Or so tradition had it; neither could cite a known instance, not even Blue Wing, with his access to the hive mind, which stretched far back in time. But the potential, they insisted, was there, and must surely have been used at some time or other.
They also agreed there were no females of the species. Privately, Macurdy considered that myth; otherwise they’d be worse than rare. He’d have suspected the two of pulling his leg, but from Arbel’s lessons, he was beginning to read auras as well as see them. And it appeared to him that Blue Wing and Maikel both were honest with him. Blue Wing insisted a great boar had been seen to breed a razorback sow, a very large one, but Maikel was certain it couldn’t happen. “What was seen was one eatin’ a sow. But breed one? Even if he’d been inclined to it, he’d have squashed her flat.”
Macurdy wasn’t eager to meet the great cats, or wolves, and certainly not a troll or great boar. To humans, black bears on the other hand seemed benign; tomttu had more cause to fear them.
And there was information on dwarves. “If they have no grudge against you,” Maikel said, “and if you’re not trespassin’, they’re no danger to you at all. But if you wrong them, knowingly or not, they’re implacable. Implacable! They do be friendly to us though, because we’re small, you see, and because we’re not given to human treacheries.
“Dwarves consider that they aren’t, either. But I must tell you that their greed sometimes gets the better of them. Then they can cheat and lie like a human. Well, not like the worst humans, but badly enough. Still, I’d trust a dwarf before a man. Not before every man—not before yourself—but judgin’ the species broadly. They deal fairly with us though, the dwarves. Close but fairly. It’s dealin’ with men and ylver that brings out the worst in them.”
Indeed, dwarves and geography were the subjects that most interested Macurdy. For if the Sisterhood had moved to the Kingdom in Silver Mountain, it seemed to him he’d have to go there.
Then one day, Maikel didn’t show up. “The nights are becoming cold,” Blue Wing explained, “and he woke up this morning with the decision to continue westward to his people. He asked me to give you his best wishes. As for me—the scavenging is poor around here. The people in Miskmehr keep more sheep, and sheep are rather given to dying without apparent cause.”
Then the great bird and Macurdy wished each other well, and Blue Wing flew off northward.
12: Pursued
With the solstice near at hand, the sun rose early. From an outlook, Varia could see its luminosity through thinning clouds, but it failed to warm her. The mare she’d stolen plodded stolidly on, but more and more slowly. When it paused to browse on the young leaves of maple, Varia was scarcely aware of it, she was so sunken in hypothermia from the cold, night-long rain.
At length the mare stopped, to stand quietly on a stretch of bare bedrock almost free of shade. The sun had burned the clouds off, and shone on her wet flanks. Gradually its warmth, trapped by blackened oilcloth, seeped through Varia’s torpor, and she slid from the saddle, hobbling to an outcrop to lie in the sun.
She awoke cold on one side from the rock, and warmed on the other by sunshine. Looking around slowly, she saw the mare standing broadside to the warm rays, hide steaming. Wincing, Varia got to her feet, her legs and buttocks solid pain at the effort, sore not from the saddle, but from occasional uphill hiking to rest the horse.
And you’re the girl who was ready to walk to Ferny Cove, Varia thought. Barely able to hobble, she went to the horse, aware also now of the blisters she’d gotten, hiking in wet, ill-fitting boots. From a saddlebag she took a broken piece of loaf and the slab of cheese, sat down in the sun on a windfall and began to gnaw. Just the act seemed to warm her. The mare watched her eat—reproachfully she thought. “You and I depend on each other now,” she told it. “Be patient and we’ll find you some grass pretty soon.”