Wolf's Search

by Jane Lindskold

  Blind Seer examined the goat thoughtfully. Despite the well-fed roundness of Rusty’s barrel, underneath the coarse reddish-brown hair was considerable muscle. The goat belched, then began chewing at a fence rail, having dismissed the wolf as a source of immediate danger.

  Firekeeper had met the news of her release from pack duty with undisguised pleasure. “One thing we could not plan for, Wythcombe, since you do not tell us where we go. Will we need heavy blankets or tents?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Something was odd about Wythcombe’s inflection of the word “think” but Blind Seer chose not to question. It was possible that what he heard could be part of the translation spell breaking down, because it definitely was doing so, although the disintegration of the spell wasn’t happening in any consistent fashion. Sometimes what Wythcombe or Ranz said was completely understandable. Other times only a few words made sense. Blind Seer wondered if this had something to do with how closely related Rhinadeian and Pellish were. He chose not to ask, but rather to learn what he could through observation.

  I am different from most wolves—my birth pack and those I have met since—yet I am still a wolf and idle chatter is not my way. Chatter that must be filtered through Firekeeper is less natural still.

  Reversing their journey seemed to take less time, as is so often the case, but even so they could tell the translation spell was breaking down. Since they all spoke Pellish, this wasn’t a major problem, although accents and odd word choices often slowed down communication. When they arrived at the gate building, Arasan asked Varelle if the spell could be renewed.

  “No. I’m sorry. It was designed to ease initial communication, but”—Varelle made a self-deprecating gesture—“as I understand it, the decision was made that after a time it should stop working. The need to learn the language of Rhinadei would become part of teaching those who would choose to immigrate here to better understand our culture, our values.”

  Varelle readily agreed to open the gate so that the Nexans could report their next move—and secure reassurance that the Rhinadeians would not be held responsible if something went amiss. That last was the hardest to get anyone to agree to, since the Nexans were intensely loyal. But they had also been at war less than a year before. In the end, they agreed that their friends had the right to take risks.

  “You worry too much, Fox Hair,” Firekeeper said to Derian as he waited with them for the gate that would take them back into Rhinadei to reactivate. “We will come back. When we do so, we will astonish you all with the magics Blind Seer has learned to do. While we run on our hunt, you go visit your parents, show them Isende. When we next meet, think of the stories we will share.”

  In this last, Blind Seer thought, Firekeeper is definitely right. Whatever happens, there will be stories to share.

  When the gate activated, Firekeeper’s hand dropped to rest in its accustomed place upon his shoulders. Then, without pause, Blind Seer walked forward into the gate’s shimmering glow, back into Rhinadei, Derian’s good wishes fading behind them.

  Only later, as she was hiking across a continent that remained ravaged by the magical conflicts of centuries before, did Laria wonder at her mother’s willingness to let her eldest child return to Rhinadei. It wasn’t that Ikitata didn’t care—that was evident from the mixture of small gifts and good advice she had pressed on Laria before her departure, as well as from the tears that had brightened her eyes as she stood waving as the boat departed. Even if Laria had been inclined to doubt, her mother’s love for her daughter radiated from Laria’s room in their apartment, a room that had been kept spotless in her absence.

  Was I really so bad after Dad died? I knew I was depressed, but I guess I never considered what I might be doing to everyone else. And at least I had Dad and loved him and know he loved me and believed in me enough to let me stay and fight. Ranz. I don’t even need to pry to guess he’s messed-up because his dad sacrificed the magical gift that made him who he was to make sure Ranz was born. How do you pay that back? Is this something Ranz was saddled with—a life saturated with guilt even for living? Or is it something he picked for himself?

  She glanced sideways to where the dark-haired young man was striding determinedly along, wrapped in his own thoughts. Their marching order was very fluid, with Firekeeper taking point and Blind Seer ranging wide. Farborn flew high guard, not only warning them of potential danger, but helping them to choose the best route.

  Firekeeper had shared with Laria, Arasan, and Ranz what she, Blind Seer, and Farborn had overheard. Laria suspected that Wythcombe was doing something to make it difficult for Orten and the rest to tell where they were going. It really was too much to expect them not to snoop.

  One advantage of foot travel was the opportunity to learn Rhinadei’s version of Pellish. The basics were similar, but there were some startling revelations. Learning that what most of the other languages Laria knew called “blood magic” was called in Rhinadei by a word that translated into something more like “anathema art” had been the most dramatic. Suddenly Laria understood why Payley’s use of blood magic had caused such immediate revulsion. “Blood magic” was, after all, just a descriptive term, but “anathema art” contained judgement.

  Language lessons weren’t the only way they passed the time. Arasan told stories and encouraged them to join him in various songs. When Wythcombe wasn’t lecturing about some fine point of magical theory, he answered questions about the lore and traditions of Rhinadei, or asked the Nexans about the various lands their gates touched. Even Firekeeper did her part, telling about the Beasts—Wise and Royal—and how their cultures differed. Her accounts revealed once again how very much she thought of herself as one of these Beasts, not as a human.

  Firekeeper had just finished a vivid, if not precisely eloquent, rendition of her first experience attending a formal banquet and how after that she had resolved to learn more about human customs, when Wythcombe turned to Ranz.

  “Learning customs,” Wythcombe mused, trudging steadily down the packed-dirt road. His gait reminded Laria of that of a three-legged animal, for he swung his staff out and down with each step as if it were an extra leg. “That reminds me, Ranz. We never did get around to hearing what you wanted to focus your studies around. Blind Seer’s choices are plenty ambitious, so you don’t need to be shy.”

  Ranz flushed red and ran his finger under his collar, as he often did when Wythcombe spoke to him. Laria guessed it must be tough to finally be acknowledged by someone who had flat-out ignored you for moonspans. Longer than that, if the various written queries Ranz had sent were counted—and Laria bet that for Ranz they definitely did.

  “I’ve been thinking about that—a lot,” Ranz admitted. “I’m already pretty skilled in water magic and cold magic. That’s no real surprise. Those were my mother’s specializations. Both my sister and I seem to have taken after her.”

  “Those are good magics,” Wythcombe said very mildly. “And you have shown artistry in them, not merely skill. But there is something else you would like or you wouldn’t have courted me so assiduously.”

  Ranz ran a finger over his upper lip, a nervous habit that Laria found weirdly endearing. “I was hoping you could tell me more about what else I might be good at. No one would even test me as they did the other kids. If Migyan hadn’t decided to show off—then made herself my teacher as a sort of apology—I would have been stuck with nothing.”

  “Perhaps they were unwise to withhold even the basics,” Wythcombe admitted. “After all, you might have worked out how to use your gift yourself. Still, who among us wishes to be the one to teach one who might be a natural anathema?”

  Wythcombe might have said more, but Firekeeper snapped out in her Blind Seer voice, “Tell him, Ranz! Tell us! What is it that makes your sweat so sour? Ask Firekeeper. Ask Laria. You can only run from your own thoughts so far. I promise, if you are honest, I will protect you, even from Wythcombe himself.”

  As Firekeeper spoke for him,
the enormous wolf growled, his hackles rising so that Laria—who had grown used to thinking of Blind Seer as a sort of enormous dog—felt her skin prickling with a visceral awareness that this was a wolf.

  Ranz blurted out defiantly, “Fine! There are times that I want to learn the anathema art. After all, no matter what I do, people are going to suspect me. If I learn it and show that I can use it responsibly, then at least I’ll show that I’m not like everything they are so afraid of.”

  “Do you believe that if you show yourself responsible,” Firekeeper replied in her Blind Seer voice, “this will eliminate fear? I have jaws that can crush bone. I can take down a buck in his prime. Anything that can be prey fears me, and is wise to do so. Now I have this spellcasting gift, and so my own people fear me. Fear is the price of having power. If you wish not to be feared, then let someone seal your power. It could be done.”

  There was a stunned silence, then Wythcombe asked mildly, “So, Ranz, what do you think of Blind Seer’s suggestion? How do you feel about having your power sealed?”

  “I don’t like the idea very much,” the young man admitted, his tone sulky. “I’ll admit, my first thought was ‘What does that wolf know about what I’ve been through?’ but he’s probably had it harder than I have.”

  “Different, not worse,” Firekeeper replied in her own voice. “Blind Seer knew from the start that he would be feared by humans, so their fear did not feel like rejection. When he discovered he was a spellcaster, he dreaded that even I would cease to love him. I would not have been so faithless, but maybe those who called themselves our friends would have been more afraid of what his spellcasting meant if we had not desperately needed everyone who could work magic. When did you come to realize you were feared?”

  Ranz shrugged. “I knew there was something off about how people reacted to me, but I didn’t learn how bad it was until I was about twelve. That’s when my parents had to explain to me why I wasn’t getting tested with the other kids. I mean, there had been tests before, but these were the tests that determine whether you’re going to have classes in the magical arts or not. Since I’d already picked up a few tricks from Migyan, I was certain I would. Then I realized I was… How to put it? I wasn’t just ignored. It was as if I was invisible.”

  “And only then you asked why, and only then did you learn about your history?” Firekeeper’s tone held disbelief.

  “I knew bits,” Ranz snapped. “I just didn’t realize how it all connected and what it meant for me and…”

  He trailed off and Firekeeper picked up. “So what you wanted Wythcombe to teach you wasn’t really how to do magic without using blood magic—these anathema arts—you wished him accept you as a student because this would show everyone else you belonged to the pack. I understand this. I do.”

  Laria thought that Ranz was about to burst into a tirade about how could Firekeeper understand, but then he looked—really looked—at this human who called herself a wolf. He pressed his lips together until they were white.

  Arasan’s voice spoke, melodious and gentle, but the words were the Meddler’s. “Welcome to life with Firekeeper, Ranz. She has a remarkable talent for meddling with all the soothing tales we tell ourselves. If it’s any comfort, she’s just as hard on herself. Now—going back to what Blind Seer asked—do you want to be free of being feared? Then Blind Seer is correct. Have your powers sealed, very publically. Then make sure you take up some profession where you will not threaten anyone. Offhand, I can’t think of one. Even a porter or maid may be feared by someone. Still, if you had your magic sealed, then you would offer a great deal less threat and demonstrate your loyalty to the ideals of Rhinadei.”

  The Meddler trailed off, his silence inviting Ranz to respond. Wythcombe glanced back at Arasan, his expression holding more interest than Laria thought Arasan’s speech had merited. Had the old spellcaster caught some inkling of the two lives residing within Arasan? If so, what would he do? Did they tell Meddler tales here in Rhinadei?

  Ranz remained silent, but his hands clenched and unclenched rapidly, so that Laria found herself fancying that they were signaling the thudding of his heart.

  “Well, Ranz?” Wythcombe prompted.

  “I’m thinking!”

  “Very well. You think, but you aren’t going to escape answering. While you consider, there is a lesson I had intended to teach Blind Seer before we left my cabin. Orten and Hanya’s arrival distracted me. Would you mind if I moved on to that? I do not wish to be accused of slighting you.”

  “Go ahead,” Ranz answered ungraciously.

  Wythcombe shook his head as if dismayed, then looked to where the wolf padded on his other side. “Blind Seer, you recall the discussion we had of how magic runs in channels—and the more channels, the more the power is spread?”

  Blind Seer nodded.

  “Do you know how to create a reserve of power within yourself?”

  Blind Seer shook his head in the negative. Firekeeper added for him, “I learned how to give power to another, to recognize how far I could drain myself without putting my life in danger, that is all.”

  Wythcombe used the butt of his staff to prod Rusty—who had stopped to eat a large clump of thistles that grew by the roadside—then went on.

  “Very well. Right now your mana is circulating through you, much as your blood does. Indeed, mana is intertwined with blood, which is why blood magic is such an easy way to gain access to another’s mana. I want to teach you how to create a reserve that you can use first. Until that reserve is exhausted, using your magic will neither make you tired nor endanger your life.”

  “Reserve?” Firekeeper asked. “As you can gather spit in your mouth, but it would take a long while for this to take away all the body’s liquid?”

  “Inelegantly put but, yes, rather like that.” Wythcombe began walking a little faster. “I will discuss the theory now, so we can explore techniques once we are settled in camp.” He glanced over where Ranz remained sullen and withdrawn. “That should give my other student time to sort through what I will be the first to agree are very complicated issues.”

  After dinner, when Wythcombe motioned for Blind Seer to join him to one side of their camp, Firekeeper padded over with him.

  “I am here to speak for him,” she explained. What she didn’t explain was that she was also there with every intention of protecting her partner if Wythcombe tried anything the least peculiar. For some things—like raising an alarm—wolf-speech was much faster than any of the human languages they had learned. A human might yell “Help!” but a wolf would have scented the fear before the sound could be voiced.

  Blind Seer had told Firekeeper that he thought she worried overmuch, but she had only shaken her head. “I let the Meddler have a kiss in all innocence, only to find I was saddled by him, to be ridden as he wished. True, in time, I did throw him down and hard enough to break his hold, but I learned then not to trust these magical people. What if Wythcombe bound your power as some have spoken of binding Ranz’s? I could kill him for his impudence, but that might not free you.”

  Now, as the great grey wolf reclined with paws stretched out in front of him, ears pricked alert, and blue-eyed gaze fastened on Wythcombe’s face with a directness that—based on the old man’s sudden prickle of sweat—made him uneasy, Firekeeper allowed her own gaze to unfocus, knowing that the human would perceive this as inattention when, for a wolf, it indicated alertness spread over many areas.

  At the other side of the camp, Laria and Arasan were chatting while they tidied up from dinner, and made preparations toward the morning. Rusty had finished the leftovers and was now devouring bitter sorrel with evident pleasure. Ranz had volunteered to take a fire-blackened pot to a stream and scrub it. The young man was so intent on his personal quandaries that he was unaware that Farborn perched above, alert to anything that might threaten the youth.

  When Wythcombe began discussing creating a mana reserve, Firekeeper was interested by the variety of possible techniques. M
ost ways reserves could be created involved some form of meditation. Meditation was something Firekeeper had witnessed, but had never tried learning. Some humans sat very still and focused on their breathing or made the same hand motions over and over. Others chanted boring and repetitive songs. None of these would work well for a wolf, however. She patiently translated as, between them, Blind Seer and Wycombe worked out that Blind Seer might be able to meditate while in motion.

  Wolves were very good at focusing both on everything around them and on nothing in particular. The trick for Blind Seer would be discovering a way to add one more “sense”—his ability to feel his own magical energies—to the five he already relied upon. When he could move a portion of his attention into this sense as easily as he analyzed random sounds or chance scents, then he should be able to funnel a bit of his mana into a reserve.

  Like spit in his mouth, Firekeeper thought, enjoying the memory of Wythcombe’s discomfort at her perfectly reasonable analogy.

  Eventually, the lesson ended and the wolves absented themselves to hunt. If Blind Seer had less to say than usual as they coursed through the thick green, if afterwards he collapsed and slept into the cool of the morning, Firekeeper wasn’t hurt by his seeming neglect. As when she had learned to shoot a bow or to dance, Blind Seer was learning arts that he had not imagined existed until a few years before—and had not dreamed would be his to adopt until something like a year before. If he could adapt to their new roles, so could she.

  While her partner’s mind was distracted by these new concerns, Firekeeper would keep watch for them both. She knew from Wythcombe’s behavior that their surroundings were becoming increasingly dangerous. Even if the trail still ran through peaceful lands that lulled one into forgetting that there could ever be anything capable of harm, she would not forget.

  XI