They Called Us Shaman

by Corinne Beenfield

  “Leo.” He looked back at me, the smile still on his face. “Come on,” he urged with a laugh, as if we had pressing plans. He scuttled down the tree and swung out of the lower branches, his feet hitting the ground with a soft thud.

  Following, I cursed my human limbs for complicating the process. It had been four years since I’d been in a tree without wings of my own. As I lowered my feet, I heard him whisper-shout just as my body suspended in the air.

  “Wait! Go back!”

  Upon landing, my gaze fell on a wolf not ten yards away. Glacial seas flooded my gut, froze me down to my marrow. Not Leo, though.

  He gripped my fingers and raised our hands above our heads as if we were one great creature.

  “ARGGGGH!” he roared, with the quickest glance at me to follow his lead. “Go on! Get!”

  The wolf, rather than being scared off, took a step toward us. But something in how he moved, how his paw faltered before it roughly hit the ground, spoke to me. He came toward us not to harm us, but in desperation. I dropped Leo’s hand and ran to the wolf’s side.

  “Joanna!” Leo yelled and grabbed at me, pulling me back. “Are you mad?”

  “Look at him.” I gestured to the wolf, who didn’t raise his eyes from the baked mud of the trail. “You can count his ribs!” His fur was sparse, and his skin clung to his frame as though pushed by the wind.

  “All the more ready for a feast, then!” Leo’s strength surprised me. Who knew skinny white arms and fancy, yet filthy pants could contain someone so fierce?

  “I’m not much of a meal.” I tried to wave away his concern with a poke at my own small stature, but he refused to smile.

  At that moment, the wolf became unable to coordinate his limbs, and he tumbled into the dirt and then didn’t rise. His neck strained once to lift him, but the effort was too much, and he had to lay his head on the earth he had once roamed. Leo’s grip slackened, and I didn’t waste a moment.

  At the sound of my footsteps, the wolf opened his eyes, and in a last attempt at self-preservation, he snapped his jaws at me. “Jo!” Leo exclaimed, but the panic was gone, for it was clear the wolf could do little more.

  Closing his eyes, he let me come. I knelt by that majestic creature’s side, feeling the weight of something remarkable coming to an end. It was like watching a castle fall, or a forest catch fire.

  “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or concerned for your sanity. Thin line,” Leo commented quietly. “Be careful.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to do.” I turned and looked over my shoulder at Leo, never in my young life feeling so helpless.

  But if that moment felt helpless, it was trumped by the next. Four bullies I recognized from town walked over the edge of the hill. Their eyes lit up with the cruel, satisfying shine of a predator corning its prey, but I was surprised to see that they looked me over as if I weren’t even there. As they stalked forward, it was Leo their eyes locked on.

  For a moment I looked down at the wolf, as though to plead with him to raise his head and fight for us, but he wouldn’t stir. Then with a slow, perhaps deliberate flutter of his lids, his hazel eyes met mine. It seemed that he offered me, at that moment, a gift. His last. I gently placed my palms along his thinning fur, the bones beneath shuddering with one final breath.

  “Thank you,” I whispered as the jaw of that great grey head went slack and peaceful.

  “Run!” Leo called behind me, and I leaped to my feet. Looking back, I saw that the boys were already upon him, pinning him to a tree. I felt treacherous, thinking of just the moment before when Leo courageously grabbed my hand to face a beast rather than run from my side, as I clutched my skirts and ran from his. Now his predators were upon him—a whole pack of them—and he could only see my backside. Like a pure coward, I sprinted as fast as my legs would carry me.

  The moment I was out of their sight, I spun on my heels, and before my turn was even complete, the transformation had begun.

  My suddenly sinewy legs moved like the smoothest machine ever to be invented. I glided with ease over the long trail that moments before had left me panting, my canine lungs built for that kind of power and speed. My senses were on high alert—smells were sharper, sounds were louder, though nothing surpassed the intensity of my heart pounding.

  Ahead, I saw them—I still see them, carved in my mind as if with a knife—surrounding Leo, each taking their turn at cracking him.

  “You’re useless, just like your mother. Couldn’t even keep her man around.”

  “The world and everyone in it hates you. Bastard—that’s all you are. There’s no place for you here. Go sleep with the pigs. That’s where you belong.”

  “A mistake—that’s what you are. I bet that’s why your mother sent you away. She couldn’t even look at you without seeing her filthy, ugly mistake.”

  Each bully craved the laughter of their comrades that followed their insult, each blow roused their adrenaline to new heights. Looking back, I wonder how someone could so thoroughly forget who they were, could come so far from being a sleeping babe in their mother’s arms or a bright-eyed child at festivals. Wherever that babe or child was inside them, they had smothered it into silence until only hate spoke up.

  It was the sight of Leo—who had just held a bird in his hands so tenderly—b ent over in pain, shoulders hunched in shame, that tore at my soul to free something wild and fierce underneath. My wolf heart. Bounding over the still body that had given me this one, I skidded in between Leo and his bullies, my lips curled back to show a row of perfect tiny daggers and a growl in my throat.

  Their ring instantly widened as though an ax had been swung at them. For a second, they all froze, staring at my raised hackles and tail fully bristled. I knew they felt it, felt how the mounted power of the moment had shifted, and it was now be their turn to experience being someone’s prey. I took one step forward, and they stumbled backward, then scattered like the pathetic rodents they were.

  I watched them go, then turned toward Leo. He too had fled, though he stopped not twenty feet away. He quivered in fear as I shifted my gaze toward him, but he no longer ran away. My fur smoothed down onto my back, and my ears relaxed as I met Leo’s eyes. We stared at each other for just a moment, then curiosity took over his features, and his fear melted away. He squinted his eyes as though trying to make something fuzzy in his mind become clear, and tentatively took one step closer.

  He recognizes me, I realized.

  I quickly broke eye contact. These years later, I understand that if anyone in this world could look right past my shell and see my soul hiding underneath, it was Leo. And I couldn’t let him do that.

  I walked past him to the wolf body still lying in the dust of the path. I nudged it with my snout, then let out a howl of grief for something so magnificent that had fallen. Then without a glance to Leo, I let my powerful legs carry me away over the hills.

  Five minutes later, I was back, flowing brown hair and running on two legs again. Leo had dragged the male wolf’s body off the trail to the side, and as I approached, he was hauling a large stone toward it.

  “Leo!” I panted, whatever strength I had known as a wolf gone. “I’m terrible. I never should have left—”

  “Joanna, stop. I told you to run. What could you have done? Besides . . .” He shrugged, and standing next to him, I could smell the faint sweat that comes with fear. He looked down at the wolf, and I saw that several stones were leaning up against the animal. “His mate came. She saved me.” He set down the small boulder respectfully, in the same spot where I had rested my hands to receive the wolf’s last gift. “I don’t have anything to bury him with. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave him to the animals.” He looked away, perhaps thinking about how he had been left to vicious animals to be picked apart. “I don’t know what would have happened if his mate hadn’t shown up,” he whispered.

  Placing my hand on his arm, I gave him the softest smile. “I’ll help you.”

  Slowly for the n
ext hour, we carried stones in silence until our mighty friend was covered.

  “There,” Leo said as he heaved the final boulder, sweat making his pale face smooth and shiny. “Nothing will be able to get to him now.”

  With a nod, I placed a single poppy on top, and we stepped back in reverence. Then turning, our feet headed back toward town, our shoulders bumping as we walked in the quiet of the afternoon.

  And I wondered if perhaps, in this boy who loved the birds and the beasts, maybe I had found someone with whom I could share my secret.

  ___

  The memory continues.

  Gadian turns, aiming a glare at me now, his eyes gray and cold like filthy snow. “We didn’t bring you here for the pinot noir. Get to work.” His voice is more unnerving for the calm he maintains.

  Yet I can’t seem to move.

  “Who’s the mentor here? Ah, Azure, stay with Joanna. Record anything she says until we figure this glitch out.”

  I’m the glitch. A tool that’s not working properly, that’s all.

  He comes over and curls his fingers around my forearm.

  “I’m going to give you a choice. Either remove the language barrier, or learn just how expendable you are. Now, are we on the same page?”

  Taking a step back, I nod quickly and close my eyes. Nothing like fear to light a fire inside you. I focus my mind on the piece of fruit they had fed me, my chance to connect with the earth again. Reaching out, I feel it just barely at first, as if I’m running behind a train to an outstretched hand. Our fingers only brush. Pinching my eyes tight, everything inside me pushes forward, covering the distance between myself and the earth. At last I grasp it, feel pulled close into its embrace.

  Looking up, I nod to this man with gray eyes.

  THREE

  Tuscan Italy, August 1470 A.D.

  In a town full of corsets and heavy purses, it was the paint on Leo’s hands and mischief in his smile that first whispered I had discovered a rarity. For nearly a decade, we ran barefoot down cobblestone streets, the merchants shaking their fists after us and complaining that we had no brains in our heads. “Maybe,” I remember overhearing Mama defending us once. “But they have wind in their hair, which is exactly the sort of thing that the best of friendships are made of.”

  Eventually, Leo and I learned to behave long enough to put on shoes and smile without letting our whole hearts show, but when I look at him, I still see a splatter of freckles across his seafoam-white skin and fancy pants his father had tailored for him, all set to get fresh tears in the knees. Since then, I’ve met what seems to be a million lovely people, all kind and fascinating in their own way, but not one of them could ever replace my Leo. Adults talk about their friends like a good wine or joyous festival, a rich luxury, but passing. To me, Leo is all the things I love most and couldn’t possibly live without. Black soil in the garden, pure water, and crystal sunlight. Never in my life could I make a choice that would mean Leo wouldn’t be in it.

  Which is exactly why, I realized, he could never know my secret.

  For the one thing that will destroy a friendship faster than not being able to relate is watching the person have the one thing in the world you want more than anything.

  “I couldn’t get out of that house faster if it was on fire.” Leo walked up to our ledge overlooking the lake below, where I’d been waiting for him. “Agnella tried to block me in the kitchen so I would at least have breakfast, but she forgets I’m big enough now simply to pick her up and move her tiny self out of the way. She yelled after me, ‘Your father will have my head if you starve. At least take some focaccia!’ but I couldn’t turn back then. Father could have appeared at any moment, and then I’d never escape him and his ever-important agenda.” He sat down next to me and we had swung our legs audaciously over the edge, with only the gray-green water below us. The forest stood guard of this spot, special to us for the years we had met there together, but sacred to me for the practices I’d had there. Alone.

  “Good thing I know you better than you know yourself.” I smiled and offered him a chunk of cheese and cluster of grapes I had grabbed on my way out the door specifically for him. We spent much of our summer on that ledge, and by that time of year, my arms had darkened, but Leo’s fair skin only reddened, threatening to match his hair.

  Leo’s laugh came from within, as usual. “Looks like you do.” Biting into the cheese, his thoughts mulled around while he chewed. “Do you think so? Do you truly think we know all there is to know about each other? Tell me one thing about myself I don’t know.”

  I forced my face not to cringe, not to show in my reaction that he didn’t know all there was to know about me. On the other hand, I did think I knew him that well. I’m quite sure he didn’t have a secret in this world from me, even if he’d never actually spoken them with words.

  Smiling, I hoped to hide the sadness in my eyes. “When you’ve said something you know is funny, you don’t want to laugh at your own joke, so you do a muffled smile like this.” Pinching my lips, I let the corners turn up and tried to capture the impish spark in his eye that completes the look. That’s my favorite part.

  “Do I?” He grinned, an expression that always shows his simple joy and unrestrained mirth. Between his fingernails, he picked at the beginning of a beard he was just becoming able to grow. “Well, when you feel on the spot and don’t know what to say, you finish your sentences with, ‘But yes…’ And then your voice just trails off and disappears.” He waved his hands, showing my words vanishing as with a poof.

  I laughed in surprise. “Really? That’s an odd thing to do.” Reaching over, I plucked a grape from the cluster I gave him, then bit into it with a burst of sweetness on my tongue.

  “Nah, just part of you.” He held up the cheese. “This is good. Thanks.”

  “Well, it’s nothing compared to Angella’s focaccia. I don’t understand how you can pass it up. It’s the sort of bread the vagabonds dream about at night.”

  All of a sudden, his face got serious at my words. He looked down and plucked a single grape, rolling it between his fingers without eating.

  “Jo, do you ever feel bad about having what others don’t?”

  I tilted my head. What did he mean? The blood inside my veins suddenly lit on fire, though I kept my face calm. Could he understand? Never in over eight years had I spoken about what I had and he didn’t. I watched him those first months together, and saw his fascination with flight. We were too old, even at the age of nine, for the skill to be learned. I had asked Mama about it, and she searched for months to find some hidden tale of someone learning magic as they grew older, but it had never been done. How could I thrust the impossible in his face?

  Still, his friendship quieted my loneliness so it only found me in the moments I couldn’t share. There it would corner me, gnawing on my skin, reminding me that no one knew me, not truly.

  However, I told myself, if he could possibly comprehend how difficult keeping this secret had been for me, perhaps it wouldn’t erode everything between us, as I had always believed. Not trusting my voice, I waited for him to go on.

  “I mean, the only times in my life I’ve ever gone hungry were when I chose to, even if the cook was chasing me down and trying to force food straight into my mouth. The only times I have ever been dirty have simply been because I love the feel of the earth under my feet. Some people are dirty because they live in it every day.”

  A deer on the outskirts of the lake came for a drink, and I fixed my eyes on her while I answered. “I feel like that sometimes.” I chose my words slowly. “Like I have been given so much for no other reason than that I drew a lucky straw. I haven’t earned this, haven’t done anything special to deserve it. Yet here it is, in my lap.” My secret sat ready at the end of my tongue, just waiting behind closed lips for a chance to jump free.

  “I have it all.” He looked at the food in his hands guiltily, as though the cheese was to blame.

  “Not everything. There’s one
desire I can think of that you have.” What I was about to say out loud terrified me. My limbs ached to run, slither, soar, or scurry away, but they seemed to be only stiff chair legs at the moment.

  He looked at me in surprise. “What’s that?”

  Looking him straight in the eyes, I forced the words out, barely stronger than a whisper. “To fly.”

  It felt like a betrayal somehow to speak out loud what he never had dared. Yet I had to know—could he understand? Could our friendship have the strength to wade through all of his out-of-reach desires?

  Leo blinked, broke eye contact with me, and raised his hand to his neck, where he twisted the red hair tied back there between his fingers. He managed a laugh, but it was mismatched. It didn’t come from deep inside him, as all his others did. “Ah, how many summer days did we used to spend pretending we had wings?” He shook his head, dismissing it. “Maybe once I told you I wanted to fly—I don’t recall. But it was a boyish wish. I do not think of it anymore.”

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t still want it.”

  “It’s an impossibility.”

  “That does not mean you do not still want it.” I repeated each word with a firm quietness that almost seemed to shout.

  He looked at me then, quietly.

  “No.” His eyes became steady, watching me as if I’d just leaped a chasm between us. “It doesn’t. You’re right.”

  “What if I somehow magically had what you wanted most? What if I could fly?”

  A heartbeat or two, and then the laughter was back in his eyes, and I could tell that he was about to write the whole thing off as a game. It was my seriousness that stopped him, though. Instead, he answered me, voice trembling, his words ringing with honesty. “I would give anything for you to teach me. I would—I don’t know. I would chew off my own fingers if it meant I could do that. If I could fly.”

  I gawked. “Leo! Even if it meant never holding a paintbrush again?”

  My question snapped him back to the real world, and he shook his head as though trying to dislodge something sharp and painful that our conversation had left rattling around in his mind. “No, Jo! Of course not! Who would do that? This is all crazy talk! Flying is just a foolish boyhood dream. It is impossible. At least—at least in the way we meant as children.”