Wolf Hunting (28 page)

“What could have happened?” Firekeeper asked.

“I saw you thinking about putting an arrow or so to the squirrels,” Blind Seer said. “Perhaps one of the ravens has been shot. Humans are jealous of any who would share their crops this time of year—and the twins would be more protective of their own than is usual given that they cannot have any great stores set by.”

“As was the case with the settlers at Bardenville,” Firekeeper said. “Still, I cannot believe either Bitter or Lovable would have been so careless. They were with us when the Tower of Magic fell, and I know they are aware of the danger offered by arrows.”

“Still, these yarimaimalom are accustomed to being privileged,” Blind Seer said. “I have heard the ravens brag that farmers will let an entire flock forage rather than risk harming one of them. Might they have grown careless?”

“I suppose,” Firekeeper said. “Let us tread carefully. Where there may be arrows for birds, there may also be snares and pits.”

Blind Seer did not comment that he was always careful, Firekeeper noted. Rascal would have done so. Not too long ago, she would have done so.

Maybe Derian is right,
she thought.
Maybe I have changed. Well, if I have done so, I think it is for the better—a little less puppy brash, a little more awareness that if a trap is laid then to be of any use it must also be well hidden.

She thought of times past when others had paid the penalty for her actions.
Never again, and especially never when Blind Seer is the one who sheds blood for my foolishness.

They padded on then, sometimes side by side, sometimes in single file, sometimes splitting up, never outside of howling distance.

They found nothing, but time and time again, Blind Seer would raise his head and sniff the winds.

“Something isn’t right here.”

“SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT HERE,”
Eshinarvash said to Plik and Truth.

Plik noticed that Derian glanced over, as if he was aware the Wise Horse had spoken, though there had been little enough for a human to detect.

“Is it anything about which I need to warn the humans?
” Plik asked.

“Nothing specific
,” Eshinarvash replied. This time he raised his head, nostrils flared, seeking a scent that was apparently too faint for him to isolate. He shook his mane, shrugging his skin as if he felt flies.

There were no flies. The day was pleasant. The breeze was strong enough to keep the insects away without becoming an annoyance in itself. Earlier that day they had forded a stream at a point Firekeeper had marked.

“The stream is on the map,” Harjeedian had said, as if this mention on a map drawn a hundred years or more ago made the waterway more real. “Some time tomorrow, if we progress with good speed, we will come upon another stream. Then, if I read the maps correctly, we will be within the outer territory associated with the Setting Sun estates. From what I can tell, it was wild land even then, but had Divine Retribution not swept the Old Country rulers away, we might today find a prosperous little town there.”

They had yet to reach that second stream, and Plik sniffed, hoping for the scent of water and finding instead a faint trace of the “scent” that he had come to associate with magic. Could this be what was causing Eshinarvash’s uneasiness?

Plik reminded himself that the Wise Horse was comparatively young. Eshinarvash probably had little training communicating his sensory impressions to other than the members of his herd.

“Tell me what has you unsettled
,” Plik said. Then he had another thought.
“Wait. Truth, have you sensed anything peculiar? Unsettling?
”

Truth replied with a candor Plik suspected she would not have used if the Royal Wolves had been present.

“I have been unsettled since I came to myself outside the silver block. Even the winds in the trees seem unsettling. I am learning to see without what had been more essential to me than my eyes—and I fear that this has blinded those eyes that remain to me.”

The jaguar looked as apologetic as a jaguar could—which was not very much.
“I will see what I can sense, but first, Eshinarvash, tell us what you know.”

Eshinarvash nudged one of the spare riding horses that had decided it simply must sample some of the thick grass that had sprung up where the road had once been. His ears flicked back in reprimand, and the horse immediately decided it wasn’t hungry after all.

“I have been looking for yarimaimalom,
” Eshinarvash said at last.
“I did not expect to find horses, not here but surely there would be some Wise Beasts.
”

Plik scratched where the brim of his hat irritated his scalp. He supposed he could do without the hat here. There were not likely to be many humans—if any at all—but he did like how the brim shaded his eyes.

“Are there yarimaimalom everywhere?
” Plik asked.
“I had thought the majority dwelt on Misheemnekuru.
”

“We have journeyed much farther south,
” Eshinarvash reminded him.
“Even if many from this area emigrated, more than a century has passed since the time of Divine
Retribution. Plenty of time for the
area’s
population to replenish.”

He nipped at one of the mules and went on,
“What troubles me is that initially I did see the occasional yarimaimalom. The presence of the stranger wolves and jaguar sent most prudently afield, but there were those whose curiosity brought them near, even if not to converse. There was a bear …”

“I scented the bear,
” Truth said.
“And a family of otters skimmed away when I went fishing last night. I am sure that a hawk who paced us a while yesterday when the old road was more open to the sky was not Cousin-kin. You’re right, Eshinarvash. These woods have been full of life, but today I have seen no sign of yarimaimalom.”

Plik scratched again and decided that the hat had to go for now. It was shady enough under the trees.

“Harjeedian.” he said in Liglimosh, “how far away does your map say that second ford is?”

Harjeedian reached for the casing tubes and unrolled the appropriate map. Like Plik, he had become much easier in the saddle, and the cumbersome task gave him no trouble.

“Based upon the number of cairns we have passed,” Harjeedian said, “we are closer to the second stream now than we are to the first ford. We may even reach the stream banks this evening, although I think we would be wise to wait to cross when we have good daylight.”

“I agree,” Derian said. “This string is just about the best behaved I’ve ever dealt with, but where the footing is bad even the best behaved horse or mule can twist a leg. I’d rather have good light, and leisure to lead the animals across one by one since the stream bottom is likely to provide chancy footing.”

Plik nodded. “That seems wise to me. Thank you.”

Derian fidgeted, then said, “Forgive me if I intrude, but I have had the sense you three have been discussing something for a while now. Is it anything we should know about? If it’s some private matter, I apologize in advance for being nosy, but I’m getting worried. We haven’t seen either of the ravens yet, and I would have thought at least one of them would have come back by now.”

Plik frowned. He hadn’t considered that the ravens were overdue, but then he hadn’t really grasped the distances involved just from looking at the map. Since he had joined the expedition, they had crossed the equivalent of Misheemnekuru from island tip to island tip again and again. True, passage over these distances had been helped by good roads and strong riding animals. Even so, for one accustomed to traveling afoot on rather short legs, the journey had been enough to destroy his perspective regarding distance.

The raccoon-man glanced over at Eshinarvash and Truth. Seeing that neither seemed adverse to their speculations being shared with the two humans, Plik gave a quick summary—leaving out Truth’s confession that she might not be being as much use as she might. He sensed the jaguar was grateful, but resolved that if her restraint seemed likely to put them all in danger, he would show no such consideration for her pride.

“No yarimaimalom,” Harjeedian said when Plik concluded, “and only since this last day’s passage. The open space of road Truth mentioned came earlier today. Ask Eshinarvash if he began to sense this wrongness before or after the sun was at its height?”

“After,”
Eshinarvash. replied.
“My kind are always alert to those who begin to come abroad when the sun westers. I think I was half listening for a local wolf pack or some great cat or even a fox who might tell us what to expect from the local Cousin-kind predators.
”

“Very strange,” Derian agreed. “Tell me. Can any of you tell whether this region is the typical range of the yarimaimalom? I’d like to know if they have fled for some reason—perhaps our own approach—or whether they have been absent for some time.”

“Some time,
” Eshinarvash said, and Truth gave taillashing agreement

“As much as a year,
” Truth said.
“My kind marks its territory with claw marks to trees as well as scent I have seen no recent marks, but thought nothing of it until Eshinarvash mised the matter
.”

Plik thought that if she had been human, the jaguar would have shrugged.

“After all
,” Truth went on,
“my kind are solitary, and I am here, so I did not think to look for another.”

Plik translated, adding his own question: “So do we continue on, or do we try and find some of the locals and ask a few questions?”

“Continue,” Derian said firmly. “Firekeeper and Blind Seer won’t know if we stop. Certainly, the ravens will return soon, and we will be able to relay messages. Until then, I don’t see why we should delay.”

“Certainly,
”
he says
, Plik thought.
Why does that sound so much like “hopefully” to my ears?

BLIND SEER REMAINED SO RESTLESS that the wolves cut short their midday rest and set off again, pacing themselves along the remnants of the road. They were seeing more signs now of the humans who had once inhabited this area: remnants of buildings fallen into ruin, tangled meadows that had once been cultivated fields, places where the road they now followed had been crossed by others. At each of these road junctures, a cairn stood.

“I suppose that years ago these rock heaps were marked in a fashion that meant something to those who lived here,” Firekeeper said, as Blind Seer sniffed around the base.

“I suppose,” the wolf agreed. “What I find strange is how few of the local beasts have marked these cairns. They would seem natural markers, being located as they are along what is still used as a trail. The Wise Beasts might even find humor in marking their territory where the humans have already done so.”

“But you find no such signs,” Firekeeper said, “and last night we heard no pack sing, though this would be good territory for a pack—especially if, as Harjeedian’s maps told, there is an open plain not far ahead. This is more than a little strange. Shall we go back?”

“We go on,” Blind Seer replied, setting action to word. “The others follow, and trust us to scout. We have little enough to report but conjecture and concern. Moreover, if something has happened to the ravens …”

“They trust we will follow,” Firekeeper said, finding her feet had increased their pace of their own volition. “Suddenly, it is all I can do not to run.”

BLIND SEER SCENTED THE OPEN AIR that heralded the promised plain shortly before a faint, hoarse cry led them to the ravens.

The wolves heard the call in the same breath, a harsh, rasping sound that came then faded, came again, faded and came again. It was as if the one making that sound had been calling for a long, long time, and would continue calling until breath and body parted company for all time.

“Over there,” Firekeeper said, turning in the direction of the sound. “That thicket.”

For a good time now they had noticed an increase in dense briars, both along the path and clustering between the trees. Such tangles were not uncommon in these southern woods, but the increase—and especially of this one type of plant—had been worthy of comment.

“Walk carefully, dear heart,” Blind Seer cautioned. “Those plants know too well how to bite.”

Firekeeper grunted agreement. The calloused bottoms of her feet were as tough as most shoe leather. She worried less about what she might step upon than what would grab hold of her exposed skin. Then she saw the ravens, and she forgot any worry for herself.

They perched high above the ground on the limb of an oak, the trunk of which was well-swaddled in the green briar. What was disturbing was that the limb in question was also well swaddled, the viney growth stretched out along it like some vegetable serpent. The ravens were caught within this serpent’s coils. One about body and chest, the other encased to the head.

“I smell blood,” Blind Seer said. “Fresh”

Firekeeper nodded, already assessing how she might climb that tree without leaving too much of her own blood behind. She didn’t like how the ravens had been snared. They were too clever to have landed in this mess. How might they have been lured?

Now, however, was not the time for conjecture. The raven’s call had been coming faint and fainter, still at those horribly regular intervals. Lovable, Firekeeper thought. She was the one caught only to her midsection. The other then, so horribly enshrouded, must be Bitter.

“Scout,” Firekeeper said to Blind Seer. “I will see if I can get them free. You will be no help in that matter, but you can keep anything from coming upon us without us knowing.”

“Take care,” Blind Seer said, “as will I. We do no good for any if we lose both ourselves and the ravens in trying to set them free.”

Firekeeper had located a broad section of tree branch, still thick with limp leaves. It looked to have been torn free from its parent plant during some summer thunderstorm. She lifted this and, balancing it against her shoulder, carried it to where she could use it to bridge the worst of the tangle at the oak tree’s base.