by B. Muze
Slowly, Jovai’s mind cleared of konis and, drop by almost imperceptible drop, filled with shame, horror, and fear. Gradually, sickness identified itself…sickness of the body. Pain in the head, the back, the stomach. Hunger, famished! She heaved. Stomach quaked, body jerked. Pain in arms, in legs. Terrible smell. Could hardly breathe…
A horse, but too big…a Gicok demon horse. It moved restlessly with so many people nearby. It shivered and shrugged and did not like her stretched across its back. She should get down — yes — before she fell. So dizzy, was she falling already? Couldn’t stop falling, but horse still bouncing on her stomach. She could not move. All her body hurt. Too weak to move. Pain when she tried. Something on her wrists, thick and scratchy. Jerk away, her ankle burns, like rope. Tied. Hands and feet tied together. But was it enough to keep her on? She was still falling — so deep the darkness it never ended!
There were voices falling with her from great distances — sounds dropped after her into the darkness.
A man’s voice: “…just like you told us,” and a laugh that echoed, laughing with itself.
“So now we come for other horse,” Not the same man — another one. This one she knew, but could not quite remember.
“But he is sick.” Arguing, but his echoes still laughed. “You did not tell us he would be sick.”
“Sickness goes away.”
“Or he might die.”
“We made deal. You give us other horse now.”
“No.”
“Yes!” A new voice? One of his stories from baby dreams. “That is a deal!” Was all this his story? A new story for his daughters?
“The deal is off. Take him back and return the mare.” The man spoke loudly to hide his laugh which still rang on and on.
“He wants us to take her back,” said the second man in his right words. She knew him now, Tapeten’s voice.
“We don’t want her back!” growled another man angrily. So many voices…
“Of course, we don’t,” her father snapped, silencing the man quickly. Yes, he was always good at voices, but so many? Were other people helping him tell this story? She had played a sparrow once, and once a bear and wolf…Who helped him speak the voice of Tapeten and the others? Who was the laughing man? She had slept through so much, and now she could not understand.
“Why doesn’t he want her?” insisted yet another man. “Does he know she’s a witch?”
Witch. The word flowed down her spine, sobering her. It was not the right word, but it meant something she needed to know. She struggled to remember.
“He knows nothing. He still thinks she’s a boy,” answered Tapeten.
“And we won’t tell him,” added Takan.
“Of course not,” came Tapeten’s irritated reply.
“Then why does he not want her?” asked one of the men.
“He thinks she will not live. He wants the mare back.”
“The mare is ours now,” declared Takan, “whatever happens, he will not get it back.”
“And whatever happens, we will not take back the witch.”
“What if he leaves her, or tries to return her to the village?”
“Then we kill her ourselves,” came Tapeten’s cold reply.
“And Yaku Shaman?” asked someone, carefully.
Jovai felt cheered a little by the name. The Great Bear. He fought the demons. He kept all evil away — all but one…
She could hear the dismissive shrug in Tapeten’s voice.
“There are always some who do not survive such passages. It will prove us right that a woman should not be shaman.”
“There will be no need to kill her,” said Takan angrily. “The trader is only trying to keep his horse. Face his challenge, Tapeten Leader, and he will lose.”
His horse, the trader’s horse, the witch, her master, her father, everything swirled and spun and fell, drop by almost imperceptible drop, into place…
Tapeten turned to the trader and refreshed his lungs with quiet air.
“Not sick, only sleep,” he told the trader.
“Now, I can’t be sure of that, can I?” answered the crafty trader.
“We take back then,” said Tapeten with an air of indifference, “but we keep one horse, for time and…sleep drink.”
Takan had come and knelt beside the horse that carried her, apparently reaching under its chest for the knots that bound her. Jovai raised her head slightly, just enough to see him. Her father saw his daughter’s eyes, full of confusion, hurt and fear. Quickly he turned his face away.
“We must clear the shame you brought upon our family,” he murmured.
He rose, as the trader approached to stop him.
“Here now. If you take him back and don’t return my mare, I’m out a good breeder for nothing!”
“Awake now,” announced Takan, gesturing toward Jovai. “Not sick.”
“Oh yeah?” The trader grabbed her hair and forced her head back as far as it would go. Jovai grimaced.
“Ugly goat’s son, isn’t he?” laughed the man. “But he still looks sick — pale and skinny.”
“You wanted one who speaks best,” answered Tapeten, his eyes never leaving the trader. “That is the one.”
“Prove it. Speak to me boy.” He shook her head by the hair. Jovai clenched her jaw and said nothing.
“Speak witch!” ordered Tapeten in their language. “If he doesn’t take you we’ll kill you ourselves.”
“Kill me then!” she exploded.
“Speak to your new master, witch,” ordered her father. She shuddered to hear him address her so accusingly. “Make him want you, or I am honor bound to kill you myself.”
Jovai sobbed. The hunger, the pain, the sickness, the shame, it was all too great.
Everyone watched her, waiting. At last, she spoke:
“I speak,” she said simply. “My people learned your words from me.”
The trader laughed and let her head drop disdainfully. He had known that, after all. He had used her as translator earlier when the others were still here. Surely, he recognized her. The trader turned to Tapeten.
“Now that I see him, I know he’s not worth two horses.”
“He speaks…”
“So, he can take orders. But he’s scrawny and sullen and won’t profit me at one horse, much less two. Teach some of your better boys to speak. Maybe add a couple pretty little girls, and you’ll get your other horse the next time I come.”
“We want horse now!”
Jovai felt the air crack with the whip and heard the quills fly past her. Her father gave a sharp yell of pain.
“That’s what you’ll all get if you bother me further,” roared the trader. “Now get out of here!”
She heard the men shout angrily, as they backed away. There was another crack of the whip and the sound of frantic men scrambling back toward the valley.
“Was that wise, Hom Busun?” asked another of the traders, a much younger man with a scraggly beard who wore his golden hair straight and long down his back.
“I saved us a horse, didn’t I?” demanded the traders’ leader defensively.
“But it might make trade more difficult in the future…”
The traders’ leader chuckled an evil sound.
“Weren’t you watching? Guilty fools, they stole this boy. So what if we cheat them? Their own guilt will keep them from telling anyone. By Gorat’s Hide, they’re ours from now on.”
His words made Jovai tremble. The last of the konis dripped away. Nothing was left but hunger and shame. She was ravenous but dared not ask for food. The traders started off through the mountains, southwest. They led the horse to which she was strapped but otherwise ignored her.
That morning, the shaman paced restlessly. Several times he started for a walk around the awakening village, but his feet turned constantly toward the southern woods where he knew he should not go. Jovai had to be left alone. There could be no chance of anyone overhearing the name the spirits would give her. Onl
y she, herself, could safely guard such a dangerous secret. The shaman’s mind turned constantly toward the woods, listening until he caught it and pulled it away.
It seemed to him she was late. Perhaps he had mixed the konis too strongly, and she was dying even now or wandering misdirected, her mind forever damaged. Perhaps she had fallen in her unsteady walk and hurt herself. She could be crying for him to come and help her. But he could not. She was with the spirits. They would return her when and how they chose.
Had his master, Cokru Shaman, worried for him when he had taken his journey into shamanhood? But he had been a man. One did not worry the same way about men. His master had only worried whether the spirits would bless his apprentice with a name of any power. If they did not, all his youth and the many years his master had spent on him would have been wasted. It had been his great relief to see young Yaku come back, his tunic off and the spirit mark shining on his chest where his master would tattoo a mark that all could see and know.
Jovai would have her name. Yaku Shaman was certain. Had he not seen the Mother/Father greet her itself? Had he not felt the crowd of ancestors, his own master and the shamans before him, even Morcu Shaman, one of the greatest of all who had led his people to this blessed valley? Had he not felt the spirits of the village welcome her and seen the light surround her as she walked toward her journey? There was no doubt she was a shaman. The spirits would protect her. He should not worry, yet he could not stop.
Again, his feet had turned toward the south. They were stubborn. He would have to punish them by disconnecting them from the earth they loved. He returned to his house.
The good wife for the morning was already there, fixing breakfast for him and Kotayu.
“There is not enough,” said Yaku as she served the porridge. “Jovai will be hungry when she returns.”
The young woman glanced at him with an odd expression.
“I will make her some when she returns,” said the wife, after an uncomfortable pause.
“Have it ready,” the shaman insisted. “She should not have to wait.”
The young wife bit her lip nervously. She took her pot and returned to her home. The shaman expected her to return to heat the food over his fire. She did not come back. He growled at her slowness, but he had more to worry about this morning than a lazy, foolish wife.
From his house chest, where he kept the very few things he had of personal value, he pulled a wooden box, intricately carved with a single repeated pattern.
“What’s that?” asked Kotayu.
The shaman raised the lid and showed him. Inside was a collection of tiny knives and hammers, needles and dyes. They were the same tools his master had used to mark him. His master had been marked by them too, and other shamans before.
Kotayu reached for the box. The shaman pulled it away.
“I just want to see,” the boy complained.
“You will see them better when it is your turn,” said the shaman.
“But what are they?”
“They are the tools for marking. Today I will mark Jovai.”
He pulled out the smallest knife and tested its blade. It was still hair-splittingly sharp, but he sharpened it further, just to be sure. Kotayu watched him in awe.
“Will it hurt?” he asked.
Yaku nodded.
“Will she scream?”
“It is her right if she chooses,” the shaman answered.
“I bet she does,” said the little boy, “because she’s only a girl. My mother says you shouldn’t do things like that to girls.”
“Jovai is a shaman,” said Yaku once again. “Go tell your mother that. You can go tell everyone as soon as she returns.”
“What if she doesn’t return?” Kotayu asked.
“What do you mean?” his master demanded.
“My mother says not everyone comes back. She says Jovai’s only a girl and can’t be a shaman, so the spirits won’t let her come back.”
“Your mother’s a fool,” proclaimed the shaman.
“She is not a fool. My mother knows everything,” insisted the little boy. “She knows Jovai won’t come back because Jovai’s not a shaman!”
“Jovai is a shaman. She has proved it many times over. Even so young, she is more of a shaman than you will ever be. You can tell your mother that!”
“You don’t know anything,” yelled the little boy. “You’ll see!” And he ran out of the house, crying.
One by one, in careful meditation, Yaku Shaman sharpened his instruments. One by one he examined his dyes. He traced the design carved into the box and then the one imbedded on his chest over his heart. He knew the pattern well.
The morning grew late, and Jovai still had not returned. His fear deepened. The visions of the night before came back to him, still confusing. The first ones he could easily dismiss as the voice of his own worry but the last…the greatest of gods did not intrude on dreams casually, but what did it mean?
By midday Yaku Shaman could wait no longer. The konis would have finished with Jovai by now. Since she had not returned, it could only mean that she was lost or hurt…or dead.
He calmed his fears and stretched his mind, listening through the southern woods. There was no sound of her. Could she have wandered farther, into the mountains? Surely she would not have had the energy for that. He listened and heard the sound of horses, heavily laden, and four men walking. The traders, he guessed, but they were going away.
Even so far away Jovai could hear her master listening. She did not pause. It was her only chance. She raised her head and called to him.
“Master,” she yelled in the old language, “the strangers have stolen me. I am bound and cannot escape.”
“What are you yelling?” asked the traders’ leader angrily, coming up beside the horse that carried her.
She listened for her master, but she could not tell if he had heard. There was no sound from him.
“Answer me,” demanded the man. He pulled her head up painfully by the hair. In his hand, he held a sharp blade made of strange, glossy stone. He brought it up, under her ear.
“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” he whispered menacingly.
Jovai watched him with frightened eyes.
“Didn’t I?!” he yelled.
The knife was slowly slicing her earlobe. It was only a nick, but she could feel the blood trickle down her neck.
“Y…yes.”
“Yes what?”
The pain was setting fire to her mind.
“Quiet. I should be…”
He jerked her head, his grip firm on her tangled hair. Her head bounced against the knife and she felt it slice under her jaw.
“Yes what?!” he demanded.
“I don’t understand,” she gasped.
“Yes, Master. That’s what you call me, do you hear? Master.”
“Yes Master.”
He slapped her cheek with the flat of his blade, its edge nicking again her bleeding ear. The blow left her cheek stinging, a red welt rising where he had hit. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. She would not cry.
“What do you call me?” he demanded, hitting her again on the other side.
“I am to call you Master,” she replied.
He gave her one more blow, “Just so you don’t forget,” and dropped her head back down with a laugh.
Jovai listened as hard as she could for any sound of Yaku Shaman. A giant hawk flew overhead. He dove toward her, startling the horse on which she was tied. The horse reared, throwing Jovai back. She slipped and found gravity pulling her under his flying legs.
The Gicok and the big, bearded man quickly caught the horse before it bolted and managed to hold it down and calm it while the other man, a small brown-gold haired youth, quickly cut Jovai loose.
She fell to the ground, under the dancing horse, her ankles and wrists still hobbled, and quickly rolled away to relative safety. Hom Busun caught her by her leather tunic and pulled her up, under his arm.
&n
bsp; “What’s wrong with that beast?” he demanded.
“Scared,” answered the Gicok.
“Of what?”
The Gicok shrugged and looked about nervously.
Jovai looked around for the spirit hawk, but it had disappeared.
“What did you do, boy?” yelled Master, throwing her to the ground. He kicked her when she did not answer. She was looking behind him, toward the trees by the side of the path through which bounded a giant, brown bear.
She rolled away from the next kick just as the bear leapt. He brought down Hom Busun, toppling him easily to the ground. All the horses reared and ran, throwing off the men who tried to hold them. The young, golden-brown haired man crumpled to the ground as a hoof crushed his skull. He lay, trampled, in the path of the panicked horses.
The bear tore at the ropes that bound Jovai with teeth and claws. As soon as she was free, she ran back toward the village. The bear, satisfied, followed.
Jovai ran off the path, downhill, stopping for breath only when the traders were completely out of sight. She could hear the confusion behind her. They were not following — not yet.
The great bear came beside her where she hid, between several stones. His spirit shape shifted before her eyes, and he became her master again.
“Are you a shaman?” he asked her.
“No…I don’t know…” She gasped, breathless. Shame overwhelmed her. How could she tell him? “The spirits were there, but they…”
“If they were there then you are a shaman.”
Jovai shook her head.
“The great one handed me to them. They all watched. They would not help me…”
The men were running now, running toward them. Jovai heard them and jumped up, scrambling away as quickly as possible. Her master’s spirit-self shifted into the bear again to guard her tracks.
The men slid down the hill after her, spinning rope lassoes above their heads. The bear leapt at them but was intercepted by a huge spotted cat. It was a spirit, a good one, yet it would not let him pass. As he tried to move around it the cat jumped in front, claws extended, warningly. The bear was too large and clumsy in comparison to avoid it. As he tried to go over it, it scratched at his tender nose and hissed.