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within the thicker ruff of gray-white fur that circled his face. Danya thought
him odd-
looking, but his appearance was not unpleasant. When he saw Danya looking at
him, he waved the spear at her in a warning fashion and said something
unintelligible. What he said didn t sound as if he had hostile intentions,
though. His voice held kindness, and reason. And only the gentlest of
warnings.
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Diplomacy of Wolves
She imagined him saying, Don t do anything stupid. I want to help you, but I
can t if you attack me.
Close enough, the voice in her head whispered.
Given time, I can make sure you can talk to them. For now, eat the food he s
made for you.
She sat up slowly and held out her hand to show that she carried no weapons.
None other than her claws, in any case.
The creature said something else, and pointed to the large fired-clay cook pot
that hung over the little fire. Danya reached forward slowly and took it,
carefully trying to look as unthreatening as possible.
He d cooked some form of stew. She said, Is this for me? She didn t
understand his reply, and she couldn t read the expression on his fur-covered
face, but his tone furthered her belief that he meant her only good.
She reached into the pot and speared a cube of meat on her claw. She knew she
didn t dare eat too much or too quickly, but aside from the few hares and
snow-pigeons she d managed to catch and eat raw, she had not had food since
her last meal, the night before she became a sacrifice. She ate the meat cube,
wishing she could lower her muzzle straight into the pot to lap out the
contents in a few quick gulps. She didn t want to be sick, though. So she
forced herself to take dainty little bites, and to hand the pot back to her
host even before it was empty, because she could feel uncomfortable pressure
in her stomach.
The two of them sat looking at each other across the fire. She recalled the
others that she d seen in the house before, but she could not hear them or
smell them or get any sense that they were still present.
He made his family leave. They went to one of the other homes in the village
until he could be sure that you weren t dangerous.
Danya considered that for a moment.
Why didn t he just kill me when I fell into his house? Why take any chance on
me at all?
Among his people, apparently strangers are always taken in and made welcome.
I ve seen similar things before . . .
But I m not of his people. I m a completely different kind of . . . of
monster.
A soft chuckle in the back of her mind then.
You aren t in human lands anymore, Danya. Beyond Ibera, people are usually
considered people no matter what form they take. With a few exceptions, the
humans are the only ones who refuse to recognize that.
Danya didn t respond to that. She couldn t think of herself as human anymore,
but she had to admit that on the inside she was the same person she had been
before; at least, if she was different, she hadn t
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Diplomacy of Wolves discovered how yet.
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You . . . you brought me to these people. How did you know they were safe?
She felt rather than heard the sigh.
First, now that you are fed, and sheltered, and for the time safe, let me tell
you my name again. I ve never cared for being called You.
You ve told me your name before?
Certainly. But it proved an exercise in pointlessness when you were in and out
of delirium. My name is
Luercas. I am . . . or rather was . . . a Wolf like you. I was killed in a
situation I d rather not discuss now, but for some reason my body was trapped
in the Veil, and I haven t been able to move forward or back. Until now.
Something happened when you were . . . ah . . . sacrificed . . . that released
me from the prison that had held me for well, I honestly don t know how long
I was trapped. But I found myself inside of your mind, looking out of your
eyes, and I think perhaps the reason I was released was because
I could help you and no one else could.
Luercas fell silent for a moment. Danya waited.
At last he said, In my current state, I can sense things that are at a
distance. I can feel potentials and while I couldn t be sure what we would
find when we got here, I did sense that in this direction lay safety for you,
and your one chance of survival.
Danya lay back and let her eyes drift closed. The food, the warmth, and the
hardships of the last however many days all conspired to push her toward
sleep. She did ask, Why did my survival matter to you? I can t understand
that.
Because, Luercas said, I can sense potentials. You have something important to
do. Something vital and good. Something that is going to change your world.
And I am, in some way, a part of that. And I believe that you must achieve
this goal before I am released to pass through the Veil to whatever awaits me
beyond it.
Danya nodded. Across from her, the Scarred man ate the stew she d left. He
contorted his face, but she couldn t read the expression. She tried to respond
with a smile, but realized her own facial muscles were no longer designed for
such nuances. She sighed again, and closed her eyes.
I m glad you re helping me, she told Luercas.
That was her last coherent thought for a long time.
* * *
Kait sat in the ship s parnissery in the darkness before the dawning of
Embastaru, the Day of Hours, and
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Diplomacy of Wolves listened to the sweet, high voice of the ship s parnissa
reading the old words. She had been a month aboard the
Peregrine, and the rhythms of ship life had dulled some of the pain of her
precipitous exit from Calimekka.
The
Book of Time, third of the five sacred books of Iber, says, Number neither
your days nor your hours, lest they pass by you quickly while you count them.
Instead, name them as friends, and bid them tarry awhile, and you will know
long life and happiness. So we greet each station of the day by name, and
with reverence, acknowledging all both as friends returned to visit and as
strangers to be made welcome strangers who have come into our midst briefly,
and who will never return.
The parnissa wore the white robes traditional for the day, and the candlelight
reflecting off the robes and her pale skin and equally pale golden hair made
her look more spirit than flesh. The ship creaked and rocked, and the sounds
and rhythms soothed. Kait was close to sleep, but she remembered her duty as
one of the Familied to uphold Iberism in all places and at all times, and so
she sat on the hard bench in the candlelit parnissery and fought to keep her
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eyes open.
Morning approaches blessed morning.
The parnissa paused, and Kait and the other attendees said in unison, We
honor the Stations of
Morning.
We honor Soma, the parnissa intoned.
Everyone replied, Soma, who is the bringer of first light.
Kait let the familiar words drift over her. The service was both womb and
wound, cradling her in its ties to the past at the same time that it hurt her
with its reminder that the future could never be as bright or warm. In the
past days, she d kept to herself. She d burned candles for her parents and
brothers and sisters, for her aunts and uncles and cousins; she d prayed for
the success of her journey, while never quite believing that the artifact she
sought could truly exist. She d tried her best to give herself a measure of
peace, but inner peace eluded her.
The parnissa walked along the edge of the pedestal at the front of the
parnissery, lighting candles. We honor Stura.
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