by Dan Wingreen
Two Rivers was some kind of junior Shaman. A junior Shaman who had been disciplined and knocked down a peg or two in front of "outsiders" by his mentor. A necessary lesson, since his judgmental accusations weren't helpful in cautious talks between two groups that didn't trust one another, and it had been delivered in the best way to ensure a teenage boy remembered it; by embarrassing him in front of other people. But Aidan had been around teenagers long enough to know that one couldn't just embarrass them in front of people and expect them to deal with it well. They had to be built back up after being knocked down, or else they'd end up resenting the lesson and their teachers. The Shaman was probably only answering Aidan's questions so he'd be able to insult him and give the "outsiders" the same humiliation the boy had suffered. It was actually not a bad teaching method, even if it did waste some time and risk offending half of the negotiating parties. Judging by his unconcealed amusement, Eallair had picked up on what the Shaman was doing as well, possibly even before Aidan.
"One more answer, then," the Shaman said. "But afterward, you will answer my questions."
Eallair nodded, and Aidan mirrored him a second later. He was curious about the shaman, or whatever they were called, but they weren't there to satisfy his curiosity. He wanted to sulk a bit about that—after so long believing lies, he found he really wanted to know things—but if he did, then he really would belong at the kids' table. He'd take what he could get and hope he didn't screw up the rest.
The Shaman began to speak, his voice taking on the tones of someone reciting a story he had told many times before.
"What you, in your ignorance, call shaman and see as one people, are actually several. In the years before you came to this land, there were many tribes spread out across the plains and mountains. We each had different names and customs, and we fought and made peace with each other as any separate peoples do. For thousands of years, we lived without knowledge of any other peoples besides our tribes. And then the outsiders came. They arrived in massive wooden ships that they tore down when they landed and used to build boxlike houses the tribes had never seen. It was those houses, in fact, that almost killed us in the end, for we had never seen dwellings built with permanence, and in our ignorance thought no one who built such houses would be eager to go to war. Much work went into them, and we never thought anyone would risk their homes being destroyed because they are unable to pack them away and keep them safe.
"At first, we traded with you, learned your language, which felt abrasive and harsh, like rough wood scraped across our tongues, and continued our wars and our lives, content with the strange, pale people living on the edges of our land. But we were careless, and deceived. We saw your people as a harmless curiosity, even as more ships arrived and more houses were built; we didn't see the new war that was coming until it was upon us.
"One day, the outsiders attacked. All of them, with a skill and precision that simple settlers could not possess; skills that were honed in the fires of war. They had been moving their soldiers onto the outskirts of our land for years, and we were unprepared for the attack when it came. They used magics we had never seen; purple lightning that burned our hearts in our bodies and dark shafts of energy that killed us with a touch. Thousands died.
"But we were not without our own skill at war. We had fought each other for generations, and we turned that skill against the outsiders. We were outmatched at the start, but we soon learned your tricks and skills and, with the same brutality you showed us, we tore through your wooden homes and burned them down around your families. It was too late, though. Our numbers were low, not a single tribe that was left had enough people to keep their culture and traditions alive. We were pushed off our lands, and so our powers locked themselves away and we were helpless. We fled, faster than the outsiders could expand. We settled in the deserts and plains and mountains of what you call the middle country and only then became one tribe, one People. We needed no other name, for even though it was forced upon us, we realized the strength we gained as we cast off the differences that caused us to war with each other and became united. We set down new roots, bound ourselves to a brand-new land, and grew mighty again. When the outsiders tried to expand and carve our land into new states for your government, we fought, and slaughtered, and pushed them back until they flowed around us like a river around a fallen tree. We cared not. You were content to avoid us, and we could not expand beyond our new territory without risking complete destruction. So, we settled, grew as a People, and killed any who set foot on our land. We passed down this history, generation to generation, Shaman to Shaman, so that none would ever forget what your people have done to ours."
The Shaman fell silent as he looked back and forth between Aidan and Eallair. He seemed to be waiting for something, something he apparently didn't see because he frowned. "Are you not surprised? Does our truth not differ from what your government tells you about us?"
Aidan laughed; he couldn't help it. "Wow. If you're expecting us to be surprised that the government lies, then you've definitely got the wrong people."
Two Rivers scowled at them as the Shaman's frown deepened, but his lesson seemed to be sticking and the boy kept quiet.
"You are…outcasts, then?" the Shaman asked.
"Aye, you could be sayin’ that," Eallair said. Aidan didn't even have to look at him to know he had that amused smirk on his face.
The Shaman looked troubled. "This is disturbing."
"And why's that?" Eallair asked.
"There is not much your government considers…taboo, would be your word, I think. Necromancy is one of those things."
"So is disobedience," Eallair said flatly.
"Perhaps," the Shaman said. "It would fit with what I know of your government's ways. The question is, are you just disobedient, or a disobedient necromancer? I think it is time for you to tell me what you are doing here."
Eallair nodded. "Aye then," he said. "We want safe passage through your territory all the way through Colorado, with a guarantee that no other villages or whatever you call your settlements will attack us along the way."
Whatever the Shaman was expecting, Aidan could tell it wasn't that. He raised both his eyebrows in surprise. "Why would you want such a thing?"
Eallair grinned. "Because we've been disobedient."
"Don't listen to them!" Two Rivers hissed. "They're lying. Even if their government wants to kill them, they don't need to go through our lands to hide."
"My apprentice has a good point," the Shaman said. "Passage through our lands is not something you need to escape from your government."
"That's because we ain’t tryin’ to escape," Eallair said. "We just wanna pass through."
"Lies!" the boy said. "They want to get deeper into our lands so they can attack us from within."
"Do you really think if I wanted to be killin’ all of you I'd need to go farther inside your land to do it?" Eallair asked, turning a sharp look on Two Rivers. "I seemed to be doing a good job goin’ through your people before when I weren't trying to hurt them. Just think about what I could do if I weren’t holdin’ back, boy."
His face flushed with anger. "You—"
"Enough!" the Shaman shouted. "Apprentice, you will be quiet unless spoken to, is that clear?"
Two Rivers' face got even redder, but he nodded. "Yes, Shaman."
"And you," he turned a sharp look of his own on Eallair, and Aidan was pleased to see he was included in the look, too. Guess I’m not at the kid’s table anymore. "You two will tell me right now why you need this permission. You may be able to kill us all with little trouble, but there is little chance you would make it past the rest of our settlements with such ease. Something I think you well know."
"Aye," Eallair said, not even trying to deny it. "But I think I'd be able to get pretty far before you got me. I do wonder how long it would take for the government to notice a huge magical fight goin’ on out here in shaman land and send someone to find out, though. Maybe they'd find a whole bu
nch of your dead People and start thinkin’ about movin’ in and getting’ a few of their states back. Maybe they'd just decide to kill all what were left. I don't wanna be helpin’ the government get over on anyone, but at the end of the day I don't give a crap about your People. You might wanna keep that in mind before you start thinkin’ you've got too much leverage over me."
Eallair and the Shaman locked eyes. They weren’t quite glaring at each other, but Aidan could tell there was a silent battle of wills going on. He looked nervously back and forth between them, ready to jump out of the way if a fight broke out. After what seemed like an eternity, the Shaman nodded.
"Very well," he said. "I sense truth and resolve in your words, but you will not pass through another inch of our land on threats. You will tell me the reason you need to pass through our lands, and even if I believe you, you will still have to earn the trust of my People before permission is granted."
Eallair studied him for another moment. Aidan wondered what he was looking for. Was he testing the Shaman’s resolve as well somehow? Was he wondering, like Aidan was, if they could trust the words of a man who obviously held no love for outsiders? Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it quick enough.
"Aye,” Eallair said, “that seems fair enough." He turned to Aidan. "What do you think?"
Aidan blinked in surprise. Eallair flashed him a quick smile. Oh. I'm being included. He smiled back shakily. "Um, yeah. I mean, it seems fair."
It wasn’t like they had much of a choice.
"Great!" Eallair said cheerfully, all hints that he basically just threatened to kill the whole village and leave an entire people open to genocide gone as if it had never happened. He grinned at the Shaman. "So what part are you wantin' to hear first? The part where we're going to wake up a man who's been sleeping for two thousand years, or the part where, after that, we're gonna start up a revolution and destroy the whole government?"
The Shaman's mouth dropped open.
Eallair cocked his head thoughtfully, then turned to Aidan. "Although, when I put it like that, it does sound kinda far-fetched, don’t it?"
Aidan stared, then shook his head in slow disbelief. Crazy, infuriating sorcerer. He thought that with affection, though, so how sane did that make him?
"Maybe a little," he answered with a small smile. He probably shouldn't be helping Eallair antagonize the only man in the entire middle country who might actually help them, but he couldn't help getting caught up in his craziness. Or maybe he just really, really liked the “us against the world” feeling he got when Eallair treated him like an equal partner in this Arthur hunt. Yep. I am definitely insane. "Maybe you should start at the beginning?"
"Always the voice of reason," Eallair said with fondness. And so he did.
As Eallair explained about Arthur—seriously how did anyone not know about Arthur?—and their plan—such as it was—to fight the government, Aidan watched the Shaman and Two Rivers. The boy obviously didn't believe a single thing Eallair was saying. Several times he looked like he was about to interrupt, but the Shaman placed a hand on his arm and he immediately quieted. The Shaman, on the other hand, was completely inscrutable. His face stayed blank save for once when he frowned as Eallair was talking about waking up Arthur. When Eallair was done, silence filled the yurt. The sounds of people yelling to one another and the occasional crash as something either fell over or was pushed down outside filled the void in the absence of his voice. The Shaman looked intently at them, but his eyes didn't seem focused on anything. Almost like he was lost deep in thought. The boy tried to imitate his mentor's calm, but he could only sit still for a moment at a time before fidgeting on his pillow and clenching his jaw—to keep from saying something that would get him in trouble, Aidan assumed.
"This king," the Shaman said after several minutes of silence. "He is a Shaman to your people?"
"Not exactly," Eallair said. "But close enough I guess."
"And he is dead?" the Shaman asked.
"Sort of. Maybe. A little." Eallair shrugged. "Not as such, actually. Sleeping, more like."
"Is he breathing? Does he age?"
Eallair hesitated. "No."
"Then he is not sleeping," the Shaman said. "He is dead. And you plan to wake him."
It wasn't exactly a question, but Eallair answered anyway. "Aye."
The Shaman narrowed his eyes and Aidan's stomach clenched with dread. He knew where this was going before the Shaman opened his mouth. "And how is waking the dead not necromancy?"
Two Rivers all but vibrated in his seat. Aidan tensed. The Shaman waited.
And Eallair, to Aidan's surprise, got angry. His eyes flashed and for a second Aidan thought he was going to launch himself over the table and attack the Shaman with his bare hands. He got it under control quickly, burning down into a cool rage, but the fact it was even there for a few seconds bothered Aidan. Why was he so upset about what the Shaman said? It wasn't like it was the first time he'd called them necromancers.
"It's not necromancy," Eallair said tightly. "He ain't dead. He never died, so it ain't. Bloody. Necromancy."
The Shaman, for his part, was utterly unswayed by his anger.
"How does one not die, yet stay unchanged for thousands of years?" he asked. "That is unnatural. It sounds exactly like necromancy."
"Well it ain't," Eallair said. "Arthur ain't some kind of undead abomination some bent-in-the-head sorcerer pulled up out of the ground to be his slave. He's the once and future king, felled in battle against the traitor Mordred and sleeping in his tomb until the world needs him again. And the world bloody well needs him. So, we're gonna wake him up, and he's gonna be the Arthur he was born to be. And there ain't nothin’ unnatural about that."
Aidan shivered. For the second time since they met, he thought he might be scared of Eallair. He would have been, if Eallair’s burning eyes were focused on him and not the Shaman. He'd never seen him that righteously angry before, not even when Anwir taunted him about torturing Aidan. His eyes glowed in the dimly lit interior with an eldritch green light, like raw power was trying its hardest to break free from a cage that didn't care to contain it anymore. The air in the yurt was thick with tension and awful potential. In that moment, Eallair looked like he could tear the world in half without even trying.
The Shaman saw it too, and this time, he backed down.
"You…believe what you are saying," he said, leaning back. It looked like he was trying to get more comfortable, but Aidan got the impression that he was trying to get as far away from those eyes as he could without being obvious about it. "I am willing to concede that much, and let the matter fall."
Not even Two Rivers looked like he wanted to argue.
Time seemed to stand still as Eallair glared at the Shaman. Aidan stopped breathing.
Then, the glow faded and the air in the room seemed less stifling. Eallair smiled, but there was none of his usual humor in it.
"All right," he said. "It's dropped, then."
Aidan let out a breath at exactly the same time Two Rivers did. They shared a look, Two Rivers almost giving Aidan a relieved smile before he remembered he hated all outsiders and covered it up with a scowl.
Teenagers.
"So," Eallair said, clapping his hands. Everyone but the Shaman flinched. "Will you let us through then?"
All eyes turned to the Shaman, who in turn studied Eallair and Aidan silently for a long moment.
"You are not necromancers," he said finally. "But you are still outsiders. I cannot let you pass freely, especially after the damage you caused my People. They would not accept it, nor should they."
"Then where does that leave us?" Eallair asked. The terrifying chill was gone from his voice, and he sounded more like the Eallair Aidan was familiar with, but Aidan could see he was tensing for a fight all the same.
The Shaman cocked his head thoughtfully. "A test, I think."
"A test?" Eallair asked. He didn't exactly sound happy with the idea. "Like, a trial you me
an? Because I'm not the fondest of puttin’ myself in the hands of a court I don't know nothin' about."
"Not a trial." The Shaman shook his head. "Not the way you are thinking of it. It will not be about holding you accountable for your actions; it will be about proving to my People that you are not a threat."
"Oh. So, you mean a task, then?" Eallair curled his lip. "An errand. Bloody hate those. I ain't some traveling adventurer looking to make some gold by cleanin’ the rats out your basement."
"We do not have rats," the Shaman said. “Or basements.”
"Good. Because I don't do rats. Get yourself a cat for that." He paused. "And I ain't gonna—"
Aidan jabbed him in the side with his elbow, hard.
"What?" Eallair shot him an annoyed look.
"Do you maybe want to wait to hear what it is before you list off all the things you 'ain't gonna do'?" Aidan asked. "Unless maybe you want to start a fight?"
For a moment, Eallair looked startled. After a few seconds though, the look melted into a soft smile. "Like I said, voice of reason." He turned back to the Shaman. "So, what's your test, then?"
If the Shaman was at all annoyed at having to wade through Eallair's inability to shut up before he could get to the point—Merlin knew Aidan would have been—he didn't show it.
"You must kill the necromancer."
Aidan shivered, but somehow, he wasn't all that surprised.
I really should have let him add one more "ain't gonna" to that list.
"Well," Eallair said a few moments later, breaking the expectant silence that had fallen over the room. "At least it ain't about rats."
"But Shaman—" Two Rivers snapped his jaw shut even before the Shaman slowly turned a Look in his direction. "Sorry," he muttered.
"You may speak," The Shaman said.
Two Rivers blinked in surprise but, once he realized what the Shaman had said, wasted no time jumping up off his cushion. "You can't just send them to the necromancer! What if they're working with him? You don't need to be a necromancer for that! They could be slaves and we'd be sending them right back to their master."