken then?”