Wolf Hunting (5 page)

Plik remembered his conversation with Hope the night before. He spoke without giving himself time for a second thought.

“I will go with you, Powerful Tenderness. I am not as strong as you are, but weight counts for something. I am also very stubborn and that counts for more. Truth would find it hard to pull away from me.”

The human/bear face with those cold snake’s eyes broke into a smile as warm as any Plik had ever seen. “Good. I will be glad to have you—and not only for your weight and stubbornness. I will be glad for those sharp ears that hear so much more than sounds. Truth is not telling us everything she knows. Of that I am certain. You may ‘hear’ something the rest of us will miss.”

Plik felt very pleased at this praise.

“I will go with you,” he repeated, and wondered what he had gotten himself into.

THEY DEPARTED CENTER ISLAND late the following day. Had Firekeeper had her way, they would have left with the morning’s freshness, for the moon was new and there would not be much light after dark, but there were complications she had not anticipated.

For one, the maimalodalum had decided that Truth must wear a harness and leash, and Powerful Tenderness came to hold the leash’s end.

“Otherwise she will climb a tree and be gone before any of us can catch her,” Powerful Tenderness said. “I have sent word out and none of her kin will protest.”

“None will help either, I suppose,” Blind Seer grumbled.

“Jaguar-kind are not social,” Powerful Tenderness reminded him. “Let them be what they were made to be. At least they come about their quirks naturally.”

Another of the maimalodalum joined them, ostensibly to assist Powerful Tenderness. When Firekeeper saw that the one so chosen was the raccoon-man, Plik, the same who had asked so many questions during the council the night before, she wondered at his intentions, but out of good manners she kept these wonderings to herself.

The two maimalodalum insisted on bringing baggage, not only to assure their own comfort, but in anticipation that the “door” they sought might not be in plain sight. Firekeeper had to admit the maimalodalum had a good idea there. In her years in the wilds, she had jury-rigged tools often enough to fully approve of having them along ready-made.

She felt particularly ready to agree when it became clear she was not expected to carry anything extra. Powerful Tenderness hoisted a large pack onto his back and seemed not to feel the weight.

Rascal, of Firekeeper and Blind Seer’s own pack, also joined them. He had arrived two days after Firekeeper and Blind Seer along with Dark Death, Moon Frost, and the pups. The pups were footsore after the longest, fastest trek they had ever made, but Rascal had been held beneath his own growing strength. Even hunting along the trail had not exhausted him. So, although Dark Death and Moon Frost decided to stay with the pups, Rascal insisted on running along.

The ravens Bitter and Lovable completed their number, ostensibly to ease the trail and be there to follow Truth if she did indeed break loose. Firekeeper thought the real reason the ravens were accompanying them was that Lovable had learned they were going to a ruin. Wise or not, the raven had an insatiable appetite for the pretty things—or fragments thereof—that were so often found in these places.

With such a company, the trip should have offered no difficulties beyond those involved in covering the intervening ground in the swiftest time practical. The ebb and flow of the tides dictated when they could swim between the various islands. Once or twice, when the low-tide waters were not shallow enough to allow for safe fording, Bitter, who had status within the Wise Beast community, despite his flutter-brained mate, requested aide from some seals who lived in the vicinity.

Firekeeper found the strength with which the seals moved through the water exciting, but Blind Seer protested the creatures smelled abysmally of fish. Truth loved swimming, so much so that she grew agitated when they took her from the water.

After their first fording, when they were planning their second, Truth slipped her harness. They were contemplating a river, wondering whether to look for a ford or take their chances swimming, when Firekeeper noticed that the leash so firmly grasped in Powerful Tenderness’s paw was strangely limp.

Her gaze traced the length and found no arrogant jaguar at the end, just an empty nest of straps. She cast around and saw Plik emerging from the river, wherein he had gone to test the depth. Neither the ravens nor Truth were to be seen.

“Hey! What!” Firekeeper howled. “Where is Truth?”

At almost the same moment there were agitated croaks and quorking raven calls from the deeper tree line.

“Here! Here!” the ravens called. “Truth is here! Hurry!”

They all followed that cry, Plik not even pausing to shake off the water that had soaked into his thick fur. They arrived in an unorganized mob to find Truth lying on a tree limb a good twelve feet off the ground. Her gaze was—for her—clear and direct, though the burnt-orange orbs flickered back and forth, as if seeing things invisible to the rest.

“I want to go fishing,” Truth announced sulkily. “My paws are sore, and I am weary of walking.”

“I thought,” said Powerful Tenderness, his voice charged with the barely contained fury that comes when one has had a fright, “you wished to go to the house that is no longer a house. We will never get there if we keep stopping. Now, how did you get out of your harness?”

Truth looked distinctly puzzled. “How did I get here?”

Powerful Tenderness held up the tangled mess of straps at the end of the harness, suspending it from his broad hands so that all could see not a single buckle had been undone nor strap broken.

“That is what I would like to know,” he replied. “We were looking at the river, working out the best way to get across, and the next thing I realized there was shouting that you were gone.”

Firekeeper crinkled her brow in thought, remembering tales of Truth drinking water that wasn’t there, water that was real enough to dew upon her coat. Had the jaguar somehow gone where that water was for long enough to shed her harness? If so, why did she need Firekeeper to come and open a door for her?

Glancing at Blind Seer, Firekeeper could see that the blue-eyed wolf shared her thoughts. She ran her hand through his fur, a mute request that they not speak of this. It was not that she did not think it would occur to Powerful Tenderness or Plik, but she knew their concern was for Truth, and that they would not welcome suspicions that Truth was being less than completely honest.

Besides,
Firekeeper thought,
now more than ever I want to go to this place. What is there that Truth wishes us to see? Perhaps there is indeed a door that she needs opened. Perhaps there is something else.

Rascal was leaping and snapping at the treed jaguar. Firekeeper kicked him solidly in the shoulder, sending him rolling.

“Fool, pup!” Firekeeper snapped. “You merit an ear cut into ribbons for such behavior. Never taunt one of the great cats. Singly they are a match for any wolf.”

Truth liked this praise, and licked a paw complacently. Firekeeper grinned up at her.

“But, Truth,” she continued, “no jaguar is a match for three wolves—especially when one of them is quite good at climbing trees. Will you come down, or do I come up after you?”

Truth wrinkled her nose and spat, but she also jumped down and haughtily permitted her harness to be put back on her.

Even so, twice more she slipped her harness. Once was when a young doe bolted out of a thicket, surprising them all. One moment Truth was meandering along in her harness, partly steered by her two guides, the next she was a blur of golden light and compact speed, chasing down the terrified doe.

The second time, they had taken shelter from a violent thunderstorm. Lightning struck a tree nearby and even before the air filled with the smell of burning wood, Truth was away. She came back, embarrassed by her own fear.

“I was elsewhere” was all she would say, “and the sound caught me unawares.”

So it was that with a heart filled to brimming with a heady mixture of doubt and curiosity Firekeeper breasted the inlet that would take them to the island that held the house that was no house, a ruin that had, apparently, been ruined by some agency other than the passage of time.

AS ISLANDS WENT, their destination was not among the largest in Misheemnekuru, nor the best positioned. Long and narrow, but sheltered on the whole by one of the more massive islands from the force of the open ocean, it was large enough to harbor wolves, deer, and ample smaller game. Elk, being grazers rather than browsers, did not thrive there.

This lack of large game was why the island only boasted a single small pack, and why Firekeeper’s versatility as a hunter had been welcome. Bitter and Lovable had flown ahead, and the resident pack had sent their welcome. Bitter must have given the wolves reason to stay away, however, for the travelers landed without the reception Firekeeper had expected.

She drew the raven aside, and he confirmed her suspicion.

“Something is not right with what Truth tells us. I would not involve those who have young to help survive through the coming winter. There are a few resident great cats as well. I have sent word to them of what we are about, for I would not have rumor reach them that we are abusing their kin.”

Firekeeper nodded. “I have felt that Truth is hiding something, but I do not know what. Do you have any wisdom you might share with me?”

The raven fluffed his feathers as if feeling cold, though the day was quite warm. “I do not, but cats of any size are sneaky. They rely on stealth rather than force of number for their hunting. This contaminates all their thinking.”

Firekeeper, who held similar views, did not protest. Wolves and ravens, whether Cousin or Royal or Wise, were frequent allies, comfortable with the ways of their different peoples.

Indeed, we are not too unalike. They have their flocks, and their mated pairs. So do we. They may be scavengers, rather than hunters, but they are clever, as one who snatches meat from a wolf’s jaws must be
.

The group had made their crossing as daylight was waning. The beast-souled preferred not to travel by night, though the wolves and jaguar would have been as comfortable after dark. The ravens, though not bound to daylight hours as their Cousin kin were, also preferred daylight. Considering the possible pitfalls concealed beneath the land over which they must travel, Firekeeper decided in favor of those who preferred daylight.

“We will travel on come morning,” she said. “The ground here is unpredictable, littered with holes as Rascal learned. Blind Seer, do you scent fresh water?”

The blue-eyed wolf tossed back his head and took the scent.

“To the south,” he said. “I think I remember the place. Rascal and I will scout ahead. Two alone may have some luck hunting.”

They did, and that night the small group dined on rabbit—roasted over a fire for Firekeeper, Plik, and Powerful Tenderness. Plik had proven to be enthusiastically omnivorous. He located an apple tree laden with fruit not completely ruined by the birds and insects, and brought back a sack from which all but Rascal and Blind Seer shared.

“Tomorrow,” Plik said, rubbing his hands together, “I will forage for eggs. We brought oil, and an omelet would be wonderful after all this trail food.”

After dinner had been eaten, the three wolves went running, ostensibly to scout tomorrow’s route, but mostly because Firekeeper wanted to warn Rascal to be on guard against Truth. Blind Seer needed no warning. If anything, he was more suspicious than Firekeeper.

When they returned, both the beast-souled and the jaguar were asleep. Firekeeper laid her head on Blind Seer’s flank as she had done hundreds of times before, but even when she drifted off to sleep, she chased suspicions in her nightmares.

III

THE HOUSE THAT WAS NO LONGER A HOUSE had been built on a rocky promontory near the southern edge of the island. The earth here was mixed with quantities of sand from which grew sharp-edged grasses, prickly shrubs with leathery leaves, and a few scrawny, twisted trees. There were none of the towering forest giants that were elsewhere common throughout Misheemnekuru. Their roots could not grab hold in the porous soil, and the corpses of those who had attempted to reach beyond what the winds would permit lay scattered and slowly rotting.

Someday, if the waters permitted, these dead trees might be the beginning of better soil in which plants that would strengthen the island’s hold against erosion and decay could grow. For now, the fallen timber, overgrown with vines and brambles, only added to the general aura of desolation.

The area must have been more inviting when the house that was no longer a house had been built here, Firekeeper thought, for who would have gone to such trouble when there were many other more pleasant places both on Misheemnekuru and on the mainland.

The building or buildings that had stood here had not been the result of a passing fancy—no summer cottage or fishing cabin, as Firekeeper had seen in human lands. The cellar into which Rascal had fallen had been excavated from the surrounding rock. The building stones that remained scattered beneath the vines were large and cleanly cut. She and Blind Seer had found traces of richly tinted colored glass, such as was used for ornamental windows in fine houses. Doubtless the other trims had been equally ornate.

Rascal loped ahead when they reached the promontory, his nose to the ground, his tail alert and straight behind him.

“I found it!” he howled back after a moment. “I found the hole where I fell in.”

Blind Seer growled, “Then stay back from the edge, witless. We don’t want to have to pull you out again, and the soil will crumble at a breath. I learned the hard way that matted vines only look solid.”

Rascal danced back obediently, but Firekeeper could tell the young wolf felt no real fear now that he knew for certain where the hole was. Had she ever been so sure of herself?