Wolf Hunting (76 page)

Skea spoke next, his voice strong and deep, his mien reminding Derian of the posturing dance through which a stallion tried to intimidate his rival before battle.

“Exile is a hard life. We who have been separated from homes and families know this better than can you. How long have you been away from home? A couple of moonspans only. Do you really wish to never see home and family again?”

“I, personally, serve the deities wherever I am,” Harjeedian said. Derian, knowing the aridisdu’s attachment to his younger sister, admired his poise. “The rest of my company have considered their options, and when the choice is never seeing family again and protecting them from disease and distant conquerors, or returning home and letting chaos follow behind … Well, the answer is a simple one.”

It wasn’t, not really, but Derian agreed with it nonetheless.

Zebel, calm and practical, raised the next objection, still seeking to pierce their earlier resolve, rather than moving forward from the position Harjeedian had said they were determined to hold.

“And what if others come through the gates? Are you prepared to deal with them? We know them, are friends and allies with these various peoples. If we refuse to work with you, will you fight all the Old World?”

Firekeeper gave a dry laugh. “In twos, certainly, Blind Seer and I would fight all the Old World and New as well.”

“Twos?” the doctor looked puzzled, then dismayed as he followed Firekeeper’s logic.

Derian almost forgot his own new oddities in the familiar role of fleshing out Firekeeper’s rather cryptic statements for other ears.

“Ynamynet, Skea, and the rest, when questioned by us back at the Setting Sun stronghold, told us that the gates are usually constructed to carry through no more than two at a time. Our own experience and our explorations of this facility seem to bear this out. Firekeeper is quite correct: two at a time, even two at a time through every gate that is active here, we are quite able to deal with intruders. In a pinch, we’d do something to block the gates, perhaps set cages at the ends so those who come through find themselves in less than ideal situations for invasion.”

Plik spoke up. Something in his inflection said that he was translating for one of the many yarimaimalom who lingered with bright-eyed awareness about the council chamber.

“And in the New World we have not forgotten that iron is the death of more complex magics. We have sniffed and probed throughout this place, and taken heed that although there is bronze and brass and silver and even gold aplenty, there is scant iron. Thus we think that your antipathy to iron remains—and we have enough in our gear to eliminate your abilities completely.”

Derian almost saw Ynamynet melt at this statement and knew that this remembered lore about iron was accurate. Knowing that they could have scotched her talent with a simple iron ring about her wrist or throat, yet they had not done so, must tell the proud sorcerer something about their own confidence in their strength.

“Now that we have dispensed with these preliminaries,” Harjeedian said with a too pleasant smile, “shall we get to the matter at hand? Will you work with us in controlling this place, or must we destroy it and with it your own chances of ever returning to your homelands?”

XXXVII

WITH THE SAME CERTAINTY that he had once been able to scent magic, Plik could tell that the others were now ready to bargain. The feeling was so sharp he wondered if he had acquired a new talent to replace the old, but he knew he had not. Those first exchanges had been essential, enabling the four speakers for the residents of the Nexus Islands to assure those they represented that they had not surrendered their advantages too quickly. That done, the tricky part could begin.

Firekeeper spoke from where she sat beside Blind Seer. In a few words, she cut to what might have otherwise taken them hours to reach.

“So, you open gate home for us? Teach us how to do this or do we start breaking and making traps?”

Ynamynet didn’t show surprise this time, but then she had clashed with Firekeeper twice before, and had some sense of the wolf-woman’s temperament.

“Tell me what is in it for me if I do,” the Once Dead said.

“You have a daughter,” Firekeeper said, and paused.

“And if I do not do what you say, you will take her from me?” Ynamynet asked.

Her words were cool, but beside her Skea all but raised his hackles. Plik had seen the child in question, a cute girl darker than her mother, but lighter than her father. The child never walked where she could skip or dance. In her father’s native language—which contained breath pauses most of the New Worlders had trouble easing their throats around—her name meant “sunshine.”

“No,” Firekeeper replied. “We will not take her. I do not like this hostage-taking. But what is life for her on these cold islands with colder to come with winter? If the gates are broken, neither your daughter nor the other children here will see more than these few islands. Is this what you wish?”

Ynamynet looked thoughtful. “Perhaps it would be better than raising her in a war zone, for that is what these islands will become when the Once Dead who know of the gates learn that others have conquered them.”

“Perhaps,” Firekeeper shrugged, “but the New World would be there: green forests, fresh supplies, meat other than fish and seabirds.”

“Medical supplies,” Harjeedian added. “A land where querinalo does not seem to occur. If your daughter has inherited your abilities—as seems possible, given that you have and your husband had magical potential—then we may be offering a place where Sunshine can come into her own abilities without torturing fevers and threat of death.”

Ynamynet pulled her heavy cloak more closely around her and shivered. Plik wondered what scars querinalo had left upon her. Whatever they were, they were not visible, but he had no doubt that they were there.

“Unless the seeds of querinalo are within Sunshine already,” Skea said. “This is what is believed in my birth land.”

“We cannot promise,” Harjeedian said, “only offer hope. Trapped here there will be no hope.”

Zebel looked interested in this, and Plik saw the stirring among the watching island residents. He wondered if this possible freedom from querinalo would be a deciding argument. Harjeedian, however, was too canny to rely on one point alone.

“If we make an alliance between us,” he said, his tone officious, “we would initially need some restrictions to make certain we were not betrayed.”

Ynamynet had the grace not to protest that such was not her way. Skea grinned slightly at her. He said in Liglimosh, so clearly the words were meant for more than his wife, “I told you your cleverness would play against you someday.”

Ynamynet scowled at him, but her expression became neutral as she returned her attention to Harjeedian.

“And what manner of restriction do you have in mind?”

“There is having you wear something of iron,” Harjeedian said. “My allies”—his gesture encompassed the watching yarimaimalom—“rather insist on this at least initially. Later, you could be paroled to some lighter restriction—a personal guard, perhaps. Several of the yarimaimalom have volunteered for this duty.”

Ynamynet’s scowl returned. “Am I then to be the only one so penalized?”

Harjeedian shook his head. “Consider it not a penalty, but a mark of respect. Ynamynet, you are the only of the Once Dead spellcasters who remains. Unless you can train another to share your duties, you are going to be both severely burdened and in a unique position within this new society.”

“And if I do train someone?” Ynamynet said sharply. “Then will I find that iron locked to me permanently? Or might I simply not awaken some morning?”

Harjeedian glowered at her. “If you are going to refuse, then simply say so. I must note, however, that once the destruction of the active gates is decided upon, your usefulness will be ended. In a situation where you yourself have stated your unwillingness to cooperate, well, then why shouldn’t we lock iron about you for the duration of your life? Why should we leave a person of great talent and considerable loyalty to her community free to harm us when she finds opportunity?”

That silenced Ynamynet, and in the silence Zebel began to ask questions about what the New Worlders intended to do with the place of gates, what they intended to do with the residents, with any who came through the gates uninvited.

To most of these questions Harjeedian gave a general reply, but over and over again he repeated that as time was of the essence he and his allies had not wasted any making plans that might not be needed. Not only did this tack raise a sense of urgency, but it made clear that the island’s inhabitants would have some say in shaping their new lives.

Urgana had been the most silent of the speakers, mostly spending her time reading the notes passed from the surrounding listeners and passing them on to the appropriate speaker. Now she spoke and from the pitch of her voice, Plik guessed her words were meant as much for her own community as for the conquerors.

“Was what we had really so wonderful? Let us be honest. Most of us who chose to live here permanently did so because we had grown weary of the lives we were forced to live in what Skea has so poetically called our ‘birth lands.’ My sister was thrown out of our family when her talent became apparent, and those of you who knew her know how innocuous that talent was. I think our parents would have rejoiced if she had died from querinalo, but to have her survive, and with her talent intact—that was an unforgivable sin.

“The New World people may hate and fear magic, yet they let the talented live among them. In time they may even learn to welcome sorcery.” This last was said with an open glower at Ynamynet. “We have a chance to take charge of our lives, rather than being driven. I say we should take it.”

There was a great amount of confusion following this, with people shouting either in support or in protest. Isende and Tiniel struggled to translate the varying languages and were driven to yammering nonsense. Blind Seer broke through the confusion with a high howl, answered and amplified by the yarimaimalom wolves.

Into the sudden silence, Harjeedian spoke with calm control. “I think before we go any further there is a key question we must ask. What exactly is your relationship to the Once Dead of the Old World? Who rules whom?”

“Neither,” Skea said. “We who choose to live here trade with those who would use the gates. The tariff we charge is high, high enough that we have ample supplies laid by.”

Several of the yarimaimalom who had made themselves free of the various buildings said to Plik:
“He speaks the truth. We have found storehouses and root cellars both bulging full. They have poultry and goats they tend as well, even a few cows.
”

“And if someone comes through who doesn’t want to pay?” Derian asked.

“Then they would find themselves stranded,” Skea said. “This has not happened for several years—examples were made.”

Remembering some of the more ruthless of the Once Dead, Plik could imagine how gruesome those examples might have been. So apparently could the others, for no one asked for details.

“And given the high tariff you charge,” Plik said, “transits are perhaps not as frequent as they might be.”

“We need to support ourselves,” Urgana said defensively. “After all, the endpoints of the gates are held outside of our sight. Some of those who hold them are reliable allies, but some are less than pleased to find the crossroads held by others.”

“And the gate you were opening,” Firekeeper said, “the one in the basement. Where would that one go?”

Ynamynet pressed her lips together tightly as if considering not to reply, then she blew out her breath in a long gust.

“We don’t know for certain.”

“Yet you would flee there?” Firekeeper clearly did not believe this.

“We had an idea …” Ynamynet began. Then she almost shouted, “It was better than being your captives. We had to try.”

“You have said that or something like that before,” Firekeeper said, unimpressed. “Tell us what you thought you’d find.”

“When this nexus was first established,” Ynamynet said, “the gates up on the hillside were not the first built. These islands were the refuge of a sorcerer who specialized in travel magics. Those ravine gates—those that are buried in the cellar of this building—were his boast, his proof that he could live in apparent isolation and still have all he desired. However, his boast pushed the tolerance of his fellows, and they showed him he was not as immune to retribution as he thought. Later, when the idea of a network of gates was proposed, these islands were considered perfect. They were in territory no one claimed, and there were already gates in place.

“After the gates you have seen were built, those in the ravine were covered over. A building was erected over them, and what was now the cellar was locked and sealed. I suspect those older gates were almost forgotten within a generation or so.”

She paused. “You might understand our situation a bit better if you permit us to give a little history of the nexus today.”

No one protested, not even Firekeeper, so Harjeedian inclined his head graciously and said, “Please, continue.”

“As you know,” Ynamynet began, “querinalo struck well over a hundred years ago. In the beginning, at least as we have heard the tales, it was violent. No one with anything other than the least talent survived. Here most of the great sorcerers perished, and from what I’ve heard about them, that may have been all for the good. They were so ruthless as to make those you caused to be destroyed here seem benevolent by comparison.

“So matters stood for a long while. When magical talent in any form cropped up, querinalo seized the holder and usually killed him or her. However, whether because various peoples grew wiser in learning how to deal with querinalo or the disease changed into a milder form over time, seventy-five years ago, some sufferers began to survive. Most were Twice Dead, but a few Once Dead lived. Ten years later more were living, and more were retaining some vestige of their talent.