Wolf's Search

by Jane Lindskold

  “If no harm is done to him,” Firekeeper replied promptly. “If harm is done, then…” She spread her fingers wide in wordless commentary.

  “I will take the chance,” Erldon said. “While we need to be some distance from the rest of you, we do not need to be out of sight. Perhaps if Blind Seer would walk with me to that rise?”

  He pointed to a moderately tall hill a short distance away. Blind Seer immediately rose and loped over. Erldon followed more slowly. When he joined the wolf, the gestures he made with his hands reminded Firekeeper uncomfortably of the manner in which—as Laria had told the tale—the void sphere had skimmed over Blind Seer. But although the wolf-woman strained her senses for the least sign that Blind Seer was in distress, the wolf sat quietly upright, tolerating the old man’s peculiar behavior with far more patience than Firekeeper herself might have done.

  The examination took a long while, long enough that Firekeeper and Laria shifted to remain seated in the sunlight, but eventually the pair came back, Blind Seer permitting the rabbitty old man to lean on him. When they came close, Firekeeper saw that Erldon’s bald pate was dotted with sweat and only Blind Seer’s support kept him from stumbling. She sprang up and half-carried the old man from the other side, settling him into his chair on the porch before rejoining Blind Seer and Laria on the grass.

  “There’s no doubt,” Erldon said even before he finished the honey and brandy-scented tea Wjem shoved into his trembling hand. “The wolf not only has a magical gift, its shape is unfixed. He’s a potential spellcaster.”

  “So that’s settled,” Hanya said, the satisfaction in her tone out of proportion to the news. Firekeeper had the sense she didn’t like debate any more than Firekeeper herself did.

  Orten, however, wasn’t done nattering. “But why would a wolf of all creatures—a carnivore, certainly well-acquainted with the shedding of blood—desire to learn how to cast spells without using blood? It seems to me that this would be a very natural form of magic for a wolf, far more so than for a human.”

  If Orten believed he was the first to raise this question, he was destined for disappointment. Many others had asked the same. These included the surviving spellcasters on the Nexus Islands who, having been schooled in what they considered discreet and responsible use of blood magic, could not understand Blind Seer’s aversion.

  Firekeeper answered for her partner as she had before. “Maybe because we are wolves and know much of blood-spilling, even to the taste of it as it flows still pulsing into the mouth. Maybe because we are not humans, and do not leave the killing of our meat to such as butchers and hunters and gamekeepers. Maybe because of this is why we so appreciate the cost of taking a life, and would not use magic that views the shedding of blood as a shortcut, as a means of sparing the self the cost.”

  “Interesting position,” Orton admitted.

  He was opening his mouth to say more when Varelle, conscious, so Firekeeper thought, of the compact she had made, interrupted him. Ignoring Orton and Bordyn, both of whom looked distinctly offended, she spoke directly to the new arrivals.

  “We promised you an answer to the question of whether the lore Blind Seer seeks can be found in Rhinadei. The answer to your question is tied up with something else you want to know: who we are and how we came to Rhinadei. What we need to tell you begins far back in time, back before what you call querinalo, the Plague, burned magic from the world, back to the days when blood magic dominated the use of magical powers—for that is when our ancestors came to this land.”

  Arasan glanced over at Firekeeper. “We will listen.”

  Firekeeper knew that many of her human friends viewed her as impatient, but this was not precisely true. She was only impatient with useless delay—and over time she had even learned to redefine what she thought of as “useless.” In truth, she loved stories, especially those that expanded her knowledge. The wolves had no books. Many a cold and hungry day, the only food they could find had been in the shape of stories that distracted both teller and listeners from the gnawing in their guts.

  “Tell!” she said, flinging one arm around Blind Seer and leaning her head against him. “We will listen with ears and heart both.”

  “As hard as it may be for some of you to believe,” Varelle began, “even in those long ago days when the great sorcerers ruled the world and miraculous workings made daily life easier and more pleasant, even then there were those who felt that the use of blood magic was not justified by the admitted delights of clean heat and light, swift transportation, and reliable healing from a great many illnesses.

  “You have certainly heard horror stories about the behavior of the great wielders of magic and wondered if these were exaggerated—grandmother tales meant to frighten those who would dabble in things best left undone. I tell you now—believe those tales. They are probably less horrific than what actually occurred.”

  Laria, remembering how the sibling spellcasters had been willing to strip life not only from their slaves, but from the land itself, did not need to ask for examples. Varelle, perhaps expecting questions or protests, paused. When no one did more than nod encouragement, she continued.

  “There had long been traditions of magic that did not involve the use of blood to augment the user’s own power. However, these came to be viewed as, at best, a stopgap, meant for emergencies. Most thought of these ways as old-fashioned and unenlightened, akin to carrying water in one’s mouth when a jar was present. Others thought such ways simply stupid. After all, why draw a cart yourself if you could hitch a horse or ox? By using the animal’s strength you saved yourself the labor and, as a bonus, could travel much farther and bring along a heavier load than if you relied on your own limited strength.

  “Still, had those who persisted in refusing to use blood magic merely been typified as cranks and eccentrics, nothing might have changed and our ancestors might never have come to Rhinadei. However, there were many sorcerers who viewed those who refused to use blood magic as potential threats.”

  “Threats?” Laria said incredulously. “But they were less powerful!”

  “Threats,” Varelle asserted, nodding approvingly at Laria, as if the younger woman had not just cast doubt on her account. “There were two main reasons for this attitude. The first was because whenever it became apparent that at least some of the daily miracles upon which people relied could be achieved without the use of blood, then the sacrifices—sometimes quite literally sacrifices, such as you saw during the challenge—that were demanded of the general population in return for magical creations were supplied with an undercurrent of resentment. Not all the users of blood magic were as ruthless as the siblings you foiled earlier. Many simply enjoyed having power, respect, and being able to practice their art. They had no desire to raise armies or do whatever else that would be necessary to dominate the populace. They preferred a simple exchange of goods and services in return for their sharing the benefits of magic.”

  Laria gave a quick smile to show she understood, then prompted, “You said there was a second reason.”

  Varelle nodded. “The other reason was more subtle and, in the end, probably the more dangerous to those who refused to practice blood magic.”

  “Let me guess,” interjected Arasan—no, this was the Meddler, being unwontedly polite. “The users of blood magic began to have a creeping suspicion that those who practiced the unenhanced forms of magic were actually the more powerful.”

  “More?” Firekeeper asked, tilting her head to one side as she often did when asking a question. Remembering seeing dogs do something similar when begging, Laria wondered if this tilt might be wolf-talk for “Why?” “This is like saying my empty hand cuts more deeply than my Fang’s blade. It makes no sense.”

  “When you put it that way,” Arasan replied, “it doesn’t make any sense. But think how your years among the wolves gave you strengths you wouldn’t have had if you had been raised as a human child. Even in the strength of my youth, I couldn’t have paced a horse for hou
rs or climbed as I have seen you climb. But lacking the mounts and ladders we humans take for granted, you learned to build your other skills. Now do you understand?”

  Firekeeper reached to touch her long bow. “Yes, I think. To speak as Varelle did, the man who pulls his own cart or carries the dead buck on his shoulders becomes stronger than the man who slays the deer, then after drops the corpse in a cart for the horse or ox to pull.”

  Firekeeper turned her dark gaze to Varelle and, sliding her arm from over Blind Seer’s shoulders, quickly pressed herself against the grass in abasement.

  “I apologize. Sometimes I am still a foolish pup who cannot make the leap—of thinking, I mean. Please, tell us more of those who would do magic without blood.”

  The wolf-woman straightened, returning with lithe ease to her former posture. Varelle, once she had recovered from momentary astonishment at this wolfish apology, gave Arasan a sharp, approving salute.

  “You understand the situation very well. As our traditions tell, the blood mages might have tolerated competition from a few eccentrics who took their payment in other than blood, but they could not overcome their suspicion that they were harboring potent adversaries among them. There might well have been war between the factions, but those who eschewed blood magic forestalled open conflict by offering an alternative: They would go into voluntary exile, taking their peculiar traditions and what threat they offered with them.

  “An agreement was not instantly reached, for there was much suspicion on both sides. One fear held by the blood mages was that the opposition merely sought to band together, to grow stronger, and then—no matter what oaths had been sworn—they or their descendants would return and attempt to end the reign of blood magic by force. Moreover, there was the problem of where the eschewers would settle. Although many of them held lands in their own right, these lands invariably bordered on lands held by those who opposed their philosophy.

  “For their part, the eschewers feared that the blood mages would be certain to interfere with the bold new experiment—especially since, if it failed, the blood mage’s position would be made that much stronger.

  “The matter was solved in a curious and creative fashion. On the far side of the world there was a vast, isolated land mass. Long ago, so legend told, this had been as fair as any land then known. However, in the past, magical conflict had all but ruined this land for habitation. The eschewers proposed that they would take this ruined land for their new home, selling their own property and using the proceeds to acquire the means for supporting themselves while they adapted to this hostile environment.

  “Although the blood mages were suspicious that this was some sort of trick, they eventually agreed. However, they insisted on one condition. After the initial transition had been completed, the exiles would be sealed from any connection with the rest of the world. A barrier would be erected around the landmass. The gate through which the colonists were transported would be closed. This was more easily agreed upon than you might imagine, for those who eschewed blood magic truly had no desire to have contact with the world they were leaving behind.”

  Varelle paused, again tacitly inviting questions, and Arasan spoke.

  “I can believe that of the original colonists, for they were clearly idealists, but what of the generations that followed? Didn’t any wish to return?”

  Bordyn smiled sourly. “Our legends say not. While there were certainly hardships, the colonists came well-equipped. They were not castaways, struggling to make do, but well-prepared pioneers, offered a land to rehabilitate and make their own. In their new home they found freedom from the tyranny of blood-augmented power—and all around them were ample reminders of what happened when that power ran out of control.”

  “So no rebels, no throwbacks to older ways?” Arasan—or rather the Meddler—persisted.

  “Surely there were some,” Bordyn replied. “Human nature has ever been perverse, but the sort of behavior of which you speak best flourishes in idleness. Even these centuries later, Rhinadei is not a place for idleness.”

  “So you’ve had your isolated paradise for centuries,” Arasan said—although Laria heard the Meddler in the irony that threaded beneath the musical voice, “and you fear we’ve come to ruin it.”

  Erldon, now somewhat recovered from his workings over Blind Seer, laughed softly. “Hardly a paradise, as you will find if you stay here long. But let the Gatewatcher finish her history lesson.”

  “I am almost finished,” Varelle said, giving him a brief, seated bow before returning her attention to the Nexans. “When for no reason we could understand, the flow of magic became weaker, we had much to do to compensate.”

  “So querinalo came here, too?” Firekeeper asked.

  “It did,” Varelle confirmed, “although I do not think it was anywhere near as terrible as it was in the Old World. Some did die, but mostly because they had some other physical weakness that made them unable to deal with the illness.”

  “May we—Blind Seer and I—ask a question of you, Varelle?” Firekeeper said very politely. “Rhinadei. This word seems to have more meanings than I understand. You, Varelle, spoke of it as a philosophy. But in your other telling we notice that you also speak of it as if it is the name of this place—this land or nation. Later, when Farborn is given his new feet, you say Rhinadei does this. I am the first to say I am not skilled in words, but I do not think that philosophies act for themselves. What is Rhinadei?”

  Orten drew in his breath in a self-important fashion, but Varelle cut him off before he could speak.

  In Varelle’s grey eyes, the flecks of color seemed brighter against the pale grey. “Earlier, I told you how those who came here were bound by a common belief that blood magic—especially when abused by taking blood from the unwilling, or from those who would not directly benefit—was wrong. When our ancestors came to this land, they could hardly be said to possess it, even if they had chosen to make it their home. Abuses by those who had lived here long before had made it barely livable and in many places hostile. So, one might say—as they did at that time—that all they had was their philosophy: the philosophy of Rhinadei. Over time, parts of the new land and the philosophy came to be called by the same name.”

  “Parts?” Firekeeper asked, sitting up straight to show she was listening. Beside her, Blind Seer did the same.

  Again, Orten tried to speak, but Varelle glowered at him. This time her eyes swirled with kaleidoscopic color that nearly eliminated the grey. “Orten, teaching our history is part of my role as Gatewatcher. You’ll have your turn soon enough.”

  Perhaps the bright sparks in her eyes cowed the man, for he shrunk down in his chair and pressed his lips into a tight line. Firekeeper was fascinated.

  Varelle continued. “Yes, Firekeeper, ‘parts.’ As I said, the land had been greatly abused. When I say many regions were hostile, I mean actively so—similar to what you encountered when you initially attempted to leave the area near the gate building. To reduce many generations of hard labor into a few dull words, parts of the land were healed. Sometimes the healing was done in ways you would find completely familiar—creating healthy soil by composting or removing remnants of human constructions that contaminated the land. Other times the challenge was more dangerous.”

  “Like fighting spirits in the air or earth?” Laria asked.

  “Like that and worse.”

  “Worse?” Laria echoed, sounding shocked.

  “Worse,” Varelle agreed. “You saw enough in the challenge that I don’t need to waste breath giving examples. Take everything you have seen here and our ancestors—and ourselves today—faced that and more. Whenever a piece of the land is healed, we say it is now in Rhinadei.”

  “Today?” Arasan asked. “So the land is not completely well?”

  “Not at all,” Orten said, glowering at Varelle as if daring her to stop him. “This is a large land mass, and it will be the work of generations yet unborn before it is completely healed. However, we have
an ally our ancestors did not. That ally is the Rhinadei that helped us to create the challenge on the plains for you, the Rhinadei that accepted Farborn’s sacrifice and chose to reward it.”

  “Is the land then a person?” Firekeeper asked. “This is not symbol talking?”

  Rabbity Erldon, his hand pausing in the act of selecting among some pretty pastries, spoke. “No, Varelle is not speaking metaphorically. She means precisely what she said. We really don’t know what caused Rhinadei to develop an identity of its own. I’m not trying to hide anything. We really don’t know. The most popular theory at the moment is that Rhinadei is a fusion of our philosophy with the latent magical energies of the land. The land wishes to be well, and so has embraced our philosophy with a fervor that would have surprised our ancestors.”

  Farborn squawked, and Firekeeper translated for him. “Farborn says, ‘You never forgot, though, that you—this philosophy of Rhinadei—have enemies elsewhere. That is so, we think. Why else would you have one such as Varelle named as Gatewatcher?”

  The five Rhinadeians shared an appreciative laugh at this insight, although the wolf-woman could tell they didn’t quite believe—not in their guts—that the merlin had been the one to ask the question.

  “No, we never did forget,” Varelle admitted. “The first settlements our ancestors created were stretched between the shore where the supply ships landed and this gate. Later, when those first settlers had encouraged segments of the land to heal, the area nearest to the gate was made into a preserve. This way enemies could not use the gate to emerge into the midst of a populated area that could be destroyed or held hostage.”

  Hanya glanced at Varelle. “Will you explain the next part, or shall I?”

  Varelle gave the other woman a quick bow, a flicker of merry wickedness chasing across her features. “By all means, you have barely had a chance to speak. Don’t you agree, Orten?”

  Hanya shook her head in mild reproof, then turned to face the Nexans. “As Farborn stated, your arrival, while not unexpected, was not wholly unanticipated. Our traditions never lost awareness that there were other peoples—possibly, probably—hostile to us, as close as the other side of a magical portal. Regularly, portions of the population have gathered to work rituals that would keep strong both our seals and the wards that protect our shores. Nonetheless, we held no delusions that these protections could not be forced.”