Wolf's Blood (39 page)

With nothing but routine chores and administration to distract him, Derian found himself thinking about what he’d be doing if he were back in Eagle’s Nest. There would be parades, and feasts and dances, for all of which he would be as much host as guest. There would be girls eager for his company, for everyone knew that a Horse man was lucky at that time of year.

Along with the other New World residents, he took a regular patrol up on the gateway hills, and he found that his wandering route took him a bit more frequently than was absolutely necessary past the gate that—if it still worked—would take him to Hawk Haven. It would probably take him right to Eagle’s Nest, if they were correctly translating the unintentionally cryptic descriptions left by those who had made the gates.

I could slip through,
he thought.
The moon will be full soon, and the festivities would be at their height then. I might even go unnoticed—or relatively so. Lots of people wear costumes to the parades and dances. They might just think mine was better than most.

Derian allowed his mind to wander through such fantasies as his feet wandered in and out among the silent buildings, checking each to make sure it remained empty, with no sign of the glow that began before each transition, and lingered for a time thereafter. He enjoyed imaginary walks through the streets of the city that had been his home until he’d left with Earl Kestrel’s expedition to the west of the Iron Mountains, and had never really returned.

He danced near the central fountain plaza and led the parade up to the assembly square by Eagle’s Nest Castle. He ate cake and drank quantities of good ale, both the last of winter’s brew and the first of the spring’s. He flirted with girls he had known, and with a few he had only admired. The details of these imaginary liaisons kept him quite absorbed, imagining, then perfecting every thing he might say.

But there were two places he could not make his imaginary feet turn their steps: Prancing Steed Stables, outside the eastern edge of Eagle’s Nest, and the house his parents owned, within the walls of the city itself. He tried a few times, but could never get beyond the expressions of shock and surprise on the faces of his parents and younger brother and sister.

Damita had a serious suitor now, although their mother wasn’t sure Dami was actually ready to marry. Would that young man want a horse for a brother-in-law? Might the sight of Derian create a situation that Dami would blame him over for the rest of their lives? Brock had been horse-crazy when Derian had left Hawk Haven, and from the neatly detailed lists of horses he included as his contribution to the family correspondence, he still was. Even so, would he like having a brother who looked like a cross between a horse with a shiny chestnut coat and a man? And Colby and Vernita had always been so proud of him. How could he disappoint them?

He laughed, and heard the sound echo harshly from the interior of the gate building he was then inspecting.

When I was engaged to Rahniseeta, I was worried about bringing home a beautiful bride who looked a bit different than we did, and who had some strange ideas about deities. What would I give to have that as my only problem!

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t see the figure standing near the center hub to one of the circular configurations of gates until it moved.

“Who’s there?” he said, reaching for his sword.

The figure stepped forward out of the shadows.

“Derian, it’s me. Isende.”

Derian slid the blade back into its sheath.

“Sorry. I was woolgathering. Anything wrong?”

“Why, no. I’m making the routine check.”

Periodic checks were part of the security precautions. They had been designed so that even if the humans and yarimaimalom who took various watch shifts were somehow all overcome without being able to give warning—something the Nexans could not rule out, given the possible abilities of the Once Dead—then the hourly checks would make certain that an unwelcome visitor would have only a short time in which to act.

“Right.”

Derian looked around. Evening had passed into twilight while he paced and dreamed. He regularly took a watch that started after the evening meal because his altered vision handled the shift better than his human eyes had ever done. He couldn’t see in the dark, but while he would never be as good at it as Firekeeper was, he was learning how to make his eyes understand and interpret what he was seeing.

“So you don’t need anything?” Isende asked, falling into step beside him when he began his patrol once more.

“No. I ate before coming up here, and brought water.”

“Oh.” The young woman paused, then said rather too quickly, “Do you mind if I walk with you for a while? Verul is taking over the hourly checks, and, well, you look like you could use company.”

“If you really want to,” Derian said. Then, his own imagined conversations with various young ladies fresh in his mind, he realized how ungracious he sounded. “I mean, I would very much enjoy your company, but you’ve already had a long day.”

“No longer than yours,” Isende said, reminding him how true that was. They’d eaten breakfast at the same table in the communal dining hall. She’d been bouncing one of the toddlers, explaining to it why it shouldn’t spit out its milk, because milk wasn’t easy to get on the Nexus Islands.

Derian asked after the child in question, but even as he listened to Isende’s reply he found himself thinking.

She was there at breakfast. Lunch, too. And she dropped by midday to give me the report from Harjeedian’s archivists. I didn’t see her midafternoon, but that’s when I was napping so I’d be fresh for tonight. Now that I think about it, Isende has been around a lot.

The need to reply to a question of Isende’s about fodder and when another trip into Gak might be necessary forced Derian to put this intriguing train of thought aside, but it stayed with him, tingling below his thoughts.

Verul arrived to make the hourly check astonishingly soon thereafter, and when he seemed to show up only minutes after that, Derian realized how much he was enjoying talking to Isende. He was sorry when she took her leave after Verul’s second check, but his step remained light, and his thoughts for the rest of the evening were not filled with longing for his unattainable home.

DERIAN’S LATE SHIFT meant that he slept in the next morning, but the kitchens always kept some food by for those who were on night duty. Derian wondered if it was a coincidence that Isende was making herself useful in the kitchens when he arrived, teaching a couple of children how to shell fresh peas.

He took his meal at a corner table in the kitchen itself, making the excuse that they’d already tidied and mopped the main room. He didn’t comment, and neither did anyone else, that his more usual pattern would have been to take his food back to his own house and eat there while reviewing whatever problems had cropped up in the meantime.

The kitchen staff was pleased to have him there, and bent his ear about spices and suchlike they would like from Gak, if trade could not be started elsewhere. Isende got drawn into the conversation fairly naturally, as while Derian had some idea what could be purchased in Hawk Haven, he had little idea what was available in Gak.

After he had scraped his porridge bowl clean, and eaten a stack of griddle cakes and cheese, it seemed the most natural thing in the world that Isende and her miniature followers come with him to his house so they could consult over a supply list.

He thought he caught the head cook grinning in her reflection on the bottom of a polished pan, but he decided he must have been mistaken, for when he turned to bid the staff a polite good morning, that good woman was completely absorbed in boning fish.

BUT SEVERAL DAYS later, after Isende came up and kept him company during another of his evening patrols, and it had seemed natural to return the favor during one of hers that happened to fall when he was able to make an opening in his schedule, Derian realized that not only did Isende seem to be making excuses to spend time with him, but that he was glad that she was doing so.

Derian had always been a healthy young man, and he’d had his share of sweethearts, sometimes more than one at a time. He’d nursed a fancy for Elise for a time, before deciding that he’d much rather see her with Doc. He’d even had a few brief thoughts regarding Firekeeper, but not only was she simply too strange, he had been among the first to realize that her feelings for Blind Seer went beyond brotherly.

Nonetheless, despite much time on the road, and even some time in captivity, Derian had managed a romantic tryst or two, and even managed to become engaged to Rahniseeta. Usually, he had a pretty fair idea what to do when a girl started paying him attention—especially if he liked the girl and the attention.

This time, however, when Derian contemplated kisses in quiet corners, and what that might lead to, he found himself panicked. Isende surely noticed the change in his formerly relaxed and affable mood, but because nothing had been said between them—at least about possible feelings for each other, although it seemed they had talked about everything else under the sun, moon, and stars—she really could say nothing.

However, a time or two, Derian noticed her looking confused, and even hurt.

I’ve got to talk to someone,
he thought in desperation,
before I do something completely stupid and drive her away before I’ve even gathered her in. But who would I talk to? Elise is too far away. I can’t leave for half a moonspan just to get her views on romance. Harjeedian? Never. Especially not with having been engaged to his sister. Wort? I don’t know. Those Old Worlders have some odd views on things … .

The sight of a short, round, furred figure making his way down the path that led to the pair of cottages some distance from the main complex solved Derian’s problem.

He was out the door of his house and galloping down the path before he could think himself out of his idea.

“Plik!” he called. “Do you have a moment or three to talk with me?”

The raccoon-man turned and smiled. “I am just back from taking a turn in the archives, and there is nothing that I would enjoy more than a chat with a friend. Would you come to my house, or shall I step into yours?”

Derian thought for a moment, remembered that he had read the watch list earlier (denying to himself all the while that he was checking to see when Isende was next taking a stand), and recalled that Tiniel was currently on duty.

“Your place,” Derian said. “If we try to talk in mine, sure as horses make little brown apples, that will be the moment two people get into an argument only I can resolve.”

Plik gave one of his little chortling laughs, like the rest of him, part animal, part man.

“That does seem to happen,” he said, “and was one of the reasons that on Misheemnekuru I preferred to make my bed in one of several convenient hollow trees. Someone really had to want me to interrupt my rest.”

Once they were in the cottage, even before Plik finished putting a kettle on the arm and stoking up the banked coals on the hearth, Derian started talking, certain that someone would interrupt otherwise.

“It’s Isende,” he said, almost stammering. “I think … That is, I think I’ve noticed … I’m almost sure that she likes me.”

Plik looked solemnly up from where he knelt by the fire.

“You are a likable person, Derian.”

Then he grinned, and with a hot blush Derian knew that he had indeed seen the head cook grinning. How long had everyone but himself been aware of Isende’s interest?

Plik took mercy on his guest. “Yes. I think Isende likes you—is ‘interested’ in you, as I have heard it said. The first question is, do you return the interest, or are you looking for me to help you escape from an unwanted complication?”

“I’m interested,” Derian admitted, feeling relief at the admission. “But I’m wondering if it is wise for me to be interested.”

Plik tilted his head to one side inquiringly, reminding Derian rather oddly of Firekeeper.

“Wise? Wisdom and matters of the heart rarely march in step.”

“I know,” Derian said. “But this situation is different. I mean, we’re on this island, and I’m … well, what I am.”

“Let’s start with that second point,” Plik said. “You are referring to your current, somewhat equine, appearance.”

Derian resisted an urge to glower at the raccoon-man. After all, he
had
introduced the subject. Instead, he forced himself to nod.

“Very well,” Plik said. “Isende met you before querinalo reshaped you, correct?”

“A few days before,” Derian agreed.

“And so she has been offered an opportunity to compare versions. My feeling is, if the alteration doesn’t bother her, then you should not trouble yourself.”

“But I’m a freak!” Derian colored as he realized to whom he had said those words, but Plik did not take offense.

“Because humans do not change over time,” Plik said. “Because even if you had remained as you were, you would not have altered in any way.”

“No, because I look like I’m part horse,” Derian said.

“Still, wouldn’t you agree that physical appearance is the most shallow reason for choosing a life-partner? If this had not happened, wouldn’t you have expected your wife to continue to remain loyal to you if, for example, you became bald? This is something I understand often happens to men from your land. Over time your skin would become etched with permanent lines. What hair you kept might turn grey. However, you would not expect your wife to leave you because of this, and I hope you would not leave your wife for such insignificant reasons.”

Derian frowned. “Of course I wouldn’t, but this transformation is different. I am socially unacceptable. Who knows what may have happened to my ability to father children.”

“Have you discussed this with Isende?”

Derian felt himself blushing. “Not that last part, but a bit about how I’m not sure I can go home again. We’ve talked about that.”

“And would this latter problem change if you did not become involved with a young woman—any young woman? Would allowing yourself an attachment make it harder to go home?”