Wolf's Blood (2 page)

“Perhaps this is true,” Blind Seer admitted grudgingly. “After all, even for one such as him, knowing what is happening across a great ocean might be difficult.”

“The Meddler says that such knowing is perhaps not quite impossible,” Firekeeper said, “but close enough to impossible.”

“I am pleased that the Meddler does not claim his knowing what happens far away is impossible,” Blind Seer said. “for I have seen him at home in places I would have termed impossible if I had not been there myself. I would trust him less than I do were he to claim something impossible.”

“And you do not trust him very much,” Firekeeper said.

“Less even than that,” Blind Seer replied. “Has the Meddler told you why it is so important that the source of the Fire Plague be found—beyond, of course, that this is the way to find a cure. Why is a cure necessary all of a sudden?”

“Did you enjoy your experience when you were seized with the Plague?”

The blue-eyed wolf stiffened, even seemed to stop breathing. What had happened to him when the Fire Plague had seized hold of him and nearly killed him was a matter Blind Seer steadfastly refused to discuss. Like Firekeeper’s perverse interest in the Meddler, it was one of several things that had driven a wedge between the pair, although to any watching them woman and wolf would seem as close as ever.

“The Fire Plague is not something to enjoy,” Blind Seer finally replied, “only to survive.”

“I would go a bit further,” Firekeeper said, “and say the Fire Plague is something I would wish upon no one—not even an enemy. How then can we wish it upon our friends?”

“I do not.”

“The Meddler says that if a cure is not found, then we are as good as wishing the Fire Plague upon our friends. Thus far we have been fortunate. The Plague has not reappeared in the New World, but we know now that those who were born in the New World are not immune. How long will our luck hold? How long before the Fire Plague crosses as we have crossed?”.

“We have taken care,” Blind Seer protested, “that none actively ill return from the Old World to the New until the sickness has run its course.”

“Someday we will judge wrong,” Firekeeper said. “Even if we do not, what of those who wish to come from the New World to the Nexus Islands? You know as well as I do that our allies have held those islands thus far only through constant vigilance. How long before weariness or boredom or even betrayal leads to a disaster? We cannot recruit further support from the Old World. If we are to hold the Nexus Islands, we must bring reinforcements from the New World.”

“We can bring those who lack the magical talents upon which the Fire Plague feeds.”

Firekeeper pulled back so she could look Blind Seer in the face—the locking of her gaze with his own a gesture of challenge among wolves as it was not among humans.

“And can we be sure to know in advance who possesses magical talents and who does not? It seems to me that there are those in whom the talents are so deeply buried that even they do not know the talents are there.”

Blind Seer glowered at her, blue eyes narrowing to slits, ears pinning back, and fangs revealed in a snarl. He held that threat for a moment, but Firekeeper did not break his gaze. After a long moment the wolf shook himself calm.

“True. Such does happen. What if we recruit one or more of the maimalodalum to help inspect our candidates in advance? The maimalodalum have the ability to sense magic—even magic that is very faint. They could review potential candidates, and turn away those who would be endangered.”

“There are few maimalodalum.” Firekeeper said, “and those few are isolated on Misheemnekuru, and do not wish their presence to be known to the world. It is possible we might recruit one or even two, but this would only be a stopgap. In the end, we would still need a cure—or expose our allies to the Fire Plague.”

“And the Meddler assures you that to find a cure, you must find the source of the Fire Plague. How does he know that? It seems to me that when the Meddler wishes to do so, he knows a great deal—and when it is convenient, he claims ignorance. Which do we believe, his ignorance or his wisdom?”

“I believe neither,” Firekeeper said, “but I can see the sense in what he says. Surely nothing comes from nothing. If you want to stop a stream you must block its source. If the does are killed there will be no more fawns. So it will be with the Fire Plague … I hope.”

“So he has convinced you to go hunting for the source of the Fire Plague?”

“He is trying to do so.”

“A hunt that would take you into the Old World.”

“I think so.”

“Where you speak none of the languages.”

Firekeeper raised her chin in defiance.

“Where there are no Royal Beasts to help you.”

Firekeeper held her silence.

“Where, if we are to believe those we met on the Nexus Islands, there are places where magic is—if possible—hated even more fiercely than it is in our homeland. And you will go there, searching for a cure to the very disease or curse or whatever it is that broke the power of magic, that broke the power that was used to dominate and destroy humans and Beasts alike in the Old World and the New.”

Firekeeper inclined her head in the smallest of nods.

“Yes. That is what I am considering doing. Will you come with me?”

Blind Seer huffed his breath out in a long sigh. “Of course. Where else would I be but at your side?”

DERIAN CARTER COULDN’T make himself go home. Sitting in the front room of the stable master’s house—what had become his house on the Nexus Islands—he tried to explain how he felt to the young woman seated across the room from him.

“Isende, look at me,” Derian said, a pleading note in his voice. “Look at what the Plague—what querinalo—has done to me.”

“I am looking at you,” she replied. Isende tucked a lock of hair behind one ear as if to emphasize that nothing was blocking her vision. “I see a tall young man with broad shoulders, red hair, and very nice eyes.”

“Red hair that grows like a mane,” Derian said, reaching up and tugging. “By all my ancestors, I have a forelock! My ears are pointed and hairy and I can wriggle them. My eyes—those ‘nice eyes’ used to be hazel. Now they’re brown—and the irises are weird. They blot out more of the whites. My finger and toenails are hard now. I need a farrier’s kit to clip them.”

“And you can eat grass,” Isende said, “and talk to horses. Derian, the moon has shown all aspects of her face five or six times since you had querinalo. I thought you were adjusting to what happened to you. You went to see your friend when she had her baby. When are you going to visit your family? I know you miss them. I’ve seen the fat letters that go out with just about every post. Spring is going to open up the ports to shipping. With the gate, you’re less than a moonspan from the harbor at u-Bishinti. If you left now, you could be home to Hawk Haven by midsummer at the latest. If you delay too long, winter will close the ports again.”

“You have no idea how my people feel about magic,” Derian replied. “I mean, your people dislike how magic was used and abused by the Old Country rulers, but you don’t hate magic for itself. Magic is one of your deities. You see her face when you look up at the moon. It’s not that way at home. Having a talent wasn’t too bad, especially since my talent was one of those that could pretty much be concealed. After all, I am a livery stable owner’s son. When I think about it. I’m not even sure I knew I had a talent until people started pointing out the obvious to me.”

“I grew up,” Isende said, her tones dreamy, “with people thinking I was a freak. Looking a bit different didn’t matter much in Gak, because so many different peoples fled there during the chaos, and after a few generations there were some odd combinations. So having this weird hair that is brown underneath and sort of golden on top wasn’t too much different. Lots of people had skin like mine, browner than yours, but not as brown as the Liglim, have, but even in Gak I was a freak nonetheless, and for the same reason you think you are. Magic. My brother and I could sense what each other was feeling, almost read each other’s minds in a way. When we were really little, if one of us got cut, the other would get a red mark in the same area.”

“Really?”

“That’s what one of our nurses told us. anyhow,” Isende said. “By the time I have really clear memories, that wasn’t happening anymore, but there were times Tiniel fell down and I swore I could feel my own knees aching. If he was scared, I knew it. If he was unhappy, I wanted to cry.”

“But that’s over now,” Derian said. He was aware that his tone sounded like he was looking for reassurance.

“That’s over now,” Isende said. “Querinalo burned away the connection in exchange for letting us live. We paid a price. You paid a price. Querinalo turned your flesh and bones into wax. If we’re to believe what those who’ve survived the disease say, your own will resculpted your body into the shape it now holds. Is that what’s driving you crazy? Is the fact that you think you’re to blame for what happened making you run from your family?”

Derian found he couldn’t answer directly. His next words came out all muddled and confused—much like his thoughts.

“You should have seen the look on Elise’s and Doc’s faces,” he said. “When we heard that the baby had come, but early, and that neither Elise nor the little girl were doing well and they might both die, Firekeeper insisted that we go and see them. I didn’t need her pushing. Doc’s lost one wife already to childbirth, and Elise’s family … Well, the history of their women surviving childbirth isn’t good.”

“I remember what you told me about Elise,” Isende said, “and I’m not likely to forget your going. You’ve only been back a few days. So you went.”

“So I went,” Derian said. “Would you believe me if I told you that I was so worried about Elise and Doc that I didn’t even think about what they’d think when they got a good look at me?”

“If you say so.”

“Honestly. That’s how it was. When some of the ospreys relayed the news from u-Bishinti, Firekeeper jumped to her feet and was casting around for Ynamynet or Enigma or someone who could open the gate. Eshinarvash offered to come along and carry me so we wouldn’t be slowed.”

“It was the middle of the night,” Isende said, “so most of us were asleep. All we knew was that you were gone the next morning. Plik explained what he could, and that you’d be back. There was an uproar, let me tell you.”

Derian ignored her, and went on with his story as if in telling it he might understand his own reaction better. “Well, we were moving at a pretty good clip. Firekeeper and Blind Seer can pace a horse, especially at night. Eshinarvash has good night vision for a horse, but he’s still careful that he doesn’t wrench something. When it got dark, we decided to stop. Firekeeper suggested that maybe I’d prefer we camp somewhere a little isolated. I said that, given how Blind Seer upsets both humans and livestock, this was a good idea.”

“And Firekeeper said something rude?” Isende’s hands tightened around the armrests of her chair. “She can be impossibly blunt.”

“No.” Derian’s ears flickered back, almost as a horse’s would to express annoyance, then resumed their normal position. “Actually, she was very gentle. She said something about the humans maybe not being ready to see a maimalodalu. I was about to remind her Plik wasn’t with us—and then I realized she meant me.”

“That’s an interesting comparison when you think about it,” Isende said. “I mean, the translation is flawed—you didn’t start out as a beast, so you can’t be beast-souled—but you’ve the same sort of combination of human and animal traits that Plik does.”

Derian forced a laugh. “Are you telling me I look like a raccoon?”

Isende’s grin was genuine. “Not in the least, but just like Plik is a mixture of raccoon and human, you’re a mixture of human and horse—and far more human than horse. Honestly, Derian, except maybe for the ears, I’m not sure anyone would notice the difference.”

“Elise sure did,” Derian said, wincing at the memory. “And Doc. I think my eyes got to them more than anything else. They really don’t look human. Too much brown. Too little white. You can’t hide that under a broad-brimmed hat.”

“Smoked glasses,” Isende said promptly. “Like some sailors wear at sea to protect their eyes.”

“You have an answer for everything,” Derian said, and this time his smile was more honest.

“I see you tearing yourself up,” Isende said. “You talk about your family all the time. You obviously miss them.”

“I lived with them until I was nineteen,” Derian said. “Then I went on the road with Earl Kestrel, and sometimes I don’t think I’ve been home since. I don’t feel like I have a home anymore.”

“And you want one,” Isende said. “I know how you feel. When our father died, there was just me and Tiniel, and Tin, well, he went a little …”

She looked very uncomfortable, and Derian struggled to save her from having to talk about her brother. The current relationship between the twins was far from good, and Derian would have had to be a whole lot more self-absorbed than he was to miss the tension. He tried to spare Isende the need to speak about past events by reviewing them himself.

“At first Tiniel wanted your family made a part of Gak’s voting council,” Derian said. “Then when that proposal was refused, he suggested you go out and reclaim your ancestral stronghold.”

“And then we found the gate, and, well …” Isende shrugged. Her gaze dropped as if she sought omens in the patterns of the wood grain of the floorboards. “Here we are, two more of the reluctant, responsible residents of the Nexus Islands. You’re afraid to go home—and I don’t have a home to go back to.”

Derian leaned forward, wanting to offer comfort, but not quite sure what to say. He didn’t think Isende would want his pity, but what might she want? She couldn’t want anything from him. Hadn’t she just about said she thought he was like Plik, a sort of unique monstrosity? He started to reach out and at least give her a brotherly pat, but then he remembered Tiniel and froze, and when he did so he caught sight of those heavily horned nails at the ends of each of his fingers, and his impulse died within him.