Wolf Hunting (75 page)

Firekeeper looked at Ynamynet.

“You did not help Lachen. You helped us. Why?”

“I had given you my surrender. I did not think you would accept it a second time. Better to stand and wait. Either way, I would have a victory of sorts.”

Firekeeper tilted her head to one side, considering. There was something very wolf-like in such a practical solution—and she remembered that Ynamynet had mentioned a daughter. The Once Dead had good reason to want to live, on any terms.

“What manner of creature was that thing?”
Blind Seer asked, and Firekeeper translated.

“Emotion given force through blood,” Ynamynet said. “As you saw, Lachen used it as a weapon, a means to fight you without your being able to touch him yourself. His fear was the link that permitted the mist to make contact with you. Once the jaguar killed him, the mist was no longer able to do so.”

Firekeeper mused that Ynamynet must have known the mist’s vulnerability but had not chosen to reveal it when it might have aided them. No harm, yes, but no help until it was clear which way the fight must go. Something to remember.

Turning to Skea, Firekeeper jerked her head at the man on the floor.

“Live or not?”

“He breathes,” Skea reported, “but he hit his head hard when the wolf jumped him. I’d like the doctor to see him.”

“See him and Verul both,” Firekeeper said, “but not until we settle a thing or two first.”

She looked at Blind Seer. “Hold these while I get word to our pack above. Then we will talk about gates and prisoners and what will come hereafter.”

FIREKEEPER DIDN’T WANT the wounded to receive treatment until all matters were settled, but despite how Derian felt about what querinalo had done to him—and the resentment he still harbored that no one had warned them what might happen if they came through the gate—Derian found himself among those working to convince the wolf-woman that this was not a good idea.

“What if someone dies?” Derian said. “We have the upper hand, but we can’t forget two things: First, there are more of them than there are of us. Second, with Lachen dead, Ynamynet is now the only person we know of who can open our gate home.”

“Three things,” Plik added. “We can’t forget three things. The third is that we have been very lucky so far, and in the many days we have been here no one has come through any of the active gates. Our luck won’t last forever.”

Firekeeper had at last been convinced. Watching her, Derian wondered how much of her willingness had been due to physical exhaustion. He knew that his turn as scout had worn him down. Firekeeper and Blind Seer had not just scouted, they’d had to fight.

So a meeting was scheduled for the following day at noon. It was to be held in the large hall the Once Dead had used for their own meetings. Harjeedian had suggested that the prisoners be permitted to nominate four representatives. Firekeeper had surprised everyone by saying that she felt every one of the prisoners had the right to speak.

“We decide if they live or die, stay or go. I say everyone come, everyone make a great howl, and when it is over, well …”

She had shrugged.

Derian stared at her. “But, Firekeeper, you hate debates.”

“I hate more this being as One over those I have not beaten myself. This is serious, Derian, too serious for me.”

In the end, a compromise had been reached between Firekeeper’s suggestion and Harjeedian’s. The prisoners would be asked to nominate four speakers, and to funnel their questions through these speakers. Moreover, the yarimaimalom would be present in force, reducing to nil any temptation on the part of the prisoners to revolt.

“I will stay outside,” Eshinarvash said, and Derian felt a weird thrill that he could understand the Wise Horse’s speech so easily, “and take command of those who continue to patrol the gates. Give me at least a few of the wingéd folk as messengers, and you will know almost as I do if anything untoward occurs.”

Truth lashed her tail, and Plik translated for the jaguar, “I will go with Eshinarvash. These eyes see that my being at the council would not help—and perhaps my presence would hurt.”

The jaguar did not clarify, and no one asked her to do so. Firekeeper’s report of how Truth had been pushed over the borders of sanity once again was still fresh in all their memories—as was their relief that she had come back from wherever her odd visions had taken her.

There was one remaining problem. Although several of the prisoners spoke either Liglimosh or the odd version of the language that Lachen had used, and a few even spoke something close enough to Pellish that those who spoke that language could communicate with them, there was no one language common to them all.

Rather bravely, as Derian saw it, Isende offered herself as translator.

“If Ynamynet can do that spell again,” Isende said, “I’m willing to help. I don’t know a lot about whatever that spell did, but it doesn’t seem to have hurt me, and, well, I think the Old World people will feel a lot more certain they’re getting the truth if the translation is coming through something they’re familiar with.”

Faced with his sister’s courage, Tiniel offered himself as well. “After all, last time they seemed to need a male speaker and a female.”

Ynamynet was summoned and allowed that she knew the procedure.

“Does it have to work so that I don’t remember anything afterwards?” Isende asked. “That’s the part I really didn’t like.”

“That was a separate spell,” Ynamynet said. “I can leave that one out.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Isende said.

“And I,” Tiniel added. “If that will make it easier.”

“It will,” Ynamynet agreed. “There is a gender-linked element. However, it will take me some time to prepare the necessary components and …”

She looked uncomfortable, and Tiniel gave a wry grin.

“Let me guess. You’re going to need a little blood from each of us.”

“That is right,” Ynamynet said. “If it is any comfort, any of those who do not understand what the northerners call ‘Liglimosh’ will need to give a few drops as well. This is what will enable them to use your ears to hear their words.”

Derian found himself unduly relieved that he wouldn’t need to contribute. The idea of his blood being mingled with that of a bunch of other people made his skin crawl.

He hadn’t missed how Ynamynet kept looking at him, nor had he missed that her gaze was admiring rather than otherwise. Strangely, Ynamynet’s admiration made him feel better than had any of the kind or encouraging things his friends had said.

Maybe you should have been given jackass ears, Derian Carter,
Derian thought ruefully.
You’re at least as stubborn as one.

When the meeting convened, at midday on the day following what Firekeeper was calling—with what Derian was certain was an attempt at humor—“the Battle of the Basement,” not all the prisoners chose to attend. Some, overwhelmed by all that had happened in the past several days, were apathetic, already viewing their fates as something beyond their control. Some trusted the four appointed representatives. Some, Derian was astonished to learn, were as uncomfortable with blood magic as he was.

“They don’t wish to give any of their blood,” Zebel said dryly, “out of fear that some little may be held back for other purposes.”

“Do you think Ynamynet would do this?” Derian asked.

“No. Too much rests on this meeting for her to play games. In any case, the entire procedure is being closely watched—not only by our own people, but by several of the yarimaimalom.”

“And keeping blood hidden from a fox’s nose, or a wolf’s,” Derian said, understanding, “would be nearly impossible.”

“Precisely,” Zebel replied.

No one had been surprised when Zebel had been chosen as one of the four speakers. Ynamynet had been the other obvious choice. However, only Blind Seer wasn’t surprised when Skea was chosen as a third. Nor was the wolf surprised when Ynamynet revealed that Skea was her husband.

“I scented the closeness between them,
” the wolf said. Firekeeper still had to translate, of course.
“First in the stronghold, but there I thought it the closeness of a faithful guard to the one guarded. In the basement, I
was
more
certain.
”

There had been some question as to whether Skea and Ynamynet both should be permitted to act as speakers, but in the end the New World contingent decided to let the Old Worlders decide this for themselves.

“They seem to see Skea as representative of those Twice Dead rather than as Ynamynet’s spouse,” Harjeedian said. “That, along with the fact that Skea speaks Liglimosh, makes him a good choice in their eyes.”

The last speaker chosen was taken from the “Never Lived.” Urgana was an older woman who had chosen long ago to march her fate in step with that of a beloved sister who had been Once Dead. The sibling had died a few years ago, but by then Urgana belonged more to the semi-exile world of the Once Dead than she did to the community she had left behind. Urgana spoke the same form of Liglimosh that Lachen had spoken, although she took pains to assure them that she and that particular Once Dead had not been close.

“He was arrogant,” Urgana said, “and had long forgotten the faith of our ancestors—this despite the fact that his own father was an aridisdu and his mother’s mother had been a kidisdu with an almost legendary rapport with birds of prey.”

Derian thought that Urgana might already be on “their” side of things. Certainly, she had been horrified when she had learned that the beasts being kept in the menagerie were yarimaimalom. With her Once Dead sister now truly dead, Urgana had fewer ties to the resident community than did Ynamynet or the doctor.

But then,
Derian thought as he settled into his assigned seat behind a long, slightly curved table,
the entire point here is to see if we can eliminate “their side” and “our side,” and somehow construct an entirely new setup out of this mess.

Harjeedian had been nominated as head of the meeting, a role he slipped into very easily, doubtless because in his calling, meetings were part of his routine. Plik was serving as main translator for the yarimaimalom, although he had made clear that he would offer his own opinions as well. Firekeeper sat, as usual, on the floor, arm around Blind Seer. The wolf had refused to wear his blanket coat in this public forum, and Derian, still dreadfully sensitive about his own altered appearance, could not blame him.

Firekeeper had been less kind in her reaction to Blind Seer’s vanity, and Derian wondered if she was seeking to warm the wolf with her own body heat.

Harjeedian called the meeting to order with a statement that had been agreed upon in advance.

“This meeting is to serve two purposes: to decide the fate of the facilities on the Nexus Islands, and to allow the people who were in control of this place before our coming to have some say in what will be done with them.”

A low murmur of consternation and surprise answered this, and Harjeedian held up his hand in sign that he needed to continue.

“Those of us from the New World came here with no desire to control this place, but now that we know that it exists, and now that we know that other gates may exist, we have reluctantly decided that either we must maintain control of the facility or we must destroy it. Our wish is to control it and to learn how to use it, for, as much as human—and indeed yarimaimalom—nature can embrace the desire to return to past innocence, a wise spirit knows that this cannot be done. However, we know that we cannot control the gates without your cooperation. Therefore, let us state plainly that if such cooperation is refused, we will do our best to destroy this facility, even if it means condemning ourselves to exile.”

Those had been hard words to frame, and as Tiniel’s voice concluded his translation, Derian scanned the surrounding faces for some sign of their impact. He thought that he saw consternation on those of both Skea and Ynamynet, and guessed that this frank admission of what the New Worlders were willing to concede and what they were not willing to concede had undermined some carefully worked out strategies.

Firekeeper’s doing,
Derian thought, not bothering to hide his own amusement.
Trust our wolf-woman to decide that long debate and discussion merely to reach the point at which we had already arrived was useless. It’s not how King Tedric would rule. He’d let his contentious counselors exhaust themselves concluding what he had already worked out, but we don’t have time for that.

Harjeedian made no effort to interrupt the low-voiced debate going on at the separate table where the Old World speakers had been seated.

Indeed, the only member of their own group who stirred was Firekeeper, and that was to say in a very soft voice, “Blind Seer say they speak some talk he not know, but he not think they is angry, only herding their thoughts into a good order, leaving the weak and sick behind.”

Derian amused himself playing with her analogy, imagining written words chasing themselves around a freshly written page. Even as he did so, some little part of his newly awakened horse self thought that the wolves were missing the point. They seemed to feel contempt for a strategy that would let the herd as a community survive.

At last Ynamynet, a herd mare if he’d ever seen one, spoke for the rest.

“Then we are to understand that on certain points you cannot be swayed? We cannot, for example, suggest a treaty between ourselves and your group in which we agree to send you home in return for a promise that we will do our best to make certain that there is no further meddling with the New World from this facility?”

The word “meddling” reminded Derian of that peculiar entity. He wondered if that strange spirit-man had found a way to contact any of them again. If so, no one had mentioned it. The thought was fleeting. Harjeedian was speaking, and his response demanded Derian’s full attention.

“You are correct, Ynamynet. There are points on which we cannot be swayed and one of these is regarding our feeling that either we must manage this place or destroy it. There can be no middle ground.”