Wolf Hunting (15 page)

“Thank you, Lady Blysse,” he said, accepting the tall, pressed glass tumbler.

“I thought we’d sit over here,” Derian said, indicating a pair of chairs set by a window that looked over the city.

Harjeedian looked momentarily surprised. After all, there were three of them. Then he saw Firekeeper resume her seat on the floor, and obviously remembered her habits.

“This must be important to bring you from Misheemnekuru, Lady Blysse,” Harjeedian said. “I hope no one is ill.”

“No one more than is,” Firekeeper replied. “I mean, illness no other thing there or to those there is why I come.”

Her Liglimosh is worse than her Pellish,
Derian thought with accustomed despair.
I bet she hasn’t used it for a year, except when she needed to order some disdu to take her to the mainland. Why would she?

“Perhaps,” Derian interjected aloud, “we should speak Pellish. Harjeedian’s has only gotten better since last you saw him.”

“And my Liglimosh worse,” Firekeeper said, switching languages with alacrity.

One good thing about wolves,
Derian thought.
They accept justifiable criticism very well
.

Harjeedian forbore from commenting on Firekeeper’s language skills, but returned to the main point.

“I am pleased that neither the yarimaimalom nor the maimalodalum need our assistance,” he said. “May I ask what brings you here?”

Firekeeper nodded. “Not need to ask. I tell. Pellish maybe better. If any listen outside, they no understand too well.”

“Especially if they try to understand your sentences,” Derian said. “Do you want to tell Harjeedian, or would you like me to tell him what you told us last night, and correct me along the way?”

“I tell,” Firekeeper said, glancing at Blind Seer. Derian wondered if the wolf had told her she needed practice. “You help. Please.”

The telling was long and somewhat laborious. Harjeedian had some acquaintance with Firekeeper, but he didn’t have Elise, Doc, and Derian’s long familiarity with her tendency to view most words as nonessential. Even so, with Derian’s help, by the time Firekeeper rocked back against Blind Seer as a sign that she had finished, Harjeedian had a clear understanding of events to this point.

“Astonishing,” he said, picking up the broken pieces of the Dantarahma figurine and studying them. “This is quite plainly Dantarahma. I can see why you are certain two of the other carvings are of people you know.”

“And Truth,” Firekeeper said, indicating the jaguar figurine.

“And Truth,” Harjeedian agreed. “So you are hoping I can help you identify these other two. I will tell you directly. They are not anyone I know. As you said, their attire is not precisely that of Liglim. They could be from one of the city-states to the south. Attire there is rather eclectic, a blending of styles and cultures—even as their people are.”

“Can you find out,” Firekeeper asked. “Can you find out what this eclectic is? I want to find these and …”

She shrugged as if to say that she’d figure out what to do with them when she found them. Firekeeper had never been much for advance planning.

“I can try,” Harjeedian said. “We do trade regularly with the southern city-states. However, when I said ‘eclectic’ I did not mean this was a specific style. I meant the opposite. The southern city-states are not really a nation—as Liglim or Bright Haven are nations.”

Derian had his doubts about Bright Haven, but he appreciated the diplomacy and courtesy in Harjeedian’s statement.

“The southern city-states,” Harjeedian continued, seeing from Firekeeper’s expression that she was interested in knowing more, “were founded by peoples who either didn’t have a nation to which they belonged—or didn’t want to belong to their resident nation.”

“I have met some like this,” Firekeeper said. “They think they do better without Ones.”

Harjeedian nodded. “Precisely. The lands to the south are not ideal for human habitation by any means. Some areas are very swampy and breed disease. Others are rocky, without much fertile soil. There are some nice pockets, I understand. Had Divine Retribution not driven the Old Country rulers from these shores, I think the southern lands eventually would have been settled, but why struggle with disease and bad soil when there was so much land elsewhere?”

“I bet there were renegades living in those areas years before the Plague,” Derian said. “People who drifted away, shipwrecked sailors, runaway slaves. There wasn’t civil war here in Liglim as there was in our homeland, but surely the social order took a while to settle down—and some folks decided to settle elsewhere.”

“Precisely,” Harjeedian said. “As these city-states are our closest neighbors, we of Liglim have always had some contact with them. Some of our merchants have kept travel journals, and have earned merit by donating copies to the disdum. Others have written short histories of one city-state or another. I may find something in those records, but if I need to do the work alone, it is not going to be quick. How important is secrecy in this matter?”

Derian stared at him. “What do you think? We may have evidence that someone—someone who apparently can communicate through whatever strange time ocean it is where the diviners go—has been manipulating at least two people who turned out to be dangerously interested in magic.”

“And,” Firekeeper said, “this someone … we have no idea where he is. Do we tell this to everyone?”

Harjeedian shook his head. “No. But I should at least report to u-Liall.”

“One of u-Liall was this Voice’s tool,” Derian reminded him. “Dantarahma was Divine Water’s representative among the Five who rule Liglim.”

“That is not something I am likely to forget,” Harjeedian snapped. He pressed his eyes shut, perhaps praying for insight or patience—or both. He opened his eyes and looked directly at Firekeeper. “You trusted me with this.”

“We needed to,” Firekeeper said bluntly. Then in a more conciliatory tone she went on, “And you are very wise and very full of knowledge.”

“Flattery,” Harjeedian said, almost smiling, “will not make me able to read faster. I must have help.”

Derian turned to Firekeeper. “What about Poshtuvanu of the Temple of the Horse? We know he wasn’t in Dantarahma’s camp, and if he’s been seduced since I’ll eat my best saddle.”

“Poshtuvanu?” Harjeedian said. “Possible. The Temple of the Horse has an excellent library in u-Bishinti. Many merchants have given them records.”

“And Cishanol,” Derian went on, “Iaridisdu Meiyal’s secretary. He’s also of the Temple of the Horse, and we know we can trust him. He’s stationed here in u-Seeheera, right up in Heeranenahalm. He could work with Harjeedian.”

“Maybe,” Firekeeper said. “Maybe. Can’t we just give pictures of figures, show clothes, say ‘find’ and not say why?”

Harjeedian nodded. “We can. We may, but usually secrecy raises more questions, not fewer. For example, I’ll need to have some explanation why you wanted to see me. No one will believe you asked for me out of friendship.”

Firekeeper puffed a sigh. “Humans make so complicated! But that is not that you is wrong. You is right. Guide me, and I will follow.”

They spent the next hour or so coming up with a plausible excuse for the research. Firekeeper’s coming to the mainland was explained by her desire to see Elise and Doc. Her desire to see Harjeedian was harder to explain, but finally they decided on a version of the truth. She had wanted an explanation of things she had seen among the ruins, and had thought of him.

“And I will make quite clear that she was an arrogant chit,” Harjeedian said, “thinking she could order about one of my high station.”

“Thank you for coming,” Firekeeper said. “I do think is kind.”

Harjeedian blinked, then made a complicated gesture of acknowledgment. “And I appreciate your trust.”

“You know of the maimalodalum and never speak,” Firekeeper said. “You have showed trust.”

On that surprisingly cordial note, Harjeedian departed.

TRUTH WAS FINDING ADAPTING TO LIFE without her second sight very difficult. Ever since she was a kitten she had used her ability to weigh and judge probable courses of action to guide her in making even minor decisions. Now, as she tried not to do so lest she slide again into that stream and be washed away into madness, she discovered a degree of hesitancy she had not known was part of her nature.

To make matters worse, if she did cheat the least little bit, the Voice had a tendency to start talking to her.

“It’s not going to work, you know,” he said one afternoon.

“What?” Truth replied before she thought about how dangerous this could be.

“They’re not going to …”

Truth stopped listening. She collapsed, panting and trembling. Fur came off in a cloud when she shook herself. She sat and groomed limb by limb with centered concentration, focusing on every spot, every curve. She’d done a lot of this in the days since their return to the mainland, and her coat looked wonderful. She was even losing some of her former gauntness.

“What isn’t going to work?” she asked herself, but she didn’t know the answer, and she admitted that she was afraid to ask the one who apparently did.

FIREKEEPER WAS WELL AWARE that pestering Derian and Harjeedian was not going to get her answers any sooner, so she did her best to be helpful. Since the most helpful thing she could do was defuse any sense that her return to the mainland was an omen of some impending crisis, she tried a hand at deception and diplomacy—neither her strongest trait.

Visiting with Elise and Doc was easy to do, even delightful. Elise insisted that Firekeeper speak Liglimosh with her, which Firekeeper found frustrating, but admitted was probably necessary. As Doc didn’t share Elise’s gift for languages, conversation often lapsed into Pellish, and Firekeeper found herself increasing in her facility in both languages.

They went shopping to replace what Elise insisted on calling “deficiencies” in Firekeeper’s wardrobe. Elise’s intentions had been to buy a few changes of clothing over what Firekeeper had worn in from the outpost, and maybe a pair of soft shoes—though Elise knew it would be an uphill battle to get Firekeeper to wear them.

Firekeeper, thinking how poorly the local cottons had held up to her use of them, and aware that she was likely to be away from “civilization,” had different ideas. She had Elise help her commission some hardier trousers in light but sturdy leather. These were fashioned more along northern styles, cut to below the knee and fastened with buttons. She even let Elise talk her into a pair of lace-up boots. The local tailors were pleased to have the challenge, and vied for the custom work.

The day after Harjeedian’s visit, Firekeeper received an “invitation” to call on u-Liall, the governing body of Liglim. She knew perfectly well that she could not refuse, and so accepted with good grace. She did, however, refuse Derian’s halfhearted offer to accompany her. She knew he had no desire to see Rahniseeta, Harjeedian’s sister, and the new junjaldisdu. Firekeeper smelled no anger from him, but it did not take much for her to imagine how he felt. A year was not long enough to recover from a soundly broken heart.

“I will be very polite,” Firekeeper promised, “very formal. I will answer every question, and ask for explanations as if I were the smallest of small puppies before the One.”

She did, too, and the interview went, she thought rather smugly, very well.

Even so, there were countless times each day that Firekeeper wanted to rush in to Derian’s office and ask “Have you heard anything?” She restrained herself to three times a day: when the morning mail came, after lunch, and before Derian retired to sleep.

On the fourth day following their initial meeting with Harjeedian, Firekeeper went into Derian’s office on the heels of the morning mail. She stood waiting as Derian sorted things into piles, and was finally rewarded.

“Harjeedian has sent a note. He says he will call mid-morning, unless we send word that we are not available to receive him.”

Firekeeper permitted herself a small bounce of pleasure.

“He also says that what he has to report is far from conclusive,” Derian said. “That means, don’t hope for too much.”

Firekeeper nodded acceptance, and tried to remain calm, but her heart was singing at the idea that they might have a scent from which they might find a trail.

Harjeedian arrived promptly. To his own evident surprise—and Firekeeper’s—Truth walked in with him.

“Did you invite her?” Derian asked Firekeeper.

“No,” Firekeeper said.

“I divined this meeting was to happen,”
Truth said,
“and that I should be present.”

Firekeeper repeated this. Harjeedian accepted it as a matter of course, Derian a little less easily. Blind Seer, however, was the one to sniff at the jaguar.

“That is not the whole truth, is it?”
he said.
“I am no diviner, but my nose is good. You are upset.”

Truth’s ears flattened against her skull and she snarled,
“Perhaps I am upset because I already know the outcome of all this labor.”

Blind Seer sniffed again.
“That, I think, has the whiff of truth. Be at peace, great one. I would be the last to doubt your prescience, only the wholeness of what you say.
”

Truth’s tail lashed back and forth at this, but as she settled onto the rug Derian offered her, Firekeeper thought Blind Seer had probably been right and that Truth had more reason to be there than merely wishing to hear Harjeedian’s report.

“May we know what that was about?” Harjeedian asked.

“Truth say,” Firekeeper replied, “that she divined this meeting was to happen. This is why she is here. Blind Seer question her and she get upset.”

“Not quite a lie, Little Two-legs,
” Blind Seer said fondly.
“They will think you mean a question about her divining—when rather I questioned the fullness of the reply.”

Firekeeper shrugged.
“Truth has never been less than honest with what she has chosen to tell us. Why malign her before one who honors her even if we believe she holds back a little? You have warned her, and she has all but promised explanation.”