Wolf's Blood (50 page)

Derian knew he was grinning like an idiot, but since she had her arm over her eyes, he didn’t figure he had to hide his delight.

“That’s great,” he said. “And being multilingual can only help you in the future if the world keeps going in the direction we’re seeing. So these stories weren’t about wars?”

“No,” Isende said. “Simple things, like about how some people from a place called Alkya came to live in the Mires, and how they stayed. That’s why the people from the Mires look a little different from the other Pels. Things like that.”

“That’s interesting,” Derian said. “I wonder if that’s why that Mires’ king was so open to taking in the exiled Once Dead. His land had a tradition of integrating foreigners.”

“Maybe,” Isende said. “The Mires wasn’t a kingdom when the Alkya came to live there. It was just part of Pelland.”

“Right,” Derian said. “So what you’re reading couldn’t color your dreams. What about the entertainments? Some of those epic poems Urgana and Verul have been reciting are pretty dramatic.”

“Maybe,” Isende said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “I can’t think why I’d be dreaming about armor and weapons. It’s almost like I’m seeing them. That’s how good the details are.”

Derian nodded and concentrated on stitching, determined not to lead her.

“Anything else?”

“Well, the weirdest thing is that I keep dreaming about Truth—the jaguar, I mean. I’ll be looking at these things and then I’ll feel fur brush my arm or something warm near me and I’ll glance over and there will be Truth.”

Derian whistled softly. “Isende …”

“I know. I know.” she said. “Truth is a seer. I’ve thought about that. I’ve wondered if I was having visions, too. I’d been thinking about talking to you about this tonight.”

Derian nodded and put down the harness. Mending it could wait.

“Come on.” he said, bending and pulling Isende to her feet. “I think we’d better go talk with Truth. We’ll get Plik to translate.”

They found the raccoon-man gutting, scaling, and boning fish down near the wharves. His small hands were perfect for the delicate work, and unlike the humans, he was quite happy to snack on the offal. Derian, accustomed to Firekeeper’s eating habits, hadn’t found this at all repulsive, but most of the Nexans were less open-minded. Therefore, they found Plik alone and were able to explain what they needed without worrying about someone overhearing and starting rumors.

“Dreams of ships and soldiers and Truth.” Plik said. “Interesting, and well worth investigating. Have you noticed that Truth has been behaving a bit oddly of late?”

“Odd,” Derian said with a shrug. “Maybe, but for Truth what is odd? Ever since her battle with Ahmyn, she has been less connected to reality. The only reason I don’t think she has gone insane again is that she shows up for meals with great regularity.”

“And for religious services,” Isende said. “Harjeedian has been holding services, and Truth is almost always there.”

Plik indicated a bucket half filled with fish heads.

“If you would carry that, Derian,” he said, “I think we should bring it along when we go see Truth. She likes raw fish, and eating helps ground her in fewer versions of reality.”

Derian obediently picked up the bucket and indicated the buckets containing the already cleaned fish with what he feared was a horse-like toss of his head.

“What about those?”

“We can drop them off at the kitchens on our way to Truth,” Plik said. “And if I also happen to mention that I’m taking the heads out to share with a friend, well, I think our privacy will be assured and rumors will be still.”

“Good thinking,” Derian said.

Isende nodded and picked up two of the buckets of cleaned fish.

“Let’s go.” she said.

THEY FOUND TRUTH lounging on a jutting spit of rock facing south. Waves crashed and foamed at the base, occasionally splashing them with spray.

Truth’s fur pearled with saltwater droplets, silvery against the charcoal grey, but she didn’t seem to mind being wet. Derian had learned that, unlike the house cats who had composed most of his experience of felines, jaguars liked water. Truth would swim after fish, and snapping turtles seemed to be her favorite food.

She turned her head before she could have heard or smelled them, doubtless having sensed them coming through one of her visions. Her eyes, once burnt-orange, were now white, the eye slits glowing blue. Their focus was erratic, her gaze flickering after things none of the rest of them could see, for Truth was blessed or cursed with the ability to see all possible futures at all times. Were she not a very strong-willed individual, doubtless this would have driven her insane.

“Truth says,” Plik translated, “that she has been expecting us for days now, or perhaps merely hours, but that she is glad we have come. She also hopes we won’t mind if she has some fish heads. They smell wonderful.”

“They’re for the two of you,” Derian said magnanimously.

Isende grinned. “I wouldn’t deny you the pleasure.”

Plik looked concerned. “We should have grabbed something for you from the kitchen when we dropped off the fish.”

Derian glanced at Isende and knew she was trying hard to find a polite way of explaining that sitting and eating cake while Plik and Truth munched on fish heads wasn’t really an attractive option.

He winked at her, and saw her swallow a grin.

“Actually, we didn’t come out here to have a picnic,” he said. “Isende has been having some rather disturbing, recurring dreams. We decided that Truth had better hear about them.”

Truth dipped her nose into the bucket and came up with a large fish head.

“She says go ahead. She’s listening.”

Isende complied, her account pretty closely matching what Derian had already heard. He keep his gaze leveled on Truth, and as far as he could tell the jaguar was indeed paying close attention.

“Truth says,” Plik began when Isende finished her narrative, “that the omens are quite clear. What Isende has thought were dreams are in fact visions. Moreover, what Isende has spoken about has brought into tighter focus visions Truth herself has been having with increasing frequency over the last several moonspans.”

“Visions?” Derian prompted. “Of what?”

“Impending invasion,” Plik translated. “The first ones came as soon as the decision was made to close off the gates, but she did not pay them much heed. That was a momentous action, and she saw visions of many things that have not come to pass.”

“Such as?” Isende asked in fascination.

“Riots over food. Derian’s murder. The gates being surreptitiously opened to clandestine traffic by a cabal of the Once Dead. Derian crowned king. Ynamynet bearing a child with fair skin and red hair. Firekeeper alone on the islands but for a pack of wolves and a flock of seagulls.”

Derian held up his hand. “Pull Truth back from that. She’s drifting off. Somebody throw her a fish head. That might bring her around.”

Plik dipped his hand into the bucket and came out with a dripping fish head, the offal still trailing behind. Truth shook her head as if gnats were troubling her vision, then bit down hard on the proffered treat. As she chomped, Derian was fairly certain that the blue-white gaze was tightening its focus again.

“I think we understand,” Derian said. “Now, Truth, when did the visions of invasion become more frequent, displacing the others?”

“Early this spring,” Plik replied promptly, “right about the time, now that she considers it, that we began to have regular requests to use the gates, and that we began consistently refusing them, and putting up safeguards against chance crossings.”

“That makes frightening sense,” Derian said. “Why didn’t Truth say anything earlier?”

Truth’s tail lashed, but Plik’s translation of her words were mild.

“She was uncertain,” he said. “There were still so many options. She has been trying to focus more tightly, but it is difficult to get a clear picture. From this she guesses that the invasion is still in the planning stages, that the armies have not yet marched or the fleet sailed. She has been keeping vigil, and planned to say something when the options narrowed.”

“Reasonable,” Derian admitted. “But Isende’s dreams provided corroboration of a sort.”

“Correct,” Plik said. “Truth wonders at the origin of those dreams, but fears that they can be relied upon.”

Derian knew that Truth shared his own concern that the Meddler was somehow involved. He didn’t know why that strange being might try and get them warning, but he did know that the Meddler was interested in Firekeeper, and that by extension he might also be interested in the fate of Firekeeper’s friends.

The problem was, the Meddler’s interest was not always the safest of things. He had a way of getting those he sought to help in deeper difficulties than if he had just left them alone.

Look at how he’d sent Firekeeper chasing off after a cure for querinalo. If he hadn’t done that, Derian would have Firekeeper close by. Without her, his ability to coordinate with the yarimaimalom was limited. Plik. for all his verbal talents, was still a fat, round, elderly creature, not at all the vibrant battle leader Firekeeper had shown herself capable of being.

On the other hand, Derian thought, forcing himself to be fair. if Firekeeper brings a cure for querinalo, or even a way of testing who might be most vulnerable, then we don’t need to rely quite so much on the yarimaimalom. We could recruit humans … if we dare explain to them what we’re fighting against and fighting for.

His head was beginning to ache, and he rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands.

“Ask Truth,” he said to Plik, “if she has read the omens regarding what will happen if I tell what we have learned here—about the possibility of invasion—to the others who live here on the Nexus Islands.”

“Truth has attempted to do so,” Plik replied, “but much depends on how the matter is presented. Panic and quick surrender are two likely results if the matter is not handled carefully.”

“I can see why,” Isende interjected. “Only a small proportion of the Old Nexans really view these islands as home. Many of them have no strong desire to defend what is here. It is a refuge, yes, but perhaps not a refuge worth dying for.”

Derian frowned. “Do they really think that the same people who once exiled them or their kin would give them sanctuary now? Maybe they do. Still, I can think of a few who will not panic, no matter how bad the news, and they deserve to know that it is highly likely that we face invasion.”

Plik nodded. “Ynamynet, Skea, Harjeedian, a few of the others. Why not test reactions on that small group, and see what happens there?”

“I think that’s what we’re going to need to do,” Derian said. “Harjeedian might be able to get Urgana to find something in the archives about the islands’ defenses in the old days—back before querinalo, even. I remember hearing about sea dragons. I wonder if they were real?”

“One thing at a time,” Isende said. “Talk to Ynamynet and Skea.”

“Right,” Derian said. “Thank you, Truth. I’ll let Isende do the talking for both of you. You keep watching the omens. I think we’re going to need whatever you can draw from them.”

The jaguar didn’t verbalize her thanks, but something in the way she settled back onto her perch on the outcropping of rock told Derian she was pleased.

As he headed toward the house Ynamynet and Skea shared, Derian wondered at how his world had once again transformed. This morning his greatest worry had been how to properly conduct a semi-public courtship he still wasn’t quite certain was the correct thing for him to pursue.

Now he was simply glad for the warmth of Isende’s hand firmly clasping his own as they hurried to warn allies who not long ago had been bitter enemies that invasion and possibly war were presaged in a young woman’s dreams and a crazed jaguar’s visions.

AFTER THE SNARES were set, Firekeeper could almost feel the intensity of the observation centered upon them. Birds—usually raptors or corvids—soared close for a look. Wisps of fur caught in the surrounding bracken, footprints of wolf and bear and deer, showed that many had come to take a closer look at this odd thing that Firekeeper had done. Despite this interest, several days passed before one of the watchers let curiosity overweigh caution, and so fell into a trap.

The trap was a snare meant to catch an animal by the leg. Once the animal was caught, the anchor that had held the loop of rope to the ground gave way, permitting the springy strength of a bent sapling to hold the victim clear of the ground. This was not a trap that would have held a bear or even a large deer. Nor was it one that would restrain a human for very long, at least if the human had the presence of mind—and the physical flexibility—to twist and then cut the line that bound it about the leg or ankle.

But Firekeeper had never intended to give her captive the opportunity to work free. Ever since the traps had been set, she had left off ranging through the surrounding forest, instead sleeping for long stretches of time. The sleep was, in fact, welcome, replenishing reserves that had been considerably drained during the moonspan or so since she and Blind Seer had left the Nexus Islands.

She woke immediately when the trap was tripped and the sapling attempted to straighten again. She and Blind Seer were there before the first violent bouncing had ceased, viewing with critical eyes what hung by one leg from the jolting line.

It was a human male, smaller than Derian, who was considered quite tall, perhaps closer to Harjeedian in height and build, but lacking Harjeedian’s brown skin and black hair. This man had very fair skin, fairer even than Derian’s and without freckles. His hair and beard were pale yellow, almost white, and the eyes that stared at them with mingled indignation and fear were round, and a pale greenish grey.

He wore the long robes that Firekeeper was coming to associate with those who either practiced magic or—as in the case of the thaumaturges of New Kelvin—wished others to believe they did. These were predominantly a blue a few shades darker than Blind Seer’s eyes, printed with designs in black and white. The robes would have looked impressive had the man not been hanging upside down. As it was, the skirts hung from his belted waist, falling to almost cover his face.