Wolf Hunting

by Jane Lindskold

  "So," Derian said, making himself speak very, very carefully, "I didn't want to lose my rapport with horses, so querinalo made me look like a horse?"

  Isende, standing to one side, holding a bowl of porridge on a tray, said, "It's not that bad, Derian. Really. Once you get over being startled, you don't look bad at all."

  Derian snorted, and felt his nostrils flare - not as a horse's would, but certainly in a human form of the same mannerism.

  "I woke up wanting oat porridge," he said, laughing and hearing the hysterical note in it. "With carrots! I'll be eating grass next."

  A voice spoke from the window. "Really, there are worse things. You '11 never starve."

  Derian looked and saw Eshinarvash standing in the window. The Wise Horse snapped at the sluggishly moving blood briars with big, square teeth.

  "Even these aren't too bad," the horse went on. "Though a bit rank."

  "Eshinarvash," Derian said. "I... This isn't a joke, is it?"

  "What isn't a joke?" Harjeedian said sharply.

  Derian turned to look at the three humans gathered by his bedside. He realized from their expressions that although all of them were aware of the Wise Horse's presence, none of them had understood what Eshinarvash had said.

  "I understood him," he said, "just like I did Blind Seer and Truth in my dream."

  Harjeedian's eyes widened with awe and just a bit of envy. Derian found himself remembering how the Liglimom had coveted Firekeeper's ability to speak with the yarimaimalom, and now it seemed Derian was claiming the same ability. For a moment, Derian felt very important, then he caught his reflection in the mirror and his heart sunk.

  "I can never go home," he said. "Not looking like this. I'd be a freak, an embarrassment to my family. What was I thinking? I could have done without my talent. Most of my life, I didn't even think of myself as being talented. I had skills. I'd still have those skills."

  He raked the tips of his fingers across his face, felt a fine down of hair there, felt those hardened tips dig in and leave welts.

  "Go away!" he shouted, pulling up the blankets to ask his face. "Don't look at me!"

  WHEN PLIK AWOKE that evening, he found Tiniel awake before him and eager to report the changes in their situation.

  "Firekeeper has slept all day, as has Blind Seer, but they're wakening now. I've just brought her some stew and him a huge bowl of meat stock. She says that when they're done, they're going for a run, but I don't think they'll be gone long."

  "There's something else," Plik said. "I can hear it in your voice. Has Truth arisen from hiding?"

  Tiniel paused before he replied, and when he did his tone held a note of indignation.

  "I think so. The ravens came and spoke with Firekeeper, and she said something to Harjeedian and my sister that makes them think Truth came through the crisis. Firekeeper didn't give any details, though, and, of course, you're the only other one who can talk easily to the yarimaimalom. I guess Derian could, but he's ..."

  "He's what?" Plik said sharply, when Tiniel trailed off.

  "He's hiding under the bedclothes. He won't speak with anyone."

  "Then he's learned what happened to him?" Plik said, hurrying toward the door.

  "He woke earlier, and Harjeedian broke the news to him very gently. It seems that Derian has come through even better than we imagined last night. Not only has he retained his talent, it has been enhanced. He could understand Eshinarvash when the Wise Horse came to the window to speak with him."

  Plik thought he understood the change in Tiniel's manner. He had thought it was due to Firekeeper slighting the young man, but although that might play a part, clearly Tiniel could not understand why Derian should not be rejoicing in his survival. Tiniel had not stopped mourning his own loss. Apparently, he did not understand why Derian would mind being physically changed when he was magically enhanced.

  "Derian comes from a land where magic is considered abhorrent," Plik explained.

  They had come to the cottage that was being used as a sickroom, but he made no effort to lower his voice. Best if Derian heard what he had to say as well.

  "I've wondered about that," Tiniel replied. "For a land that despises magic, they sure seem to have a good many talented people: Blind Seer, Derian, and probably Fire-keeper as well, for all she didn't get as sick as the rest."

  Harjeedian rose from where he had been reading at Derian's bedside, and crossed to join them.

  "Tiniel said you were waking," he said, "and Isende has gone to get us all something to eat."

  "Things continue well with the prisoners?" Plik asked.

  'They do," Harjeedian said. "Zebel reported to his allies that all have passed through querinalo alive, and that Derian, at least, appears to be Once Dead. This changes the situation, at least to the doctor's way of thinking. I must admit, their way of thinking remains a mystery to me.

  "Interesting," Plik said. He glanced over, but it was impossible to tell whether the lump of bedclothes that was Derian was awake or asleep. "And Firekeeper?"

  "Am here," came a husky voice from behind him. "Us both. We went a little way, but Blind Seer is very weak."

  "And amazingly hungry," the blue-eyed wolf added. "Although I do not think I could stomach more than broth."

  "Isende is sure to bring more for both of you to eat," Plik said. "That young woman is proving very resourceful."

  "We both are," Tiniel said defensively. "After our parents died, we were all we had left. No one was going to fetch and carry for us. Isende had to learn to manage an entire household."

  Plik smiled to himself. Tiniel seemed unaware of the contradictions in his own statement. Then again, that seemed in keeping with the young man's character to this point. He had many good qualities, but an astonishing amount of self-absorption as well.

  A great cat, Plik thought, rather than some herd or pack animal. Survival of the self, rather than of the whole. Isende is not like her twin in that. I wonder if they are complementary opposites rather than a matched set as we have been led to believe.

  Firekeeper had settled Blind Seer on a folded blanket a comfortable distance from the hearth, and now she padded over to inspect Derian. She laid a gentle hand where the young man's shoulder should be, but he did not stir. Plik thought the wolf-woman might strip back the blankets and force Derian to communicate, but she did no such thing. Instead, shaking her head in sorrow, she returned to the group near the fire.

  She was about to seat herself by Blind Seer when she jerked up her head. Plik caught the sound even as the wolf-woman did.

  "Isende is back," Firekeeper reported, moving to the door.

  Plik heard soft conversation between the two women, and a moment later they entered, carrying several packs between them. Firekeeper's interest in this menial task became evident when she set her burden down, and removed a large bottle from one of the packs.

  "Zebel send broth cooked with plants so to make Blind Seer stronger," Firekeeper reported with satisfaction as she poured some into a large, shallow bowl and set it near the reclining wolf.

  "And there is food for the rest of us as well," Isende laughed. "Eshinarvash helped me carry it over, or I would have had real problems."

  They chattered rather stiltedly as they dished out portions for everyone, all too aware of Derian huddled under his blankets.

  'Tiniel and I were talking," Plik said, deciding he must be the one to introduce the matter again, "about how odd it is that although the northerners claim to despise magic, they have so many talents among them."

  Harjeedian nodded. "I discussed the matter with Der-ian long ago. Apparently, as he understands the tales told in his land, an effort was made to slaughter any who showed the gift for sorcery, but talents, especially those with a limited focus, were overlooked."

  "Odd," Tiniel said.

  "But reasonable," Harjeedian said. "After all, those very talents could help those who had been abandoned into war and chaos when their rulers fled to survive. However, while in our l
and we view talents as divine gifts, in Derian's land they simply don't think of them at all."

  "I don't understand," Isende said.

  "If talents manifest," Harjeedian said, "they are accepted, but neither praised nor censured. I have met a friend of theirs from the north - a Sir Jared Surcliffe - who is blessed with the healing talent. However, the man does not base his life around that talent as might one of the Liglimom so blessed. While that Liglimom would take his talent as an omen that he should follow the disdu's path, this friend delights in his nickname of 'Doc' - a name that affirms his gift. When he realized that his talent could not answer all medical needs, he devoted himself to learning medical arts."

  Isende nodded now. "I see. So although Derian, say, has this rapport with horses, in his land there is no way he could become a kidisdu. He simply became a very talented horseman."

  "That is correct," Harjeedian said. "I believe that gradually being forced to face that he had a magical talent and how much that talent meant to him has been very difficult for Derian. Querinalo only brought to a head an issue that had been troubling him for several years now."

  Plik noted that not a single voice had been lowered during this discussion. He was not the only one who hoped Derian was listening, and perhaps learning that no one here blamed him for what had happened.

  "Transformation," Plik said, "is very difficult to accept though, especially when it comes unwilling and united. Do you remember how I told you all that 'Plik' as not my given name, but one I took for myself?" The twins shook their heads, but Harjeedian nodded. "I do. Derian asked you why your name was so unlike at borne by most of the maimalodalum. I don't think you ever told us why." "Well," Plik said, reaching for another slice of bread and smearing it thickly with butter. "Since we have little to do this evening but wait, this would be the perfect time for me to tell that tale."

  XXXIV

  YOU'VE ALL HEARD about how the maimalodalum were created as a merging of humans and yarimaimalom by sorcerers who wished to acquire the ability to change shapes," Plik began. "The maimalodalum are the victors of that struggle, those who did not the so another could steal their shape. What is not so often told is that not all those who found themselves made into maimalodalum were happy with that transformation. My mother was one such who felt nothing but misery and despair at her 'victory.'

  "My mother was a raccoon in the prime of her life when she was captured by a sorcerer back in those days when querinalo had not destroyed all who practiced magic."

  "But," Harjeedian said, "that was well over a hundred years ago!"

  "Who knows?" Plik said with a sad smile. "Perhaps this sorcerer was one such as here would be termed Once Dead. In any case, my mother did not bear me until many years after her transformation, for reasons I will explain, nor am I as young as you seem to imagine."

  Harjeedian nodded stiffly, his eyes filled with wonder mixed with calculation. Plik ignored this. He had a more important listener in mind for his tale.

  "Strong and beautiful as she was, doubtless these qualities made my mother a target to the sorcerer who had captured and sought to corrupt her. This sorcerer, however, did not consider that my mother might equal him in strength of will. In the end, not only did my mother slay the sorcerer rather than being slain herself, she retained many of her raccoon qualities.

  "However, there was no escaping the mark of the human upon her. Her eyes now saw color differently. Her ears were set lower upon her skull. Her legs moved oddly, so that quadrupedal motion was not her only choice. Her feet had changed so that she could bear her weight when walking on two legs as well as upon four. Her hands had changed, giving her a longer, more mobile thumb.

  "Perhaps those of you who are humans will only see an improvement in all these changes, but my mother did not. Before she had been viewed as beautiful, and some said that every boar on Misheemnekuru (although the islands did not yet have that name) had come to court her, some traveling for moonspans to do so. Raccoons do not choose one mate as do wolves or ravens, but this does not mean that they take their breeding lightly. Indeed, it might be said that they take it much more seriously, for though a pair of ravens will raise many broods, a pairing of raccoons may only come together once.

  "Now my mother was viewed as a curiosity by some, as a monstrosity by others. Whichever view was held, certainly no one thought her beautiful any longer, nor desirable. She had chosen which boar to mate with shortly before the sorcerer had captured her. Now he shunned her, moving several islands away to avoid her. Those who had come courting suddenly ceased their visits, and even those who had shared adjoining or overlapping territories before found reasons to move elsewhere.

  "Representatives from the maimalodalum came to my mother and offered to give her home and companions, but my mother desired nothing but the life that had been taken from her. She chased them from her with growls and snarls, and though you might not think so, looking upon me who is a peaceful soul, an angry raccoon is a formidable opponent."

  Both Blind Seer and Firekeeper grunted agreement, and Plik felt perversely pleased. He went on, however, as if he had not heard.

  "My mother began to track down boar after boar, offering herself as mate to each one. Now indeed did she regret her dallying and coquettish behavior, for over and over she was rejected. After many years - decades - when her power to breed was ebbing, she found a boar who either did not find her repulsive or perhaps possessed more compassion than his fellows. In any case, she became pregnant, and after time had passed - longer time than if she had been carrying a litter of raccoons - she bore a litter of three.

  "Two died within days, for they contained a combination of raccoon traits and human traits that would not mingle. One lived, and that one was me. However, although my mother suckled me and tried to accept me, each sight she had of me and of those human traits I had inherited reminded her of the taint in her own flesh - a taint that, indeed, she showed more visibly than did I.

  "Eventually, she rejected me completely, but she did not leave me to die. Instead she went to what is now called Center Island and dropped me on the doorstep of the Tower of Magic. Then she vanished into the forests, and to the best of my knowledge has never again been seen by maimalodalum nor yarimaimalom."

  Plik fell silent then. During his telling, he had seen a few restless motions beneath the bedclothes, and knew that Derian had heard all, but the young man had not come forth, nor would Plik force him.

  After a moment, Isende said, "What about your father? Did he ever come to meet you?"

  "He never did," Plik said. "Whether from shame or from ignorance of what he had engendered, he did not make himself known to me or to anyone. Boar raccoons, even of the yarimaimalom type, do not have much to do with raising their young."

  Tiniel frowned. "Harjeedian indicated that you had another name than 'Plik.' Did your mother then name you? Perhaps she did care then, at least a little."

  "I don't think so," Plik said, hearing his own sorrow, "for what she named me was 'Misbegotten.'"

  "Oh!" Tiniel gasped, shocked. "I am sorry."

  "You couldn't know," Plik reassured him. "In any case, the maimalodalum would have nothing of this. They called me baby names like 'Fuzzy Tail,' and 'Ring Bottom.' When I was an adult they encouraged me to call myself by a name of my choosing. I chose 'Plik,' for the sound of water falling on rock is a pleasant one. My companions have given me other names over time, affectionate names that recognize contributions I have made, but although I keep them as loving awards, I prefer Plik."

  Silence followed Plik's concluding remark, a silence that stretched as everyone waited for a response that, so it seemed, would not come. Then, just as Harjeedian was opening his mouth, perhaps to put a pious moral on Plik's story, across the room the bedclothes were thrown back, revealing Derian in all his transformed glory.

  He's grown a little hairier, Plik thought. That red down is not unbecoming. But Derian clearly thought otherwise. "I really thought," he said stiffly, "that I had out
grown the days when I would be lectured in such a fashion. If any of you think my behavior unbecoming, then by all means say so - but say so to this face!"

  He pointed dramatically to his own features, a wide gesture that encompassed the elongated ears, the transformed line of nose and jaw, the wholly brown eyes. His obvious disdain for what he had become quelled even Plik, who found him far less odd than most of the maimalodalum. Only Firekeeper was unmoved.

  "So you are changed," she said. "Who is not by life and what it does? Maybe you are changed more visibly than most, but you live and breathe and have gained new abilities. Tell me why I should weep for you?"

  Derian glowered at the wolf-woman. "I dare say you would have welcomed something like this happening, but I'm not you. I'm happy being a human. I never asked to be a monster!"

  Firekeeper looked at him. "Blind Seer say 'At least you know what manner of monster you are.' He has been through querinalo, and knows no more of himself than before. As for me, would I have welcomed? I cannot say. I have not run that trail. I chose another, and my head hurts nonetheless."

  Derian blinked at the wolf-woman, but before he could frame a retort, Isende was heard to say softly into the unexpected silence, "Better to be a monster without than one within." Her voice was so low that she might have been speaking only to herself, but her gaze was fixed on Tiniel. Her twin's face had flamed scarlet. His expression mingled shock and betrayal.

  "In any case," Isende went on more loudly, suddenly realizing that her comment had been overheard by everyone, "I don't think Derian looks like a monster at all. Different, sure, but not a monster."

  Sharp retorts from both Tiniel and Derian canceled each other out, leaving the two young men staring at each other with a distaste that had never been between them before.