Wolf's Search

by Jane Lindskold

  Ranz interrupted. “I would. I absolutely would if that’s what it would take.”

  “… in the end, I am not certain that even my prestige”—The word “prestige” was spoken with an ironical lilt— “would be sufficient to convince my associates among the senior mages to permit Ranz his journeyman’s test. They would remember Payley, and… Let’s just say that, while they respect my skill as both a spellcaster and a teacher, they do not always trust my judgement.

  “Therefore, before they can protest, I want to move directly to a variation on the journeyman’s challenge. It would not be either an abstract challenge or make-work—I assure Blind Seer of that. Instead, I would like to enlist your aid in resolving a mystery that has troubled me since before any of you—except possibly Arasan—were born. This would take us into very dangerous regions and definitely force my new students to show their commitment to the ideal of using their spellcasting gift without employing the techniques of blood magic.”

  Blind Seer said, “His scent is peculiar. There is excitement and something that is not quite fear or dread, but not anticipation either. This mystery is definitely close to his heart, so close that he both wishes and doesn’t wish to know the answer.”

  Firekeeper had felt like that. So very many times when she had thought herself close to the answer of how she might become a wolf, she had both felt joy and a degree of fear. She sympathized with the old mage, and found herself thinking that even if solving this mystery was not part of Blind Seer’s education, she would be tempted to help.

  Blind Seer knew her too well and bent his head so he could grab her forearm in his jaws and gently shake it. “Too often you have risked your life because others say ‘Only you can do this, Firekeeper.’ This is my hunt first. I will not risk you, even to learn how to use my gift. What use would that be, when I learn this for us? If the danger grows too great, or we learn that this old spellcaster is as insane in his own way as ever Virim was, then we turn aside. Do you agree?”

  Firekeeper felt his fangs denting her skin and knew he was serious.

  “I promise.”

  The humans were staring at them with dismay, all but Arasan from whose eyes the Meddler watched with amusement.

  “Don’t worry,” he reassured them. “Blind Seer is just reminding Firekeeper who is in charge when it comes to making decisions regarding his education.”

  “Do you then speak wolf?” Wythcombe said, startled.

  “Naw,” the Meddler drawled. “I’ve just known them a fair while and have learned their charming ways. Never forget, they’re not human. No matter how she looks or he behaves.”

  “Do you wish to leave now, so you can discuss this further?” Wythcombe asked. “I wouldn’t wish you to make a hasty decision.”

  Blind Seer dropped his hold on Firekeeper’s arm and licked his muzzle. “If you promise to obey me in this, sweet Firekeeper, then I would try this learning. We can always leave and seek elsewhere if it does not serve—although I think Ranz will remain no matter. He is of this culture and is finally getting what he has long desired.”

  Firekeeper spoke her answer aloud. “We do not need to further talk. My will is as Blind Seer wishes in this. I only ask that each day we be given time to hunt and run, for I would not have us grow soft in body while we grow strong in mind—and Blind Seer cannot thrive on eggs and cheese.”

  “Time away from study can be arranged. Ranz?”

  Ranz nodded eagerly. “I will happily accept your offer. I want to prove that I wasn’t born a monster. May I write my parents and tell them, or does this need to stay a secret?”

  “Write them, by all means. The traders will be here soon with my winter supplies. They can take the letter with them.”

  “Will we be here all winter, then?” Laria asked. “If so, we should probably send a message back to the Nexus Islands, so they won’t worry.”

  “Not at all,” Wythcombe replied. “If my students learn their basic lessons as quickly as I expect them to, long before winter locks down these mountains, we will be gone from here.”

  Blind Seer thought that Wythcombe understood Firekeeper fairly well. Only for a brief time after they had crossed the Iron Mountains into Hawk Haven had she been anything even vaguely resembling idle—and even then, he thought, her idleness had been her mind catching up with all the new things she was forced to learn. As the old mage settled himself to begin explaining to Blind Seer and Ranz the foundation elements the wolf would need to learn, he suggested that Firekeeper might as well cut up some of the swine’s flesh she and Blind Seer had brought back from their night’s hunting.

  “We’ll make sausage with some of it. I have a good smokehouse, and this will give us provisions for the trail. Out in the wilds of Rhinadei, you don’t always want to eat what there is to kill.”

  Firekeeper agreed, taking a seat at the table and sharpening one of Wythcombe’s kitchen knives to spare her treasured Fang. Blind Seer lay a short distance away, where he could see Wythcombe. Ranz sat near the middle of the table, as if for all his delight at finally being accepted as a student, he didn’t dare get too near to the mage. Arasan and Laria had gone outside, ostensibly to tend the garden, but also to talk out of earshot of their host. If they were going to be in Wythcombe’s company for moonspans, even seasons to come, they needed to decide how much to confide in him of their abilities—and whether or not to confide at all Arasan’s dual nature.

  “First of all,” Wythcombe began, “I have a question that I don’t want you to attempt to answer right away. It is one that Blind Seer, in particular, may not have considered. I’m certain Ranz has some ideas, but I’d rather wait to hear them until Blind Seer has had a chance to weigh his reply.”

  “Ask,” Firekeeper said, methodically cutting the meat into cubes that could be easily fed into the grinder. “Then we will know what to think.”

  Blind Seer thought that Wythcombe realized the prompting was Firekeeper’s, not his, but for once he shared his partner’s impatience.

  Wythcombe’s own knife—he was peeling potatoes—paused slightly, but that might have been because he needed to dig out a damaged section. Then he went on.

  “My question is one so basic that any serious student of magic is asked it many times during the course of training—and asked again when the answers change. Or if they don’t change. What sort of spells do you wish the most to learn how to cast? Or—if you don’t think of your goal as something as simple as a spell—what sort of workings do you wish to learn to do? There’s another, related, question: are you most interested in magics you can do by yourself, or in those that you would do in combination with a group of mages?”

  Blind Seer knew what his answer would be, but he respected Wythcombe’s request that they wait to reply. Even when Firekeeper glanced his way to make certain he did not wish her to speak out what they had discussed many times between them, he kept his peace.

  Ranz also restrained himself, although Blind Seer—knowing what he did of how human young lived in dreams—felt sure the youth could also have replied. After a pause, Wythcombe picked up a fresh potato and continued speaking.

  “One thing you may not realize, Blind Seer, is that even for those with the gift of spellcasting, the choices are not infinite. Do you know what a library is?”

  The wolf nodded. He and Firekeeper had agreed that the best way to train Wythcombe to think of Blind Seer as a person was for Blind Seer to handle as many answers as possible himself.

  “Very well. Do you understand how they work?”

  Again Blind Seer nodded, and Firekeeper added, “He does. Libraries have many books and scrolls. Blind Seer actually reads better than I do. Three languages, although mostly Pellish and Liglimosh. New Kelvinese not so well.”

  This time Wythcombe’s steady potato peeling ended with a potato sliced in half and the blade of the knife nearly cutting the pad of his thumb. He put down both potato and knife.

  “Blind Seer can read?”

  “Better than
me. I read a little Pellish. A little Liglimosh. I know I should learn more but—I am not lazy, not even though Derian say this is so. I just prefer other things.”

  “I’d like to test Blind Seer later,” Wythcombe said. “I don’t suppose he can write?”

  Firekeeper shook her head woefully. “Not more than what a wolf can do with a stick in his jaws, and that is not much, more dragging lines.”

  Wythcombe picked up his knife and potato, then set both down as if aware that he needed to concentrate on what he was doing. Blind Seer huffed laughter, knowing that of those present only Firekeeper would recognize the expression.

  “Very well. Going back to libraries, then. Libraries hold many books, but they are not all the same book or on the same subject. Even within a subject, understanding one book may rely on reading another book first. Using spells is similar. If you choose one subject, to learn how to do the more difficult workings in that subject, you need more and more specialized knowledge. Eventually, you only will be reading the books from one part of the library.”

  Blind Seer didn’t understand, and told Firekeeper so.

  “Blind Seer asks, why? He has seen Urgana—that is the name of the librarian of the Nexus Islands—one day reading a book on history, another day on heraldry, another on which plants grow best where.”

  Wythcombe frowned. “Maybe I didn’t choose the best example then… Ranz?”

  Above the table, Ranz looked composed, but from where he lay on the floor, Blind Seer could see the youth’s booted foot tapping nervously. “In school our teacher described the different choices with a visual metaphor. He covered a table in wet clay so that one side was slightly higher than the other. Then he had us dig a single groove in the clay. Next we poured water down the groove. As you might expect, the water ran downhill to the end of the groove. After that he had us make two channels, then more—sort of like a river delta. Each time he had us pour water in the channels, and each time the flow was split. Eventually, no channel received enough water to reach the end.”

  “That’s what I get for having taught only senior students for so long,” Wythcombe said, thumping the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I’d forgotten that basic exercise. It’s a good one. Do you understand this example, Blind Seer?”

  The wolf nodded. He’d seen children playing on the beaches make similar channels in the sand.

  “Excellent. Forget the library example for now—it will make more sense later. Let’s go back to Ranz’s clay and water. Someone who wishes to learn many types of spells can do so, but if you learn too many of different sorts, then your water—your mana—is spread very thin. Thin mana can only be used to power the most basic of spells. If you’re interested in only those, then that’s well and good, but the things most basic spells do—create a spark or a little gust of wind—are more easily achieved by more usual means.”

  Blind Seer thought wistfully that no matter how hard he tried, he could not strike flint and steel as Firekeeper could, but he understood the comparison and didn’t bother to protest this humancentric example.

  “Now, here’s a point that often gets overlooked in our general aversion to blood magic. We often speak of blood magic as if it’s simply a means of acquiring additional mana. That’s true, but only to a point. What is often overlooked is that blood magic is—to use Ranz’s analogy—one of these channels. Opt to use blood magic and you’ve already limited yourself.”

  Ranz raised one hand. “But Master Wythcombe, isn’t that true of any of the mana-sharing disciplines? Dance magic or song magic or the like? As I was taught, those are also limiting factors.”

  “As with so many things,” Wythcombe replied, “what you say is both true and not quite true. Since dance magic and song magic can also be used by an individual to focus a spell, learning to use them cooperatively is a refinement, a sub-channel, so to speak, of the technique. Using blood magic—since it involves adapting another’s mana for one’s own use—digs a deep channel that spins off more of the user’s own mana. However, blood magic users say that despite the deepness of the channel, they still benefit because they are able to draw on considerably more power than they could generate themselves. Another benefit of blood magic is that, of all the cooperative forms of magic, it can be used most quickly. Mingling of blood can be sufficient, whereas for song focus or dance focus, everyone must know the same songs and dances. Does that answer your question?”

  Ranz nodded. “Very much. I think—and I’m not justifying, just thinking aloud—that this explains why my father turned to blood magic when he was losing my mother and me. They both are mages, but she’s a song practitioner, while if he sings a note in key it’s pure accident. His chosen magical focus—and he had only the one discipline, that of healing—was a series of intricate symbols and inscriptions that can—well, could—be adapted as he needed. So he couldn’t learn my mother’s discipline, and she did not have time to learn his discipline—even if she had been able. She was very sick.”

  Wythcombe nodded sympathetically. “That was one of the arguments raised in your father’s defense, one of the reasons why he was not executed. And your mother grew worse very quickly, so there was not time to gather those who might lend him mana—or so your father claimed. Others said he was too arrogant, too certain that he was better than his peers.”

  The mage held up one knobby hand when Ranz began to protest. “Let me finish. That was an ugly time, filled with anger and fear. I approve of your desire to redeem your father, but I want you to realize that you will be up against more than just the question of whether he was justified in using blood magic—that he did not create a monster in saving you. Your father was a powerful healer, and the powerful always make enemies—especially if they are arrogant. Payley was very arrogant, and confident enough in his ability not to hide that arrogance.”

  Ranz nodded somberly. “My mother has told me this as well. It’s hard to imagine. Father is so humble now. But it’s a good reminder.”

  After such a tense moment, near upon argument, Blind Seer thought, a wolf would have butted the boy with his head or grabbed him for a bit of wrestling to make sure there were no hard feelings. Humans are so impossibly restrained. I wonder if it comes from lacking a good sense of smell. They can’t tell when someone’s mood has changed.

  To Firekeeper, who had dutifully continued to cut up meat, but was beginning to smell restless, Blind Seer said, “Dear heart, remind Wythcombe that I know little or nothing of the different ways to channel magical energy. It would help me to answer his question if I knew.”

  But when Firekeeper repeated the query, Wythcombe shook his head. “I’d prefer not to answer that. Sometimes there is only one channel that will lead to a given result, but other times there are several. I would like to hear what Blind Seer desires, then try to determine which channels might use his mana most efficiently to reach as many of those goals as possible.”

  When Firekeeper tilted her head to one side to indicate that she didn’t quite understand, Ranz glanced at Wythcombe. “If I might? I’ll use healing magic as an example, since we have already talked some about how that works.”

  “Very well,” Wythcombe said. “You’ve done a better job than I have with explaining things to him.”

  When Ranz addressed his reply to Blind Seer, rather than Firekeeper, the wolf caught the whiff of pleasure from his two-legged partner. “I mentioned that my father’s version of healing magic relied on knowledge of a series of symbols that enabled his mana to be channeled in a certain way. One symbol for setting a broken bone. One for reducing a fever. One for clearing irritated lungs. Like that. Are you with me?”

  Blind Seer nodded, then sat up, so Ranz could see his head more easily.

  “Good. Now some of those same goals can be achieved through the use of plant magic. Bones can be straightened by the application of a certain vine. A decoction of willow leaves—which will, by themselves, work to reduce fever—can do it faster and more reliably if enhanced with man
a. So a glyph healer like my father and a plant mage would reach the same goal but—going back to those channels in the clay—they’d share the channel for healing, but not the one for glyph magic.”

  Blind Seer said, “Glyph seems to mean writing, if I am hearing this translation spell correctly. Can all magics be done through glyphs?”

  Firekeeper translated and Wythcombe replied, “Yes. However, the ‘channel’ for glyph magic is a deep one. Since plant magic enhances inherent tendencies in the plant, it is a less deep channel, which means more side channels can be carved off of it without as much drain on the user’s mana.”

  “So is plant magic then like blood magic, since it is dependent on another living thing?”

  The question hung in the air for a long moment, then Wythcombe shrugged. “That point has been debated. For that reason, there are plant specialists who only use parts of a plant, making certain not to endanger the living whole. Even those who use roots or the entire plant often seed new plants—and not just so they will have them for later. They seek to keep a balance, an awareness of the living thing.”

  “But blood magic can be done without killing the donor. Why is it abhorred where plant magic is not?”

  From the sharp tang of Ranz’s sweat, the same thing had occurred to the young man—possibly many years before—but he had not dared ask.

  “Because,” Wythcombe said, massaging his temples, “plant magic is tied to specialized effects. Willow will not set a bone. A binding creeper will not reduce a fever. Blood magic converts individual mana to a force that can be used for any purpose. That makes it very dangerous.”

  “Dear heart,” Blind Seer said, “this old human smells quite weary and this subject has strained him. By his own admission, he sat awake thinking much of the night. Let us go and sleep away the day’s heat. Tell him I need to think, as indeed, I do.”

  Over the next several days, the bustle in the mountain meadow which housed Wythcombe’s hermitage settled into a new routine. Firekeeper and Blind Seer would arrive sometime after first light, usually bearing fresh meat or fish. Firekeeper also gathered a variety of wild plants, nuts, mushrooms, and berries, all of which were inspected by Wythcombe since, in some cases, the Rhinadeian versions were tainted in ways their original stock had not been.