Wolf Hunting (77 page)

“You’ve heard enough to know that this change was far from welcome in many places. In some, those who survived querinalo were executed. In others they were banded with iron. However, in some more enlightened areas, the talented were permitted to live.”

Skea interrupted with a dry laugh. “Ynamynet gives you the simplified version, and I suppose she must. What she isn’t saying is that in some areas memories of the horrors that sorcery could create were indeed remembered, but in some places there were rulers—especially those of smaller countries pressed by their neighbors—who thought that a horror or two might be useful. It was in a land ruled by one such ruler that the first attempt was made to reopen one of the remaining gates.”

“My sister was part of the team that did the work,” Urgana said, memory etching the notes of her voice. “She had a feeling for stone, a talent most had found useless, but it was useful for this. I remember how excited we all were when the old wreck was finally ready for use—and how disappointed we were when we found that only more ruin remained on the other side.

“Still, we set to work with a will. The would-be conqueror who was our patron wanted us to find which gate led into the land of his nearby rivals. We did, and when we opened it from the nexus side, we found heaped rubble in front of us. One man was killed by falling stones. The sorcerer with him barely escaped by using her companion’s blood to work her spells. Even so, she was weeks healing.

“The next attempt was better prepared, and once the initial rubble had been cleared away, our patron was delighted to receive report that the gate opened into a cellar that, to all evidence, had not been opened since the coming of querinalo. By then some of our researchers—I was one—had found lists and guides indicating where the various gates led. To make the work of moonspan upon moonspan brief, our patron mounted a frontal assault on the borders of this neighboring land, and when the troops were drawn away, a force went through the gate and hit at the heart.

“This plan worked more than once, but gradually our patron’s neighbors became suspicious that more than conventional espionage and betrayal was at work. They had heard rumor that our patron made those who had survived querinalo welcome in his land, and were not so convinced that magic was forever gone to dismiss the possibility that sorcery was behind these convenient conquests. Fear makes strange alliances, and our patron, overextended as he was, was defeated at last. By then, however, we had several gateways active, and the key members of the project had withdrawn to the nexus along with our research library. We negotiated a deal with those who had thought to make themselves our masters and …”

Urgana shrugged. “Here we are. Ten years have passed since we made ourselves independent. More gates have been opened. The New World was not high on our list of priorities, for our stories told how those lands had been difficult enough to conquer when the greater magics were commonly used. Then the twins came stumbling through, and we took them in. That was the worst thing we ever did, for you came after them—worst, I suppose, or best, depending on how we resolve this.”

A long silence followed the conclusion of Urgana’s account, as the various listeners shook themselves free from what had been and again faced the immediate reality.

“Maps, you said,” Derian asked. “Of the Old World only, or are there any listings of the New World gates as well?”

“Old World mostly, but some of New,” Urgana replied, ignoring Ynamynet’s glower. “However, the names of the locations may mean little, especially if the twins told us rightly of the political upheavals and general chaos that followed the coming of querinalo. Perhaps all the old gate sites have been destroyed as bastions of sorcery.”

“Not all,” Harjeedian reminded. “The Setting Sun stronghold established by the twins’ father’s family still stands. Other places may as well.”

“True, true,” Urgana said.

Derian spoke very softly. “I wonder, could these New World gates be a faster way home?”

FIREKEEPER SAW THE HOPE that lit Derian’s face, then that hope drowned almost immediately with despair as his hand went up to touch his horse-like ears.

She knew if she did not step in, the discussion was likely to become sidetracked.

“Where go not matter,” she said, focusing her gaze on Ynamynet, “if we cannot open even one. I, for one, weary of this bicker and arguing of fine points that will not matter if one person, one only, set herself against us. What you say, Ynamynet?’

Ynamynet closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against them. Yet although she seemed to be trying to block out the world, Firekeeper saw her arm move and knew that Ynamynet had reached to hold Skea’s hand. She sat this way for a long time, and not even Firekeeper stirred to hurry her along. When Ynamynet at last opened her eyes there was a strange fixedness in them, as if she saw her thoughts more clearly than anything in the room. She focused on Firekeeper with great effort and spoke in a voice so calm that it hardly seemed like her own.

“Firekeeper, sometimes in order to make a wise decision a person needs to consider what might be the result of that decision. Equally, there are times you need to know what came in the past in order to decide wisely what to do in the future. That’s what we’ve been trying to do here.”

Firekeeper nodded, but said nothing, hearing in the intake of Ynamynet’s breath that the other woman had more to say.

“How long has it been?” Ynamynet went on. “Only ten days have passed since we went through the gate to the New World stronghold, thinking to find some confused or wounded yarimaimalom. Instead, we found ourselves captives. Even then I could tell there was something dangerous about you—not just your group, you in particular. I tried to stop you, even though that stopping meant I would never see my husband or daughter again. I don’t know what power you called on to bring you through …”

Ynamynet paused and Firekeeper knew the other woman was hoping for information, but Firekeeper wasn’t about to tell her—or this gathered throng—about the Meddler. Harjeedian might not be the only one who had grown up on tales of the Meddler’s well-meant actions going awry.

Curling her lips into a slight smile was enough to let Ynamynet know this silence was all the answer she was going to get. After another ragged breath, Ynamynet continued.

“It’s obvious that your people would rather take over this place than destroy it, equally obvious that you will destroy it if you must.”

Harjeedian said conversationally, “We will begin with those gates that go to the Old World. It may be by the end that, faced with isolation on these islands, you will decide to change your mind.”

Ynamynet nodded, “I supposed as much.”

“And you should consider something else,” Harjeedian said. “We have been speaking as if you are the one and only key to this facility. Thus far, this is true. However, one of these days someone on the other side of a gate is going to come through. Then there will be someone else with whom we can deal. The yarimaimalom watch even now. How long will your power to make deals last, Ynamynet? A moonspan or maybe only a few more minutes?”

Firekeeper had to admire how Harjeedian followed her lead and added pressure, but then the aridisdu had always been skilled with words.

Skea turned to his wife. “They’re right, Nami, and they’re well prepared. Right now it’s our choice. Later, it’s going to be someone else’s.”

Urgana added softly, “All the Old World was so certain that querinalo meant the end of the rule of the crueler type of sorcery, but it didn’t take very long for someone to see the advantage of being willing to use a tool his neighbors shunned. Maybe the next ones to come through the gates will share your conviction. Maybe even the ones after that, but you know that not all who wield sorcery are ethical and loyal.”

Zebel said, his tones so level they were almost flat, “Most are not. Querinalo forces people to make choices: to live or die, to decide what is valued, what is not. Many of those who kept their magical abilities feel they are owed something for what they gave up. This is not a state of mind that leads to valuing the good of the community over that of the self.”

Again, but briefly this time, Ynamynet pressed her fingers to her eyes. When she lowered them, none of the vagueness remained. Her voice was loud and strong as she addressed not only those from the New World but her own community as well.

“Consensus has never been the way of the Once Dead—except occasionally among ourselves. Zebel is right. We have long taken the view that our sacrifices make us superior to any others. However, in this case, I cannot decide for everyone else. I must know that I am supported in whatever decision I make.”

She turned to Harjeedian. “May we have a vote? A silent one, so none is swayed by what others choose?”

“We would rather have all of your cooperation,” Harjeedian conceded.

He glanced at the others. Firekeeper nodded, as did most of the others. Plik spoke for the yarimaimalom.

“They will agree—though many think this very strange.”

The meeting was adjourned while arrangements were made for the secret vote and the discussion to this point was summarized for those who suddenly realized they had made an error in not attending. When Blind Seer howled the meeting to order again, the room was noticeably fuller and the air reeked of sour sweat and hastily dried tears.

There was a clicking and clattering as the humans shifted broken bits of ceramic from hand to hand. Skea rose from his place and held up an opaque jar.

“Voting will be very simple. If you favor an alliance, with Ynamynet agreeing to open gates for these New World peoples and to teach them—if possible—how they might do this themselves, put in the red piece. If you favor refusal to cooperate, waiting to see if assistance comes through one of the gates, then put in the green piece. It’s that easy.”

There were a few questions, most of them the type that made Firekeeper edgy, but that humans of all cultures seemed to need.

“It’s like when all the pack howls as one,”
Blind Seer said, bumping his head against her in reassurance.
“They make all this chatter to assure themselves that they are a pack.”

“That may be,”
Firekeeper replied grumpily,
“but if I had fur it would be on end.”

“Then perhaps it is a good thing you don’t have fur,”
Blind Seer replied dryly.

Firekeeper punched gently, noting tenderly how different his fur felt without the thick undercoat. She draped an arm around the wolf, and felt him press into her.

Side by side, they listened as the broken shards of pottery dropped into the jar, the bright sound dampening and becoming deeper as the jar filled. As far as they could tell, no one tried to peek inside the slit cut in the jar’s top to see what others had decided, and most cupped their hand so that those close by could not see what their own vote would be.

Eventually, the jar was handed down from the surrounding seats. Skea dropped his own piece in, then handed the jar to Zebel. Last to vote was Ynamynet, and if her face was tight and strained as she did so, Firekeeper would be the last to call her a coward.

Skea met Harjeedian halfway across the room and handed the now full jar to the aridisdu. Harjeedian had not trained in reading omens without learning something about detecting the temper of a gathering. Rather than carrying the jar back to the table where the New World contingent sat, Harjeedian removed the covering from the jar. Bending slightly at the waist, he spread the gathered shards in a broad arc across the stone-flagged floor.

There was no need to count. A wash of red spilled out against the grey. Here and there a defiant bit of green showed, but overwhelmingly the color was red—the color signifying a choice to cooperate.

“It looks like blood
,” Firekeeper said softly to Blind Seer.

“You have been too much among the Liglim,”
Blind Seer replied.
“This is no omen, only a choice.”

But Firekeeper felt the wolf shudder, and knew that he too wondered just what had begun with that bright scattering of choice.

AS FROM ONE THROAT, Truth heard the rumble of voices. She did not need to be from a long line of diviners to know what she heard.

“They have made a decision,” she said to Eshinarvash.

The Wise Horse swiveled one ear back, but kept most of his attention for the gate complex they patrolled.

“I hear the howls of wolves and the yapping of foxes. Each says one word only: ‘Home!’ So it seems the humans here have decided to work with us rather than against us. That is good. I had wondered how well I might live on a diet of kelp. We wild horses have less finicky guts than our domesticated cousins, but I had wondered …”

Almost idly, Truth watched the folding and unfolding of futures triggered by Eshinarvash’s statement. She was learning to accept Ahmyn’s gift. Being constantly enwrapped in visions would never be easy, nor would she ever again be able to completely trust what she saw, but she was learning.

“Now you do not need to choose,” Truth said. “I, for one, am glad. I am not overly fond of horsemeat.”

Eshinarvash shivered his skin at this, but did not edge away. Really, he was very brave, especially for an herbivore.

“‘Home!’ they howl,” Eshinarvash said after a time. “Do they realize that not all of us can return? Not now, perhaps not for a long, long time to come?”

Truth rested on her haunches and began to lick her left front paw. (Visions of her beginning with her right paw or at the tip of her tail, milled at the edges of her vision, rather like gnats on a summer evening. She ignored them.)

“I will stay,” Truth said. “The omens agree this would be my best course. These humans respect the Once Dead, even as they fear them. I am flamboyantly Once Dead.”

“So is Derian,” Eshinarvash said. “I think he can be convinced to remain—if the omens think this is wise.”

Truth tilted her head and studied the various visions swirling around her.