by B. Muze
The boy stumbled backward, frantically, over rocks, around trees, as he saw the giant shaman approach.
“Stay,” ordered the shaman, and Litazu froze, instantly.
Yaku Shaman set Jovai on her feet and held her, roughly, by the hair. She winced with the pain.
“This is a shaman,” he told the boy. “No one touches a shaman as you have dared!”
He jerked her hair harder. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip to hold back the cry.
“The spirits are very jealous of her. Consider her untouchable in every way from now on, or I will throw you to them. Do you understand?”
The boy mutely nodded, his eyes wide with fear.
“Go!” growled Yaku Shaman.
Swifter than a stone from a sling, the boy ran away.
The shaman dragged his apprentice angrily through the woods and said not another word until they were in the privacy of his house.
“What have you done?” he demanded.
She knew she should tell everything. She knew he knew already, but she didn’t know what to say. Shame overwhelmed her.
“You are a shaman,” he shouted at her. “A shaman does not touch like that. A shaman does not marry. A shaman does not have children. A shaman belongs to the spirits only!”
“Spirits don’t make me feel like that,” she said in timid defiance.
“I could call up an evil one who would, but he would drain you and leave you nothing. That’s what that boy would do — leave you nothing. He would pull you away from the spirits, fill up your belly with children and your mind with trivial worries and you would be nothing for the spirits — nothing for your people except a breeding bofimer. Our people need a shaman, not another gossiping wife.”
“But they’d like me better as a wife!”
“Not when they need a shaman.”
“Then let them find a shaman they’d like,” she yelled, “Because I’m not a shaman. Do you know what they call me? They call me witch!”
He struck a mighty blow to the side of the head, and she fell to the floor stunned. It was the first time her master had ever hit her. He stood over her like an immovable mountain and waited for her to get up. She shook her head to try to clear the dizziness and pushed herself back to standing. The room was heaving around her.
“You are a shaman,” he said, his voice solid and strong like the voice of a prophecy. It allowed no denial. She looked into his eyes and saw the giant brown bear there, with all the other shapes his spirit had stretched into. This was a great shaman, greater than any legend. If he called her a shaman then she was a shaman, whether she wanted to be or not.
She bowed her head and silently wept.
The next eight days she spent in total silent and dark seclusion, fasting on broth and water. It was not only a punishment but also an exercise to help her regain the discipline she had recently lost. She was supposed to be listening, but her concentration had been shattered. She felt like a baby again, unable to sit still. She wanted to think of Litazu, to remember his smile, his kiss, his touch, but every time she did, she also remembered the fear in his eyes and her master’s fury. He would never touch her again. She was certain. No one would ever dare go near her after what happened with him. And he was the only one, ever, to have told her she was pretty.
That period felt like a death, but it helped her find some calm again, and her listening came back. By the time she returned to the sunlight and the noise, she was seeing her feelings for Litazu as a feverish confusion, a sweet madness that she could leave behind.
When she saw him again, however, the feelings surged up and made her tremble with shame. He glared at her hatefully. He looked much paler and thinner, and his eyes were shadowed strangely for one so young. The spirits she had set on him to get his attention danced about his head. In horror, she realized that she had forgotten to call them off.
She called them now, and they came, but they wanted to go back to their tricks. They enjoyed tormenting Litazu, especially since he had hurt her so badly. It took all her will, much time and effort, to finally convince them to stop. She felt guilty and would have had them do pleasing things for him if she could, but they would not go so far. They would stop hurting him only because she wanted it so badly, but they hated him for what they thought he had done to her. Every-so-often, even months later, she’d catch them at mean pranks to hurt him when they thought she wasn’t aware.
Litazu, for his part, avoided her as completely as possible. He never touched her again, and he never spoke to her when he could help it. He told no one what had happened, although the gossip ran high, and he had nothing to say about her except that he didn’t think she was pretty after all.
From then on, her master dressed her like a boy rather than a girl. He gave away the only two woman’s tunics she had, made for her by Katira and Misa, and made her wear her hair in a simple boy’s style, in a ponytail down her back, instead of the more attractive braids that the girls and women usually wore.
“You’re a shaman,” he said, “Not a woman. Such things will only make you forget again.”
When she complained, he threatened to cut her hair off altogether, like a Gicok. Her hair was long, dense, and fine, flowing in soft, dark waves down her back. She suspected that it was her best feature. She didn’t want to lose it, even if a shaman didn’t need such things.
Chapter 15
The Real Apprentice
It was deep in the winter of that year when Yaku Shaman and his apprentice were called to attend to a young boy just approaching his naming. The boy was thrashing and writhing, limbs out of control, and gurgling strangely. His parents were frantic.
“He has a spirit inside him,” Yaku Shaman explained. “It’s trying to talk through him, but he fights it.”
They could only wait until the spirit let him go. Then the boy awoke, disoriented and confused. He remembered nothing.
Yaku explained to him what had happened. He gave the child some medicines which relaxed his body and helped his spirit be calm and feel safe. Then the shaman called forth the visiting spirit and helped the little boy to let it speak.
At first, the words were only garbled nonsense. The child was still resisting. Jovai held the child and sang softly, soothingly to both competing spirits within the little body. The child’s spirit finally stepped back, and the voice came forward.
“The Gicoks are dying. Many are dying. The disease is coming here. Beware them when they come.” It was the little boy’s voice, speaking in the old language.
“When do they come again?” asked the shaman.
“They are on their way.”
“When will they arrive?”
“In the next living time, during the lengthening days. The loss will be great.”
“What should we do?”
The child shuddered in Jovai’s arms, and his little boy’s spirit came back. He could not remember. Only Yaku Shaman and Jovai had understood the words. Jovai looked to her master to see what he would do.
“He should be well now,” the shaman told the parents. “If the spirit comes back, call me immediately.”
Then he went directly to Tapeten Leader and called a counsel.
The elders listened to the story and frowned at the spirit’s words. Not since the captive Gicok was tortured to death two and a half years ago had they suffered the Gicok raids. Many had hoped that the show of their horrible tortures had frightened the Gicoks away forever.
“What do we care if the Gicoks die?” asked Nobien Elder. “It makes our life easier.”
“The warning is that the disease will come here,” Yaku explained.
“What kind of disease is it?” asked Takan Elder.
“The spirit did not say. I will try to find out more, but we must be alert and watch carefully for the Gicoks.”
“Will you be apprenticing the little boy then?” asked Jatoyen Elder.
Yaku looked at him with surprise. The thought had not occurred to him.
“The sp
irit did choose to speak through him,” said Massern. “Doesn’t that mean he is favored?”
“It might mean many things,” answered Yaku carefully. “It does not necessarily mean he is a shaman.”
“But he might be,” said Massern with a grin, “and since we have no other…”
“We have Jovai,” Yaku growled. He did not like what they were thinking.
“But this is the only boy to be favored so far,” insisted Jatoyen Elder with a triumphant smile.
“I do not know that he is favored,” Yaku Shaman all but shouted.
Tapeten Leader looked to the elders.
“I say we pay the apprentice fee to let the shaman teach him. If the child does not serve, he can be returned to his family. If he does serve, we have our new shaman.”
The elders all were agreed. Yaku Shaman was furious, but he felt himself trapped. In his mind, he knew that he could probably teach the little boy, but his heart ached to see his other apprentice so quickly and easily dismissed. Jovai was a shaman of worth, better than anyone could have hoped for. He had worked hard for her, and she had done very well, and now that the honor of the position should have soon come to her, as well as the duties and denials which she already bore, they were pushing in another child, completely untried. He felt unwarranted hatred for the little boy usurper. He felt afraid of what might happen to Jovai.
The following Trintoa, the little boy took his name: Kotayu, mouthpiece. He was apprenticed with a lavish show, and all the village rejoiced. They made a huge parade and carried the boy in the center, from the feast, which had been grander than any wedding feast, to the shaman’s house. Jovai watched in amazement. Yaku Shaman watched in disgust.
The shaman walked the village late that night, dreading the time when he would return to his house and find the unwanted stranger there. Jovai was curious about the little boy. She returned early to make sure he felt welcomed and happy.
When she arrived, she saw Kotayu’s mother busily cooking dinner for her son and his new master. The boy was playing happily with a small lizard at his mother’s feet. The house had been cleaned and brightly decorated with toys and objects the little boy might want. He had many changes of clothes, all looking new and neatly sorted. A beautiful bedroll that was thicker than her master’s, against which it was laid, was open and waiting. She looked for her own bedroll, but she could not find it. All her few belongings seemed to be missing.
“Where are my things?” Jovai asked Disara, the mother.
“At Polisa’s of course,” she was answered. “You’ll be going home, now that the shaman has a real apprentice.”
The words hit Jovai like a blow. It hadn’t occurred to her that her master would send her away. She felt suddenly, deeply unhappy. In all the times recently that she had thought she did not want to be a shaman, she had never thought of leaving her master. She loved the old man dearly. She could not imagine what her life would be like without seeing him and talking to him and learning from him every day.
“Did the shaman, himself, say I was to leave?” she asked.
“Of course you are to leave,” Disara answered. “Now go home. Your mother is waiting.”
She did not go home but sought out Yaku instead. He was not in the village proper but had gone to his favorite thinking place, a fallen boulder by the western river. It was not a place she felt she could intrude, so she waited. Deep into the night, when even the latest revelers had grown weary, her master finally rose and turned toward his house.
“Master,” called Jovai softly, intercepting him just before he reached the village.
The shaman frowned at her.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “I thought you went home early.”
She shook her head and took a deep breath to push the tears back from her voice.
“Are you dismissing me?” she asked him.
His frown deepened as he gently raised her chin to see if there was a joke in her eyes. He saw the tears and realized her question was serious.
“No,” he said, his anger rising, “Who told you this?”
“Disara, Kotayu’s mother. All my things are at Polisa’s. She says now that you have a real apprentice, I must go back to my mother’s house.”
Yaku stared at Jovai, amazed at what he heard. How could they dare to dismiss his apprentice without his approval — without even his knowledge? In his anger, he could have grabbed Kotayu and thrown him back at his mother. He could have ripped the elders from their beds, one by one, and wrung their wrinkled necks. He could have torn Polisa’s house down, piece by piece until Jovai could walk easily through the rubble to get her things back. How dare they? How dare they?!
“Why do you cry?” he demanded harshly of Jovai. “I didn’t dismiss you. Why do you listen to a stupid wife who knows nothing?”
“I was afraid, because of what happened before…” Yaku knew she was thinking of Litazu, who had passed into manhood during the summer and taken the name Berailen, the bold fool, then left the village to go the way of the adventurers. He had been a popular boy, and many people grieved at his leaving. People still said it was Jovai, with witch’s evil, who had driven him away. “I was afraid I was no longer good enough. When she said you didn’t want me anymore, I thought it might be true.”
“It is not true,” he said angrily.
“Then why do you take another apprentice?” she asked. It was the first time she had dared to so directly question her Master’s action. Yaku accepted the question as right. He had been asking it himself.
“Kotayu may have the approval of the spirits. It seems as if, possibly, they want me to teach him.”
“Just because one spirit chose to speak through him?”
Yaku nodded.
“But we don’t even know what kind of spirit it was.”
“It may have meant nothing, but there is a chance that Kotayu is a holy one. There is a chance that the spirits will want him trained, so I will train him. If I die, then you will train him, until we know if he is really a shaman.”
“And if he is,” said Jovai, “No village needs two shamen.”
“We have worked well together,” said Yaku. “If he is a shaman, then you two can work well together.”
But in his heart Yaku knew that would not be. If the boy were a shaman, even a weak one, then Jovai would have no place in the village except as a healer, if the people would accept her as such. Kotayu would be her master in the eyes of the people. Jovai’s power would be thrown away. The only hope for the village was that Kotayu was a stronger shaman than Jovai or, as Yaku hoped within his heart, no shaman at all.
That night, Yaku gave Jovai his bedroll, beside the sleeping boy, and rested himself on the ground near the door for the few hours before dawn. He would not allow Jovai to protest. He found that it cheered him, for it reminded him of this night so many years ago when a crying baby with no name was pushed into his life. He hadn’t wanted her then any more than he wanted this new one now. It had been the spirits’ choice, not his. Now he thanked them for choosing her. He hoped he would come to value his new apprentice as much.
Disara was not pleased when she came the next morning to fix her son and his master breakfast. Polisa was not pleased when Jovai came to get her things back. The elders was not pleased when Yaku Shaman announced, absolutely, that Jovai was still his apprentice. His anger was too great to allow him to discuss it calmly. He simply said it and left them to discuss it among themselves.
Yaku had thought to spend his time equally between his two apprentices, but Jovai had very little left to learn that practice and experience couldn’t teach. Kotayu knew nothing at all.
It seemed to Yaku that Kotayu was a very poor student. He couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t listen. He learned the chants slowly and forgot them quickly, protesting that they made no sense. Jovai laughed when Yaku complained, reminding her master that he had said the same things about her. He knew she was right. One difference he was sure of, however, was that Jovai had learned th
e old language much faster. Languages, both written and spoken, came as easily as breath to her while this new apprentice seemed even worse at them than Yaku had been.
Kotayu soon got bored with the study of histories, chants, and languages. He wanted to learn magic instead. He wanted to call spirits and make them do things for him.
“That comes later,” Yaku tried to explain.
“But my mother told me she was doing it right away!” Kotayu insisted.
“Jovai worked harder and learned quicker,” said his master angrily.
It was hard for Yaku Shaman to be patient with this boy. Kotayu made the lengthening days seem longer, and the short time he still got to spend with Jovai, far more precious.
Friends and Foes
Chapter 16
New Dangers
It was many weeks after the Trintoa, when spring was stretching toward summer, that the little village had a strange visitation. Jovai was listening in the southern woods when she heard the sound of Gicok horses walking leisurely over the western mountains. It did not sound like a raid, but she went ahead and raised the call.
Women and children scrambled for the caves. Men grabbed their weapons and took position. Jovai found her master.
“It’s not a raid,” she said. “There are only five I think.”
He too had heard. He had sent Kotayu to the caves, but Jovai he ordered to stay, though at some distance behind the warriors.
The five approached slowly, leaving their horses tied to trees in the hills. They were all men, but only one was Gicok. The rest in build looked like her people, only taller, with much darker skin, almost black, and eyes and hair of varying shades of gold or copper brown. They were filthy, hair matted, beards sprouting wildly from their faces. Their clothes looked like layers of rags and hides. It looked as if the spring mud had sucked them whole and spit them out again.
The Gicok was similarly dressed, in cloths instead of hides. He had no battle paint on him and he did not look as frightening as the warriors of his people always had. He moved awkwardly over the land without his horse. The famous pride of the Gicoks seemed to be missing in him.