Wolf's Blood (19 page)

Some time later. Firekeeper. Blind Seer. Derian, and Plik gathered in the front room of Derian’s house. Some sort of tea brought from Gak had been brewed, but Firekeeper preferred water, even if to her taste it held the slightest touch of salt. Everything did here, where all the land was surrounded by the ocean. Only after she had spent an extended amount of time on the mainland did she notice.

Small talk had been taken care of during the unloading of the supplies. In any case. Derian knew that Firekeeper had little tolerance for such, especially when there was something she wanted to know.

“Plik,” he said, “the maimalodalum are your people. Why don’t you tell Firekeeper and Blind Seer what they said?”

The short, plump raccoon-man nodded and took from the belt around his waist a slim case made from a bird’s bone. He shook out a tightly rolled piece of paper, which he glanced at, although Firekeeper felt certain he had no need to refresh himself as to the contents.

“Hope writes,” Plik said, his first word referring to the bird-woman who was one of the leaders of the maimalodalum, “that they may indeed have some old records and journals dating back to the first days when querinalo appeared. Other than that, she says nothing substantial, and expressed interest in knowing why we are suddenly so interested.”

He paused, and Firekeeper waited, hearing from the rise and fall of Plik’s breath that more was to come.

“Actually, Hope does more than express interest. She refuses to write or say anything more unless we say why we wish to know.” Plik raised the bushy brows that were one of the more human features on his face. “I have known Hope all her life. She is not to be convinced otherwise. Indeed, from her phrasing, this is the will of the community at large, not hers alone.”

While Firekeeper considered this, Derian added, “The message arrived yesterday. We have been debating whether or not to take the maimalodalum into our confidence.”

“And not learn what they know?” Firekeeper asked. She heard something of a puppy yelp in her voice, but there was no helping it.

Derian glanced over at Plik. “There are three alternatives as we see it. One, we take the maimalodalum into our confidence and hope that they will see things as we do. Two, we refuse, and thereby lose whatever information they may have. Three …”

Derian stopped and looked at Plik again, clearly uncomfortable with being the one to voice this third option.

The raccoon-man wrinkled his nose and continued in a thoughtful tone of voice, “Three, we manufacture a tale that will hopefully fulfill their curiosity without giving away that we have encountered querinalo or that the Sorcerers’ Bane—as Ynamynet calls it—continues to attack those with magic, even those it may have once left alone.”

“Like Beasts,” Firekeeper said.

“Like Beasts,” Plik agreed.

“What you think we should do?” Firekeeper asked. “Like Derian say, the maimalodalum is your people.”

“Said. Are,” Derian muttered.

Firekeeper ignored him, and looked at Plik. Beside her on the hearth rug, Blind Seer kept a listening silence.

“I would opt for the truth,” Plik said, “and not simply because these are my people and I trust them. What harm would be done by telling them what we have found? They are a small community, and live in near isolation. Even the yarimaimalom do not associate with them overmuch. I cannot believe that Hope or Powerful Tenderness or any of the others would suddenly break that isolation to send word to u-Seeheera of our findings. True, we maimalodalum view the Liglimom with a certain distant fondness, but they are not our people. We have no people, other than ourselves.”

“I agree that truth would be best,” Derian said. “It’s either that or pass up potentially valuable information. I cannot imagine constructing a lie that would hold up to the type of penetrating cross-examination that the maimalodalum would give it. I wasn’t on Center Island long, but I was there long enough to gain great respect for the maimalodalum.”

Firekeeper nodded. “I owe much to the maimalodalum, even from before I know. I do not like lies. Wolves’ hearts is true.”

“Speaking of Truth.”
Blind Seer said,
“has anyone asked her opinion on this?”

“Truth says,” Plik replied, his answer translating the question for Derian, “that the matter is too complex for her vision. She did say something about a warrior in armor of silver and brass, but when I asked for clarification she only twitched her tail. Her eyes had that wild look they get when she’s seeing too much and can’t sort out the visions.”

“I’m not really surprised,” Derian said. “The question doesn’t merely involve confiding in the maimalodalum or not, it involves everything that might happen if we do or if we don’t.”

Firekeeper nodded. “We tell truth. What they do? Tell us what we want? Refuse, like Urgana tried to refuse until Harjeedian shake her? What they tell us? Useful? Not? No wonder Truth not know. Not even Blind Seer’s nose could follow such a tangled trail.”

“Speak when you have a nose,”
Blind Seer replied, but his tail thumped lazily as he did so.

“So we will offer them the truth,” Derian said. “Is that agreed?”

Firekeeper nodded.

“They might refuse,” Plik reminded them. “As far as religion goes, we maimalodalum are closer in culture to the Liglimom than we are to any other human mind-set. And we have great reason to hate sorcery—especially spellcasting.”

Firekeeper shrugged. “We not tell, we learn nothing. We lie and they trip us in the lie, I think this would be far worse. Truth and the risk of truth is best.”

“Will you leave immediately?” Derian asked. “The run to u-Seeheera isn’t too bad, and from there I’m sure you can arrange to have someone take you to Misheemnekuru. Harjeedian could write you a note. Rahniseeta is the junjaldisdu now, and she owes both you and the maimalodalum a great deal.”

“He mentions her without a tremor,”
Blind Seer noted.
“I wonder if someone else has filled his heart?”

Plik answered as a beast would, so Derian did not hear,
“Not yet. I think work and worry fill the places sorrow once lived, but I think young Isende would like to help banish sorrow forever.”

Firekeeper ignored the distraction. “I have another thought. Maybe one that make it so Plik can come, too. He could see his people, and give me advice.”

Derian straightened. “I know better than to trust you. Whenever your grammar improves, you want something. Spit it out.”

Firekeeper ignored Blind Seer’s panted laughter and said steadily, “There may be a gate to Misheemnekuru. We could open it, and then Plik would have a way home.”

She didn’t miss how Plik perked then tensed at her words. The maimalodalum were a close community, and Plik had been away from them for two seasons and more, during which time he had come very close to dying. Firekeeper knew that Plik had no more intended to fall into a semi-permanent exile than she had herself.

When Derian, Firekeeper, and Blind Seer had made their hurried trip to u-Seeheera to see Elise, Doc, and the baby, they had offered to take Plik with them, but the maimalodalu had demurred on the grounds that he would slow them down—a fact only too true. Moreover, like Derian, Plik needed to take care not to be seen, and this made travel difficult, even awkward, for unlike Derian, Plik was not built for speed.

Now here was Firekeeper, suddenly offering the raccoon-man the temptation of his distant homeland as easily reached as if he stepped over a threshold from one room into another. She knew she was being cruel. Blind Seer’s blue gaze turned cold and penetrating in her direction, making her think that her partner knew the origin of the suggestion.

Derian, thankfully, was not as sensitive to the wolf’s moods as either herself or Plik.

“I wonder if there is a gate to Misheemnekuru?”

“Quite probably,” Plik said, his tones artificially level. “Misheemnekuru was where the Old Country rulers settled first, before the mainland. Even after they had settled the mainland, many kept estates on Misheemnekuru. I would think locating a gate there would he more Likely than on the mainland.”

“Because the islands were reserved for the elite members of society?” Derian asked.

“For them.” Plik agreed, “and for their servants and retinues, of course.”

“Have the maimalodalu come across anything that might be a gate?” Derian asked.

“Not that I know of,” Plik replied, “but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Center Island is only of moderate size, compared to the majority of the islands that make up Misheemnekuru. My guess is that the gate would have been located on the largest island, where there was a good harbor.”

Firekeeper tried to keep her tone casual as she said, “When Blind Seer and I spend a year on Misheemnekuru, we see many ruins in many places. Some is not all fallen into pieces. If a gate was there, it might he able to be used.”

Derian nodded. “Possibly, but possibly not. It depends on whether those Plik so lightly refers to as ‘servants and retainers’ knew of the gate, and if they attempted to destroy it when their masters fell ill. My understanding is that while the Liglimom managed to retain their nation mostly intact after Plague struck—not like in my homeland, where the colony split into two separate kingdoms …”

“Hawk Haven and Bright Bay,” Firekeeper said impatiently. “Yes.”

Derian raised his eyebrows and flicked back his ears in a reprimand that very effectively mingled the horse and the human.

“My understanding.” he repeated heavily. “is that while the Liglimom managed to retain their nation mostly intact, the government underwent a revolution from below. with lesser members of the disdum taking the places that had been held by their magically gifted superiors. They might have also taken actions to assure those magically gifted superiors wouldn’t return and attempt to reclaim their place.”

Firekeeper knew this was quite possible. When Urgana and Ynamynet told tales of the days when the gates had first been being reopened, many of their tales ended in discovering that a hoped-for gate had been blocked or that the non-Nexan end point had been destroyed. Still, she felt a curious certainty that not only would the records show there was a gate on Misheemnekuru, but this gate would be intact.

“Still,” the wolf-woman said, trying hard not to sound like a whining pup, “we can check surely. Think how much better we would do with the maimalodalum if Plik can speak, too. I am not so good at speaking.”

Blind Seer sniffed. “
The maimalodalum speak after the manner of the Beasts as easily as you do, Firekeeper.
Your ‘limitations’ in Pellish and Liglimosh would not restrain you.
”

Firekeeper glowered at him, wondering when her closest friend had become her greatest critic, but there was no fooling herself. She knew. Blind Seer snarled and snapped most when he scented the Meddler’s foot on the trail, and in this matter of using gates, the wolf was not mistaken.

“What do you think, Plik?” Derian asked.

“Opening a gate would permit me to travel to Misheemnekuru more easily and without risking detection,” Plik said, “but there are complications above and beyond those we have mentioned. For one, remember that Misheemnekuru belongs to the Wise Beasts, the yarimaimalom alone. Firekeeper has permission to travel there, but no other human—not even you and Harjeedian, who have visited there before.”

Firekeeper did not sulk at Plik’s referring to her as a human. She knew that in this matter many would see her as such—including, before she had earned their respect, the yarimaimalom themselves.

“That means,” Plik continued, “that even if we opened the gate, it could not be used by any of the other humans.”

Derian nodded. “I know the Nexans don’t think I have heard the grumbling about their relative isolation here. They forget how well these donkey-ears of mine hear.”

He reached up and touched them. “Even if I didn’t have the advantage of good hearing, the winged folk give me their reports. Yes. The Nexans feel isolates, more than they ever have done during their ten years of residence on the islands. Opening a gate to Misheemnekuru would provide a reminder that here is one more place they can’t go. Still. Would it be that much of a problem?”

“I think so,” Plik said. “The Nexus Islands are habitable, but they are not a friendly land. They lack the forests of Misheemnekuru. They are rocky. windblown, and, frankly, not what most people would choose as a permanent home. During the winter months, when the ‘mainland’ surrounding the stronghold was cold, wet, and sodden, no one much thought about the contrast, but now spring is coming. The mainland is becoming green and warm. Enough time has passed that people have adjusted to all the changes.”

“And they want to go home, at least for a visit.” Derian concluded.

“And if we open a gate to Misheemnekuru, or to Hawk Haven, or even to New Kelvin, there’s going to be considerable resentment.” Plik said. “They’re going to ask, ‘Why can they go home, and we can’t?’”

“And that’s going to bring to the forefront the simple, nasty point that we conquered this place and have chosen to hold it,” Derian said. “And that we’re holding it because ultimately we don’t trust the Old World not to invade the New if the opportunity arises.”

Derian turned to Firekeeper, and Firekeeper didn’t need to hear his words to know what his reply was going to be.

“I’m sorry, Firekeeper. For a moment, I thought that opening a gate to Misheemnekuru wouldn’t be much of a problem, but Plik is right. We would not only be opening a gate to another land, we’d be opening one to all sorts of problems. If you want to hear what the maimalodalum have to report, you’re going to need to make the trip yourself, on foot.”

“
And on boat,
” Blind Seer said nastily. “
Are you willing to ride on a boat to help your Meddler do his meddling?
”

Plik looked sharply at the two wolves, but did not comment on Blind Seer’s words. Firekeeper knew that while the raccoon-man did not hold quite the level of distrust for the Meddler that Harjeedian did, still, some of his ancestry came from the same roots. Indeed, Plik had been the source of many of the most vivid of the Meddler tales.