Wolf Hunting

by Jane Lindskold

  Plik thought about the huge washes of power he had sensed during the battle. As he and his fellows had fought the bracken beasts he had opened his senses to the full, looking for any advantage that might help, find a weakness in the seemingly innumerable host that attacked them.

  And when I fell unconscious - or rather was doped by the blood briars - I did not cease my attempts to sense. Indeed, I may have tried even harder as I was struggling against the drug. Then when I came conscious, it was as if a bright light shone in my eyes or drums were being pounded alongside my head.

  Tiniel returned with another tray and a second bowl of soup. This one, like the first, was excellent, the crispness of the vegetables suggesting that they were added to the broth shortly before serving. It was not a style of cooking with which Plik was familiar, but he was already developing a taste for it.

  "Good," he said, sopping up some of the broth with a piece of bread. "Very good. You make?"

  "I'm glad you like it," Tiniel said. "It isn't difficult to make. Tell me, what do you usually eat?"

  Plik considered. "Fish. Shellfish. Turtles. Water plants. Eggs. Other plants."

  "You seem to like the cheese."

  "It tastes good."

  "Do you make cheese?"

  "No."

  "Have you eaten cheese before?"

  "Of course. My friends and I carried cheese. Hard cheese. It makes a good trail food."

  "But it isn't part of your usual diet."

  "No, but I like it." Plik proved this by smearing more on another piece of bread. His midsection was feeling tight, but he also felt more energetic and a bit encouraged to play.

  "What do you eat?" he asked Tiniel.

  The young man blinked, startled to be interrogated in turn, but answered willingly enough. "Pretty much anything. I don't like really spicy food, and I'm not fond of liver. Do you like liver?"

  Plik wrinkled his nose. "Sometimes."

  "But you can eat it."

  "I can."

  "Good. It's another food that's good for rebuilding blood."

  "You know a lot about this blood building," Plik said, hoping he sounded innocent, not accusing.

  "It's necessary," Tiniel said. His tone wavered as if he were trying to sound authoritative, but some doubt lingered beneath.

  Plik decided not to press this point. He didn't like where it might take them. What if they were restoring his blood so they could use him to feed the briars? It was not a comfortable thought.

  He frowned, a stray thought trying to claim his attention. He ate another mouthful of soup, and realized what it was. This was definitely beef broth. The maimalodalum did not keep cattle. Goats were better suited to their island. Therefore, he had tasted beef for the first time during this trip, and he knew he was not mistaken about the taste. Nor was this soup made from dried beef. There were a few small pieces of meat mixed in with the vegetables, and they were not rehydrated.

  Had Night's Terror said anything about the twins driving cattle with them? He didn't think so. They must have had pack animals, and he supposed one of them might have been an ox. Horses, though, would have made more sense - or mules, but one could breed horses, while mules were sterile. Derian had talked about the matter along the trail, for apparently mules were superior to either of their contributing kin in many ways, but as they could not breed with each other, they remained unfavored by many.

  Plik spooned up a slice of meat and chewed it thoughtfully. It certainly tasted like beef, but he supposed it might be horse or mule. They had eaten neither this trip out of deference to Eshinarvash - and, Plik gathered, to Derian as well, for the young man was very fond of horses.

  Well, then. Plik decided he would not further investigate this stray thought at this time, but he would remember, and if he had a chance, he would scent the air for cows. They were strong-smelling animals, with a scent that had nothing about it to recommend itself. Horses smelled better, and Plik felt an unexpected pang as he thought of his own two fat ponies. He hoped nothing had happened to them during the battle. He hoped nothing had happened to his friends.

  Somehow, he thought, at least some of them must have survived. That might explain the guarded way Tiniel had answered. The twins, for all their apparent quietude and gentle courtesy, might be expecting to be attacked. Since they knew their bracken beasts had been destroyed, they should have the sense to fear those who would be coming after Plik.

  And they will come, Plik thought. All of them - but for the jaguar - are creatures of packs or herds or flocks. I am one of their pack, and they will not leave me.

  Comforted, Plik continued his meal and waited for the next question. Tiniel was less direct than Isende, but he was no less curious.

  Plik treasured that curiosity, for as long as the twins remained curious, he was likely to be kept alive.

  FINDING ANYTHING HOT-BLOODED and larger than a rabbit proved more difficult than either Firekeeper or Blind Seer had imagined it would be. There were a few wild turkeys, but neither wolf felt these counted as proper eating.

  "I want a deer, a fat doe, not too old," Blind Seer rhapsodized as they ran, "but I'd settle for a young elk. Perhaps a boar, fat from eating all the best acorns and mushrooms. That would be best."

  Firekeeper couldn't help but agree. She didn't need the red meat the way the wolf did, but during her year on Misheemnekuru she had been spoiled with good hunting and a pack that could easily piill down the best prey. Fish filled the belly. Rabbit was savory, but she also longed to gorge until she could eat no more, then to sleep, wake, and gorge again before the meat got high.

  She didn't even feel they were abandoning their friends. Truth had smelled sour with tension. Clearly she would do whatever she needed to do better without the wolves' help. Eshinarvash had said quite frankly he'd sleep better once their bellies were full - and that he would guard the others. Moreover, Lovable was flying easily now, and had promised to find them if any trouble arose. They had agreed to leave signs the raven could follow so she would waste no time in locating them.

  Yet although the forest, as soon as they were away from the plains that held the copse, seemed as fine and healthy as any in which they had run, the wolves did not find big game until they were nearly a full day away. Then they took down their prey.

  Their kill was not the fat boar of Blind Seer's fantasy, but a yearling sow possessed of a very nasty temper. Fire-keeper stung it with arrows from the safety of a tree, and Blind Seer finished the kill when the sow began to stagger.

  They ate well and drank well, and if they sung the moon a bit more loudly than should two alone, well, perhaps they would have welcomed any who would come to challenge their effrontery.

  But none came, not wolf nor fox, or even a snide and slant-eyed lynx. It was as if the forest had not a predator in it - or, worse, that something had these forest rulers so intimidated that they lay low and would not defend their territory against interlopers.

  After they had slept, Firekeeper constructed a bundle from the sow's hide. She had cooked some of the meat over the coals of her night's fire so it would keep a little longer. Blind Seer devoured the rest for his waking meal.

  "You smell like King Tedric's banquet hall," Blind Seer teased as they began the run back to the main camp the next night.

  Firekeeper tried to grin at him, but she knew her attempt lacked heart. Things were all wrong - not just here in these forests so empty of beasts, even in some way between her and Blind Seer. She didn't know how to address that wrongness, and knew that he would not.

  It is like when Blind Seer ran with Moon Frost, Firekeeper thought. Only this time it is my mind that has done a little running. I feel guilty, though I have done nothing - even as Blind Seer did nothing in which I could find fault and so there was no bone to fight over, no way we can talk.

  Not for the first time, Firekeeper found herself wishing that Elise or Wendee were near enough to confide in regarding her confused feelings. She thought that if presented with this strange situ
ation, those two might understand and have some wisdom to set her heart at rest. Lacking this good counsel, Firekeeper opted for running. At journey's end would be a good fight, and, though she hated to admit it, her heart thrilled a little at the thought of seeing the Meddler. Perhaps she could find the answer to the confusion that filled her soul in his amber eyes.

  XX

  BY THE TIME FIREKEEPER AND BLIND SEER RETURNED, bearing with them several very solid chunks of pork to round out breakfast, Derian was aware, even without the aid of a translator, that things were in readiness.

  In fact, they had not had to do completely without a translator during Firekeeper's absence. Harjeedian's training as an aridisdu included interpreting omens. During Truth's year as the representative jaguar for the ahmyndisdu, she had learned the conventions as well. Between them, they managed basic communication quite nicely. Almost immediately, Eshinarvash and the ravens began to offer their own comments, and Harjeedian was kept quite busy.

  Derian was rather glad about this. He had found being thrown into Harjeedian's company very trying. For one thing, there were times he still flat-out didn't like the man.

  Harjeedian was arrogant, scheming, certain of his place, and equally certain that his superiority should be acknowledged. For Derian, who came from a completely different social structure, this acknowledgment did not come easily or automatically.

  It's like this, Derian said, carrying on an increasingly complex internal dialogue. When Harjeedian does something admirable - like pushing himself to learn to ride or working so hard to save Bitter's life - then I have no trouble telling him so. He on the other hand thinks I should bow and scrape to him because he's an aridisdu, and I'm just not set that way.

  And, Derian admitted, I get just a little tired of the fact that Harjeedian isn't exactly ready with the compliments for me. He's like the worst of the nobles at home, the ones who think their birth makes them better than you automatically. In Harjeedian's case he earned his place, and I guess it wasn't easy, but I've earned mine, too, and by the Horse I'd like it acknowledged. I mean, if things had been a little different, we 'd be brothers-in-law, and then he'd be working hard enough to find good in me, if for no other reason than that I'd be kin to him.

  When he was honest with himself, as he was inclined to be, Derian knew that his fuming was in part fed by his feeling of complete uselessness. Plik had been missing now for several days. There was good reason to believe the maimalodalu was alive, but that didn't mean he was happy or comfortable or even well. Derian found himself remembering how Edlin and Peace had looked when they had finally escaped captivity beneath Thendula Lypella. In his imagination, Plik was reduced to the same emaciated, haggard, beaten state.

  Relax, Derian Carter, he reminded himself sternly. Plik's too fat to fade away so quickly.

  But Derian was relieved nonetheless when, near dawn, Firekeeper and Blind Seer trotted into camp. Firekeeper was a complete mess - as usual, after such a venture. Her hair was tangled, and her clothing was greasy and bloodstained. It remained a mystery to Derian how Blind Seer kept so immaculate.

  Over pork, reheated over the fire and shared with everyone but Eshinarvash, Firekeeper began translating the plans that had been too complex for Truth to relate through Harjeedian.

  "Truth knows how," Firekeeper said, "to go into copse without touching copse. It is something like how she go from her harness when we take her to the Meddler's den on Misheemnekuru."

  That tale had been related long ago, so Derian only asked, "Does this have something to do with what the Meddler has been teaching her?"

  "Yes," Firekeeper replied. "Before she do because talent is there and time and place and all that not mean much to her because she is insane. Now she know how to do without being too much insane."

  Truth snarled.

  "At all insane," Firekeeper corrected.

  Derian looked for some indication in Firekeeper's expression that would indicate that she had teased deliberately - perhaps to learn how closely the jaguar was attending. Certainly, Truth seemed restless.

  "When we inside copse," Firekeeper continued, "then we break enough to let you rest in."

  " 'We'?" Harjeedian asked.

  "Truth think," Firekeeper said, "that she can carry one with her. I am best to go, we think."

  This time no one questioned the "we," but Derian thought that - judging from the cant of Blind Seer's tail and ears - the blue-eyed wolf was less than pleased with this decision. No wonder, as it meant putting Firekeeper at risk, and no Blind Seer being there to protect her. Derian wondered if there might be something more. He hadn't forgotten Firekeeper's description of how the Meddler had appeared when seen through her eyes, and he found that perfect melding of wolf and human a little suspicious.

  For as long as Derian had known her, Firekeeper had never hesitated to express her wish that she had been born a wolf, not a human. Now here was someone showing her the image of a perfect hybrid, possessed of a wolf's acute senses without the need to relinquish the advantages of human hands or upright posture.

  Add that to the list of reasons not to trust the Meddler, no matter how helpful he may be, Derian thought.

  Harjeedian had asked, "Why do you think this way of going in will be better than our walking in together through the sides of the copse?"

  "Is like spiderweb," Firekeeper said. "This way we go in without waking spider. Is like when door is opened from inside. There are no locks."

  It wasn't the best of explanations, but several moon-spans of travel where the humans were in the minority had made both Derian and Harjeedian quite talented at filling in the gaps.

  "A door," Derian said, "is not locked or barred against those who are already inside, only those who come from without. Is that what you mean?"

  Firekeeper nodded. "So we do this? Three of us may be enough to fight, but if Plik is hurt, I would like Harjeedian there, and Derian is good in many things."

  Eshinarvash snorted, and Firekeeper nodded, then gave her answer in Pellish. "Yes. We hope you would take charge of horses and gear. We have it all packed so we can run away swiftly with Plik." Lovable croaked, and Firekeeper frowned. "What say you all," she said. "Lovable say she come and scout high for us. I think not, since is building within." "A raven could spy through a high window," Derian reminded. "If she feels up to it, I think she would be very useful."

  Lovable strutted a few steps, then fluttered to perch alongside Bitter. The other raven was doing much better, even capable of a sort of halting, swooping flight, but nothing would replace his one eye, and Harjeedian had expressed concern that scarring might keep the bird from flying normally even when he was healed.

  No wonder Firekeeper is so eager to have Harjeedian and me along. She knows perfectly well that we may need to carry Plik away.

  "It seems like a good plan," Derian said aloud. "When do we begin?"

  "How long to pack up camp?" Firekeeper asked. "Not long, if everyone helps," Derian replied, looking meaningfully at her. Firekeeper had a tendency to disappear when menial tasks were at hand.

  In reply, Firekeeper began gathering the items dirtied by their recent meal, clearly intending to wash them. "Then when we packed," she said, "we go."

  PLIK STILL WASN'T CERTAIN how long he'd been captive, because he had no idea how long he'd slept either the first or last time. He was a captive, too, for no matter how politely either Isende or Tiniel waited on him, he was not permitted outside of his room.

  It was a large room, especially for a small person like himself. Plik never heard anything either moving above or through the walls, so he began to think he might be in a small cottage or hut. There were windows, but his view was truncated by the lustrous growth surrounding them. This was not a growth that tempted him in the least to lean out and take a better look. Closer inspection had confirmed his initial impression that the plants that surrounded his windows were blood briars.

  There were four windows, but the view outside of them was much the same. Beyond
the window was what might be termed a lawn, although less well tended than those he had seen in their journeys. Beyond that lawn was a thick, tired-looking hedge interwoven with more blood briar. Of all the plants, only the blood briar looked lustrous.

  Blood briars are certainly a most cooperative plant, Plik thought morosely. They seem to grow everywhere.

  Because he did not wish to invite the blood briar in, Plik made no effort to open his windows. The room had a chimney. It was too narrow for him to even consider using as an exit, but since there was no fire lit upon the hearth and the winds were gusty, sometimes interesting scents were carried down to him.

  He sniffed hard, hoping to catch the scent of wolf or jaguar. A few very exciting times he did so - and caught the scents of other animals besides. But none of these scents seemed to belong to those Plik knew, so they unsettled him rather than otherwise. He had not forgotten the tales Night's Terror had told about those who had gone into the copse but had not returned. Did these scents belong to some of that vanished company? If so, why did he not hear their howls and snarls?

  Plik caught human scents, too, but other than those of Isende and Tiniel, these did not belong to any he knew. Indeed, they were so elusive that they might well belong to either of the twins and have been diffused or corrupted before they reached him. Perhaps if he had been a wolf, Plik might have read more, but although raccoons had a good sense of smell, it was not the equivalent of a wolf's - nor was Plik entirely a raccoon.

  When Isende returned, Plik decided to let himself speak bluntly. He could get away with doing this, because the twins had already dismissed the possibility of plotting or calculation from their assessment of him. He knew this from how they no longer shut the door quickly when coming from outside his room, how they would set the food tray down before locking the door behind them, from other little casual lapses.

  "Isende," Plik said, "who are the others here?"

  Isende, who had brought some form of yarnwork with her, looked up from what she was doing, her lips still moving in a deliberate count.