Above this sight, the three foragers can just make out another form; and, once the cloud that has in fact been momentarily blocking the sun passes, this figure is clarified. Two human arms rest casually on elm branches as if they were arms of a chair, while the half-legs lie atop the haunches of the lounging creature below. Greyed hair streaked by patches of snowy white is scarcely contained by a faded black skullcap, while the long, hanging beard would seem to have been washed and combed, recently — or perhaps, given its rich fullness, even groomed with a boar-bristle brush. But the eyes, like those of the beast, catch the light of the day in such a way that they seem not to do so at all, but rather to radiate their own inner fire: an effect that is increased by the seeming smiles that fill the features of both forms, in the rather disconcerting manner of hungry hunters toying with their next meal.
“Let your arm drop, Bane,” the man says quietly, indicating Heldo-Bah with a nod of his chin. Then he pauses thoughtfully, contemplating his own words. “Well — that is odd. The first words I have spoken to another human in …” He quickly sharpens his wits and fastens his attention on the foragers once more. “Allow the wise young female among you to see to your head. You may indeed have done yourself some small injury, although I blame you not for it. It really was a most inscrutable conversation. Amusing, however …”
Keera is the first to recover herself: she thrusts the kerchief into Veloc’s hands, and says, “Get him cleaned up.” She then begins to walk, slowly and deliberately, toward the elm tree, wanting to examine the visitors but forcing herself to turn her gaze respectfully toward the ground.
“Health and long life to you,” she murmurs quietly, angry that she cannot keep her voice from trembling. “Lord Caliphestros …”
“I thank you, young Keera,” Caliphestros answers, in all sincerity and with a nod of appreciation. “Though the first of your wishes, regrettably, is no longer possible, while the second holds only limited interest for me. But why do you avert your eyes?”
“Is it not done?” Keera asks with some concern. “Upon encountering such superior creatures as yourselves?”
“Tetch,” noises Caliphestros. “I am no such thing. Although I cannot offer any similar assurance, so far as my companion is concerned. She cares precious little for humans, I know that much — but as for her being entirely of this world, well … Though a man of science, I have often had my doubts. But why do you all exhibit such surprise? Certainly, it was you yourselves who, some years ago, came upon our home, after you had received the packet of documents from my friend here.”
Her body quivering with sudden realization, Keera turns to Veloc and Heldo-Bah quickly. “The letters …”
“So it was him,” Veloc answers quietly. “Just as you suspected, Keera.”
Heldo-Bah closes his eyes. “Thank Kafra’s golden stones and the Moon itself that we bothered to deliver the damned things …”
“I don’t understand,” Caliphestros says. “Surely, when you saw who my messenger was, and then followed her to our dwelling—”
“But we never did see her, my lord,” Keera replies. “We found the leather pouch in the center of our camp, when we awoke one morning. And, while it is true that we followed the tracks of a panther that we thought might be the white legend to what we supposed to be your camp, we never saw either of you. Indeed, Heldo-Bah, there—”
Heldo-Bah looks at Keera as if identifying him with her mere finger has been little short of signing his death warrant; but he feebly raises a hand and bows his head. “My lord,” he mumbles, not knowing what else to say.
“—he thought that the panther we had tracked had likely killed and consumed you, and that such explained why, although your camp seemed perfectly tended, we did not see any signs of life.”
“Ha!” Caliphestros laughs, plainly pleased by every aspect of this story. He looks down at the panther, who turns her head up to him and slowly closes and opens her eyes several times in deep affection, seemingly knowing that she is at least one of the causes of her companion’s merriment. The old man reaches down to scratch the top of the head that rises, atop the animal’s extending, powerful neck, to meet his fingers. “There truly is no end to this one’s cleverness …”
Bringing his hand back up, Caliphestros indicates the foragers once more. “When she returned so soon, I knew that you, or other Bane as capable as yourselves, were about, and that, being members of a curious and intrepid race, you would not be able to resist at least an attempt to find the lair of what you might well think to be the fabled white panther of Davon Wood, whose tracks would have been near the pouch when you discovered it. And so, we withdrew into our cave, and left you to wonder at all the mysterious circumstances you had encountered. And, let me only say that I owe you great gratitude, for had you not so decently taken the pouch to my acolytes, I could not have survived these many years.”
Heldo-Bah thrusts an elbow into Veloc’s side. “There, you see? I told you, did I not, that delivering those things without informing the Groba would be both profitable and decent, just as he says?”
Returning his friend’s sharp blow in kind, Veloc whispers, “Save that the word ‘decent’ never crossed your lying lips!”
Caliphestros sees Keera lift her head for but an instant to steal a peek at the panther, then lower her eyes again in deference; and the old man nods in true appreciation, which is augmented when he hears that Stasi has begun to purr. “It would seem that my companion also recognizes her debt to you: she has remembered your scent, and particularly wishes you to feel at your ease, Keera — you should feel honored, for she not only does not trust humans, as a rule, but nearly always sets out to kill any with whom she crosses paths.”
“Indeed I do feel honored, lord,” Keera says, still with great humility. “For she is famed among all our tribe as the most righteous and powerful of woodland spirits — a noble soul with a mighty heart. One of our fellow foragers claims to this day to have seen her kill nearly every member of a Broken hunting party, long ago.”
Caliphestros studies the young Bane woman further. “Your homage is well stated, young lady. I have long known of the deference your people show the great cats of the Wood: but in you there is something else — something more than mere fear or deference.”
“Yes, my lord,” Keera answers with a quick nod. “If my agreement is not unacceptably vain.”
“It is not. You are a woman who exhibits graceful strength, integrity, deep knowledge, and compassion. Do not ever apologize for such qualities, Keera, for in the vicious, mendacious world of men, they are the finest and most powerful gifts that anyone can hope to possess.” Caliphestros leans forward, stroking his grey beard and suddenly realizing just how long the thing has become, and how much of that length is no longer grey, but white. “And so, please, bring your eyes up, if you can bear the sight of the deteriorating, mutilated man before you, that we may converse the easier. As for Stasi — if your friends do not hold her gaze for too long, until she has grown as tolerant of their scents as she is pleased by yours, she shall not strike at them. Not so long as you are present, at any rate.”