They Called Us Shaman

by Corinne Beenfield

“Oh, Ramose.” Those are the only words that come. But what good are words anyway?

  “It haunts me always, what the earth showed me. And a part of me wishes I had never asked the earth those questions that led me to those memories. But to know is better. I cannot let myself be deluded like so many here.” His grief lies thickly over us, resting heavier and heavier with every breath. My throat feels sticky and hot, and I don’t stop the tears when they come.

  “So I let their faces in my dreams fuel me.” Ramose’s voice is firm, certain. “Those shaman were once as alive as I am, but now their shells are rotting in this forsaken desert while their loved ones are still waiting for them to come home. But I know what happened to them. To our people.” He repeats it, perhaps so I can fully understand. “To our people, Joanna. And I will not forget them. I will finish their fight.”

  ___

  I saw the gun in her hand, felt the cold steel come to her temple, watched Gadian’s face as he realized that try as he could, nothing in the world was harder to control that this beautiful being walking around on two legs that he had claimed to love.

  The memory didn’t fade as they normally do. With splicing pain and a deafening explosion inches from her ear, my jagged reality slashed into the memory.

  Sweat coated my face, and my own hands trembled uncontrollably.

  Suddenly Joanna walked in, halting the moment she saw me as though punched in the stomach.

  “Ramose!” she cried, rushing to me. I stood so fast, the chair I was sitting in tipped back onto the floor, but as it clattered, neither of us gave it a thought. Taking her into my arms, we held each other. “What did you see? What happened?”

  I didn’t answer her then. Couldn’t speak of it so soon, while it was so fresh. But she just clung on while our heart rates slowed, my face buried in her hair, and I knew.

  Gadian thought the consuming burn he felt for Madison was love, though it was anything but. Love doesn’t cause the person pain. When you love someone, you keep them safe from pain.

  Tightening my arms around Joanna’s waist, I felt it course through me, and it has stayed with me since.

  How deeply I want to be a harbor for her. Just as she is for me.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Californian Remains, September 2048 A.D

  I sit alone behind the waterfall, my knees pulled up to my chin. Mesmerized, I watch the curtain of white flow around me and reach out with one hand, letting the warm water kiss my fingertips. Of all that the Academy has to offer, to me this is the most exquisite. Sure, it is only an imitation, with treated water, but it’s the closest to nature that I’ve seen since arriving. Though nearby swimmers squeal and wrestle in delight, the waterfall hides me and muffles their sounds, leaving me feeling like a ghost looking in on the living. Everything about the moment they are sharing seems magical.

  From the high ceiling, the thinnest threads fall from a ledge, each glowing the distance down to the surface, veiling this indoor pool to itself. To my left, swimmers sit on underwater stools at an aquatic bar, flirting and laughing, as at home in the water as a mermaid would be. Then leading across the clear blue water is a dotted ring of pillars, rising out of the water with a lit lantern on top of each. Not with real fire, of course, but programmed to a dim setting to create the illusion of evening. Eventually, the ring of pillars leads to several small landings, dark frames built up to create smalls rooms, with white drapes instead of walls. There on reclined chairs, couples kiss or nap in each other’s arms. Seeing them, I ache to have that back. To feel Alessio’s strong arms around me again. I pinch my eyes so I don’t have to see the couples cuddling, but when I do, the memory of Alessio holding me close is waiting for me. I’m buried close to his chest, as I often was, his chin resting on top of my hair.

  But when I pull back in the memory, my mind warps. Suddenly it is not Alessio’s face I see, but Ramose’s. His dark eyes are soft, sad and happy at the same time, making me think again of sunshine when it’s raining. His lips don’t smile, just tilt softly as if they intend to.

  He begins to lean forward, and I open my eyes before the image can unfold any more. A blush burns in my cheeks as I see deep caramel skin and strong arms come toward me under the waterfall, then Ramose’s head pops out of the water. He grins at me and wipes water from his eyes.

  The weight on his shoulders from not being able to find out what happened to the shaman and Wild Dove seems lifted, bearable as the water buoys him up. Here I realize he is the happiest I have seen him since he pulled his ceramic vase from the kiln. This time, I’m intent not to ruin everything.

  “You aren’t going to get in?”

  “Let’s say that the attire does not suit me.” My blush now blazes just glancing at the nearly naked swimmers, and Ramose chuckles. For him, there is little to no change in how much skin he shows from his usual Egyptian loincloth to these “modern swim shorts.”

  “Besides,” I defend, “I’m here to reconnect with my magic. Not frolic in my underclothes.”

  “Exactly so. Which will be much easier if you immerse yourself in the water.” Ramose smiles as he treads water.

  It is hard to pinpoint what it is that makes Ramose so handsome—until he smiles. Then what he is—what comes from deep within—shines through. Man or woman, when one sees Ramose smile, they stop.

  Taking off my shoes, I dip my legs into the water, but pull up my skirt to be safely dry around me on the ledge. “It feels strange to speak openly of magic. You’re sure this place is safe to talk?”

  He nods and hoists himself out of the pool to sit next to me. “There’s too much potential for water damage to the listening equipment. It’s the only place in the entire Academy with no microphones. Here, we can hide in plain view.”

  “How do you know this exactly?” I ask as our legs swirl eddies side by side. “How does your ‘knowing’ work? It seems so . . . godlike.”

  He laughs musically and rubs the water out of his short black hair with both hands. “Believe me, I’m far from omnipotent. It’s more like the world is my library. Each person, each detail is as one book in the library to me. Just walking by them doesn’t tell me anything about them—I gain no knowledge just by passively being in their presence. But when something catches my eye, I can stop, ‘take that book off the shelf,’ if you will, and ask the earth about that person or detail. I need to know what I’m searching for, as I will only get answers to my very specific questions.”

  “Can you tell me if we’ll ever make it out of here?” I ask.

  Ramose shakes his head. “‘Fortune-telling’ is a myth, though I think of my gift as the other face of the same coin. Rather than knowing what the future can hold, I can only know what the past has held. So for example, to find this safe place, I was able to ask, ‘Is there anywhere in the Academy where listening devices were not placed?’ Then the earth answers me with a memory through the eyes of someone who witnessed my answer, like I showed you with Brigetta. In this case, the memory was of a conversation about water damage. I was in the mind of one of those who placed the ‘bugs,’ as they were calling them, and saw myself plant many, but pass this section of the pool over.”

  “What I can’t figure out is how. There are seven thousand shaman here, and I’m sure each has tried getting back in touch with their magic. Why is it that you alone have figured out the secret?”

  “Well . . .” He motions through the veil to a group standing on the edge of the pool. Though they are hard to make out through the water, we can tell three young ladies crowd around one man. I don’t need to see the man’s face to know he’s attractive—the way the girls lean in and flip their hair and laugh a ridiculous amount tells me enough. Suddenly he swoops a blonde into his arms and rocks her back and forth over the water, teasing. She squeals, clearly just as pleased as can be to be in his arms, and clings more tightly to him. He tosses her in with ease and then jumps in after her. But the other two can’t be left behind. Oh, no, they can’t give up the hunt that easily. With thesp
ian laughs, they leap in and splash the man as he resurfaces.

  “How hard are they trying? Yes, I believe that when each person first arrives, they try to reconnect with the earth. But they are quickly distracted. Just as our ‘mentors’ would have us.” He slides back into the pool and gestures around him to our private water cave. “You see, as much as our captors have tried to kill the voice of the earth, they can’t. They refine, treat, and process the food we eat, the furniture we sit on, the clothes we wear, the clay I create with, but the earth is still in it. It’s still here!” His voice is warm and rich, hope condensed into a sound. “It has just become so quiet that we can no longer hear it calling to us. It no longer comes to us easily. It takes meditation—stilling our own ‘monkey mind’—to be able to hear the earth. It requires all our effort and attention. Our captors know this. And that is why they show no restraint in offering us all money has to provide. Nothing is wrong with creme brulee, imitation leather shoes, or contour pillows, but the harm comes when we let it divert our attention. When we forget who we are, and what we had.”

  “Okay.” I straighten up. “So teach me. I’m ready.”

  “So first, the more you can surround yourself with The earth, the better. Hence—” He opens his arms to our own little slice of the earth, just sitting here, waiting for me. “The perfection of our location. This will be much easier for you if you get in the water.”

  Biting my lip, I nod. It takes a moment’s hesitation, but then I push off the ledge, clothes and all, only my shoes left watching from the dry sidelines. The warm water comes to my chest, and my white dress swirls around my legs. I laugh to chase away the awkwardness I feel, and Ramose joins in.

  “Now, just like when I showed you Brigetta’s memory, begin by closing your eyes. I won’t touch you this time, though. You need to do this on your own.”

  I do as he says, but cutting out one sense isn’t enough to quiet my thoughts going in zigzags inside my head. As he speaks, I try to corral them, force them in one uniform direction. Magic. I’m going to get in touch with magic again. Unfortunately, my thoughts want to go to Ramose’s nearness and bare chest, or his musky cinnamon scent that leaves the rest of my brain intoxicated. Come on, you silly monkey mind, get it together!

  “Focus your attention on the water, on how it moves each time you inhale and exhale. Observe how it feels against your skin. Let it relax each muscle it touches.”

  One minute, two . . . perhaps three minutes pass and it seems to me that the water washes away all my worrying about the past and any anxiety over the future. All there is left is this moment. It’s lovely . . . but I don’t feel the magic return.

  Cracking an eye open, I see that Ramose’s gaze has never left me. Though he doesn’t blink, his eyes don’t have the harshness of a stare, but instead have a gentle curiosity in them.

  “Am I doing something wrong? I don’t hear the earth speaking.”

  He chuckles. “I should think not! The first time I felt it here at the Academy, I had sat in silence for well over an hour. And several of my prior attempts had been just as long.”

  I gasp. “You want me to do this for an hour?”

  The laugh starts in his eyes—no, deeper. From within him it escapes, like a songbird set free. It’s the only answer he gives, showing my naivety in the question. Some may have bristled, but there is such joy in his features, such kindness in his eyes, I know no mockery is inside that laugh.

  “I mean it!” I insist, which only eggs him on. “This is going to take forever!” I splash him a little, and he shields his face with his arm. I expect he may splash me back, but when his arm is out of the way, I see he’s just smiling. Smiling with the sweetest look in those dark eyes of his—like in this instant, the rest of the people in the pool become nothing at all, simply part of the backdrop.

  I feel it too. That smile stops all my scattered thoughts in their tracks. It’s just us and the chance to have magic again. Suddenly it seems to me the air around us vibrates, the light itself is startled, and instantly I know Ramose is right. It’s all alive, it’s all right here. How did I not feel it before?

  “How did you do that?” I ask in awe.

  “What?”

  “Everything suddenly seems . . . awake. Did you share your abilities somehow?”

  “No, I can’t do that without touching you.” He shrugs. With that, we look at the tiny gap between us, that we had slowly been closing without realizing.

  I hope he doesn’t notice how I flush and try to take a step back.

  Suddenly the seclusion of our water hideout is broken by a familiar voice.

  “Come now, how can you leave me like this?”

  Alessio.

  Spinning, I see him laughing. He isn’t talking to me—he doesn’t even see me. He was the handsome man surrounded by the three beauties. Before, I hadn’t been able to make out his features, but now he has moved closer and to the side, so I can see him clearly. His arms are around the waist of an auburn-haired girl who apparently stole his attention from the blonde he had thrown in. From the look on her face, I can tell her intention is to tease Alessio to madness, and she seems to be accomplishing it. The blonde and slightly-less-blonde wear plastic smiles, impatience in their eyes for his attention. But they don’t leave. Laughing, the first blonde drapes a hand on Alessio’s arm.

  “Let her go on if she wants to. I’ll see to it you won’t be lonely tonight,” she offers. Alessio’s grip on the redhead loosens, and he turns with a grin toward the blonde.

  There’s not a thought in Alessio’s head that has anything to do with me, that’s clear. No indication of grieving, and he certainly hasn’t shut himself away—that much is plain from how clear-cut his abdominals have become. That must have taken many hours in the Academy gym.

  He says something witty, and the girls giggle like three-year-olds. I can hardly bear it. I can’t help but wonder what he would do if I stepped out from behind my waterfall curtain. Would he look at me like he always did, like I’m home and all he’s ever wanted? Or would he barely glance at his old heartbreak? I mean, why would he, with three tarts dripping off him?

  “Are you okay?” Ramose asks, his hand comforting me, lightly resting on my shoulder. A minute ago, I craved that touch, but now it does nothing for me. I want Alessio. I want him down to my bones.

  Tears fill my eyes, and I only shake my head.

  Ramose speaks softly. “Those girls, they have nothing on you. Don’t let them bother you.”

  Men. Always trying to fix things. Don’t let them bother you, simple as that. I don’t take my face off them, off Alessio’s face that I know so well and have kissed every inch of.

  Ramose continues to speak behind me. “Forget them. Let’s get back to practicing.”

  “I can’t. I couldn’t,” I stammer. How could I ever get my mind to focus with their giddy squeals crowding into my every thought?

  “I’ll never understand.” Ramose drops his hand from my shoulder. “Why him? You could have anyone. I just don’t see it. He doesn’t deserve you. He deserves to pay for what he has done.”

  “You don’t even know him!” I spin on Ramose, all that is sharp and hurting inside me now hurling at him. “Why do you hate him?”

  “Perhaps I know him better than you do,” Ramose defends, which is exactly the wrong thing to say.

  “I know him better than anyone! Better than those sirens, and better than you, no doubt!”

  “Ah.” Ramose stays calm, but I can see how something under the surface boils and churns. “So you know all about how this war between science and magic began?” His question hits, a cold hand, leaving me stunned.

  “I . . .no, but . . .” I have no retort, and when I fall silent, he continues.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that of all the shaman at the Academy, Gadian chose just Alessio to mentor? It didn’t occur to you that there is a reason for that?”

  “He’s . . .special,” I answer, but when I say it, there feels nothing spe
cial about it. The word lands flat and heavy, a weight sinking between us. “How could he possibly do such a thing? I don’t understand. I don’t believe it.”

  “Don’t?” Ramose’s voice is quiet, and all the more powerful for it. “Or won’t?”

  In truth, I don’t know. So I just stare back at him without answering, my chest heaving to keep from crying or shouting, I’m unsure which.

  For a moment, we just look at each other.

  “I don’t.” I tilt my head, staring him down. “Unless you show me.”

  He pauses, and for several seconds, he looks away from me. Finally, he takes a deep breath and lays both his hands out in front of him for me to take.

  I pray I don’t live to regret this.

  Lifting my hands from the water, I place them in his steady grip, just as I did the last time he showed me a memory.

  Again I feel as though the air is charged, ready and waiting, like a stage moments before a play begins. When the curtain draws back, will I want to watch?

  “Place your forehead against mine,” he instructs. “Then close your eyes.”

  I do so, our hands resting on the water top. The instant before his forehead touches me, I can feel it coming. Then he’s here, his skin on mine, and the current flows through me, unrestrained. Magic. It’s the feeling of a river as it joins the sea, of becoming part of something so remarkable, so all-encompassing, one could never fully comprehend it.

  I feel the memory tiptoe on the edge of my thoughts, like recalling a dream. But to my surprise, it’s not Alessio’s head we get inside of.

  It’s Leo’s.

  ___

  She places her hands in mine and closes her eyes, but I can’t bring myself to do the same and welcome the memory. This isn’t how I wanted to win to her heart. I want her to care for me, but not just because her first option was taken out of the picture. That’s not love, only the filling of a hole. I have more self-respect than that.

  For a moment I consider pulling away, not for his or even her sake, but for mine.