The Shaman's Apprentice

by B. Muze

  Suddenly, a man behind her screamed. She could not tell if it were the Gicok or not. Her enemy startled and looked up. It was just the break she needed. She flashed her fingers in well-trained patterns in front of his distracted eyes and talked to him softly, in a special tone of voice, in the old language which he would not understand, but his spirit would know.

  “Be afraid. Run away. This monster you fight cannot be defeated but will destroy you and all you love.”

  It was not the evil, will-bending magic but only a gentle suggestion. The arm whipped her away before she could be sure her spell had taken. At least she knew by the arm’s movement that the Gicok still lived. The fighter was staring at her with confusion on his face. She readied her weapon and, as the arm swung her back, thrust it at him. As though something had suddenly snapped inside his head, the man started screaming. He dropped his weapon and fled, through the jeering crowd, away into the forest.

  Jovai had only hacked away a few more chips from the collar when another man rushed forward, at a signal from their leader, to take the previous one’s place.

  She managed to parry his first blow and caught him quickly with her patterning fingers but was pulled away from him before she could finish the spell. He stood, quietly, like a sleepwalker and waited until she could struggle back to finish her task. Then, like one awaking, he shook his head, looked toward her, screamed, and he too ran away.

  Another man behind her screamed, not in terror but in death. She could tell by the lightness of the heavy wooden arm that it was not yet the Gicok. She worked quickly at chipping and sawing through the collar. So intent was she, that although she knew another fighter would follow the last, it was not until he brought his blade down like a club, barely missing her as the arm swung her away, that she became aware of him. This man was large, with mighty muscles declaring him a trained fighter. He stared at her challengingly, full of self-assurance.

  “You are strong,” she told him, in the spirit tongue, “but now you feel the thrill of fear for such a monster as this before you, is for the gods only to conquer. The greatest of men, before it, is helpless.”

  He laughed bravely, not understanding her words, yet feeling them. She saw him tremble, in spite of himself, but he readied his sword for another blow.

  She prepared to parry and whispered again, “Run fool. If anyone loves you, if anyone needs you, for their sake and for your people who value such a brave, strong man, run.”

  He hesitated in his attack just enough for Jovai to strongly counter as the weapons master had taught. The man’s grip, already weakened with uncertainty, gave way and his weapon fell harmlessly at her feet. He turned and ran.

  She was almost through the collar, going slower now for fear of wounding herself, when two more men rushed upon her. They were nervous, sweating already. They knew she must be some kind of monster even before she suggested it. She spelled one easily and the other, seeing his partner suddenly stupefied, turned and ran before it could happen to him. His partner followed on his heels, in terror of the monster his own imagination had created in Jovai’s place.

  Four more men came toward her, though all of them held themselves back, out of her reach, too distant for them to attack her.

  “Agganna! Agganna!” their leader shouted at them.

  They looked at him, and amongst themselves and tentatively started forward. Jovai stopped her sawing and quickly looked up. She kept assurance shining from her eyes, although in her heart she despaired of spelling so many at once. The men, seeing her eyes focus on them, pulled back again. One needed no more to impel him to run away. Another followed with a feint of anger at his cowardly fellow. The other two yelled furiously at the two who had already disappeared, but they kept their distance and would not approach.

  With a loud crack, Jovai managed to break off enough of the weakened collar to allow her to slip through. She grabbed a fresh blade from the few at her feet and started toward the two men who now yelled frantically at the crowd behind them. The crowd backed away, leaving them to face her alone. They trembled before her. The braver of the two approached her warily, sweat pouring down his face. Halfheartedly, almost apologetically he swung at her. She easily disarmed him and freed him to run away. The last man, seeing his only remaining ally flee, quickly followed.

  “Gicoook” she heard the Gicok yell. It was the famous war cry that had earned them their name to her people, but he sounded it weakly. The wooden arm, without her weight balancing it, was a heavy burden for a battle-wearied warrior. Jovai rushed to aid him and found him bleeding badly, one man dead at his feet, another wounded, being carried away by women, and a third fighter readying his attack.

  “Use your blade to break free as I have done” she instructed the Gicok. “I will hold this man off.”

  “Vohee not fight for piss!” shouted the Gicok.

  “Then why could you never defeat us?” she challenged angrily, but her eyes were on the fighter.

  He circled her warily, obviously nervous. He seemed not to want to fight her, but as he tried to move around her, she blocked him.

  “Gohennis fackist veb,” he said quickly, in what sounded like the Gicok language, pointing toward the Gicok.

  “You will suffer at this monster’s wrath, and all you love shall perish before you touch that man,” she told him softly in the spirit’s tongue.

  He backed away, uncertain, her fingers dancing before his eyes, her voice soft, seductive in his ear.

  “Gohennis fackist veb,” he tried to insist.

  Jovai raised her blade. The man before her quailed.

  Behind him rose another, a boy on the edge of manhood. He held no blade but only a long wooden tube, like a whistle or a music pipe, which he aimed at Jovai. With one, quick blast of breath, a quill came flying out of it. She ducked, and it flew past, disappearing from sight.

  “Keep your people from hurting this monster,” she warned the fighter who still trembled before her, “or the wrath of its kind and all the spirits shall be visited upon you all.”

  The man stared at her in horror. His mind did not understand her words, but his spirit knew what he must do. He turned to his people, yelling frantically, issuing warnings of vile destruction if they did not let the prisoners free. The people started screaming. Mothers grabbed their children and scattered in no direction but just away.

  At first angrily, then soothingly, then desperately, their leader shouted to them, but their terror resisted any order he could issue. Had they not seen their bravest and strongest warriors run in fright from this slip of a boy? Had they not heard the words of one who, with all the certainty of a true prophet, warned them of their doom? What could their leader possibly do to assuage their fears?

  Meanwhile, Jovai frantically helped saw at the wooden collar around the Gicok until it was thin enough that both of them together could break him free. He tumbled to the ground, weak from exhaustion and loss of blood. A deep gash on the side of his head looked as if it might have cracked his skull. He had taken several blows to his legs, and one of his arms hung limply by his side. He shook his head like one who was dizzy, and when he tried to stand, he swayed.

  “Lean on me,” Jovai ordered, slipping her shoulder under his and pulling his weight onto her. He was very heavy and staggered still, even with her support.

  “Vohee…” he struggled to say something, but his breath came weakly.

  “Don’t talk,” she ordered. “Save your breath for walking.”

  “My people…” he whispered.

  “Keep quiet Gicok,” she answered, angrily.

  He nodded slightly and, to Jovai’s surprise, obeyed.

  Their pace was slow, hobbled by the Gicok’s weakness, but Jovai maintained a dignified air, still playing the all-powerful monster who need fear no one. People ran from them screaming, leaving their path free.

  They had almost reached the forest, out of sight of the Kolvas, when a man suddenly stepped forward, appearing from nowhere. It was the Kolvas Leader, the
man beneath the headdress which now no longer crowned him. He stood, glaring at them, blocking their path.

  “For your people’s sake, let us go,” Jovai ordered him softly in the spirit’s tongue.

  “Such tricks do not work on me witch-boy,” he answered her disdainfully, also in the spirit’s tongue.

  Chapter 24

  Night of Terror

  Jovai stared up at the leader, shocked. He laughed at her surprise.

  “Shaman, you have no reason to keep us,” she told him. “I mean you no harm, and this Gicok is too weak to avenge his people. Let us go peacefully on our way.”

  “We are at war with the Akarians,” he answered her. “We have sworn to kill every one of them we can before we die.”

  “That means nothing to me. I do not know the Akarians.”

  “You lie!” he accused. He murmured softly under his breath and brought his arms from his side stiffly even with his chest.

  The ground beneath Jovai and the Gicok suddenly grew soft. She scrambled to move away, but it had hold of her feet and, with strong suction, pulled her and the Gicok down into the earth, up to their chests.

  “He demon man!” screamed the Gicok in the traders’ language. He struggled frantically to swim out of the pool of earth, but no matter how he flayed his arms, there was nothing solid to grab. His struggles only sunk him deeper into the quicksand.

  “Be still!” Jovai begged him, but his struggles continued.

  “You speak Akarian,” shouted the shaman accusingly. “He wears their clothes, and your horses carry their supplies. How can you deny you are Akarian?!”

  “I speak the language of traders who stole me from my people,” she answered. “This man was a slave among them who helped me escape.”

  “His kind are no slaves. They serve the evil ones gladly.”

  “I do not know the general truth of what you say except that this man escaped them with me.”

  “How can I believe you?” demanded the shaman.

  “We speak the spirit’s tongue,” Jovai reminded him. “What lie could be sustained in such a holy language?”

  “But he does not speak it,” said the priest, pointing at the still flaying Gicok.

  Jovai turned to him thoughtfully.

  “Gicok, save your strength. We must use our heads now, not our arms.”

  “Demon man kill us!”

  “Since when have the great warrior Gicoks feared death?”

  “Not death, Demon-death. They eat us. Steal our spirits.”

  “Gicok, listen. I need to know what you are to the Akarians.”

  “It does not matter now,” he said angrily.

  “It does. Were you their slave, or did you help them willingly?”

  “My people have peace-pact with Akarians. We allies. We share horses and guides for Akarian things and Akarian protection. We traders now, not warriors.”

  “You traded your horses, your power?” Jovai stared at him shocked. She had assumed the Gicoks had been conquered and taken as slaves. It never occurred to her that they would willingly give up their horses.

  “Akarians very strong. They protect. Give many treasures, other power.”

  “Do you know why the Kolvas hate the Akarians?”

  “Kolvas evil…savages…worship evil gods…they kill people and eat them. It give them evil power. Akarians protect us from them.”

  “How? How do Akarians protect people from the Kolvas?”

  “They battle Kolvas. Take many prisoners. Will conquer Kolvas soon and kill them all.”

  Jovai looked back at the shaman who was observing their exchange curiously.

  “Shaman, what must we do to earn your friendship?”

  “Witch-boy, you have frightened my people. You must let them vent their fear and anger on you freely. You must say nothing and do nothing — only die.”

  The image of the Gicok boy her people had tortured flashed into Jovai’s mind. He was asking the same of her.

  “If I do this, I will earn your friendship?”

  The shaman nodded.

  “As proof of your friendship will you agree to heal this Gicok, give him back his horses and supplies and let him free?”

  “Why should we heal our enemy?” demanded the shaman.

  “I am in his debt for my escape. Honor forbids me to seek your friendship if it means denying this debt. Also, two, maybe three Akarians are dead, so we could be free. Is that not worth the life of only one whom you consider an enemy?”

  The shaman nodded slowly.

  “I will allow this, if you die bravely and if he will leave us and cause no harm to us.”

  The Kolvas were probably going to kill them anyway. It might mean a more painful death for her, but at least this way her death could serve some purpose.

  “Kill me then,” she agreed.

  She tried to speak bravely, but her voice shook and, beneath the watery earth, her heart was pounding with such a force it threatened to burst through her chest. She was a nothing, or worse, a witch. She had no place, no family, no people. There was nothing to live for. Even so, she didn’t want to die, not yet. She didn’t want to suffer…Jovai forced her hand slowly through the quicksand to touch the place on her tunic under which her bag of treasures was held. Somehow it seemed warm, as if the bag were glowing. She could see the star-bone in her mind shining as the Gicok warrior handed it to her. He had been sharing his destiny, perhaps more than he knew. She smiled, drawing comfort from his example. If he could be brave, so could she.

  “Gicok,” she said, turning to the frightened man, “I have made a deal with these people…”

  “No deal with Kolvas! They evil! They not trust.”

  “We are not in a good position to argue…”

  “How you talk to demon man, anyway?” he demanded, suspiciously. “How you know language?”

  “He knows my language.”

  “He evil, Vohee. This one, demon man.”

  “He has agreed to heal your wounds, give you back the horses and supplies and set you free.”

  “What I give him?” demanded the Gicok, frowning.

  “Just leave them alone, Gicok. Do what they tell you to while you’re here and don’t interfere with them.”

  “They kill my people!”

  “This is not the time to avenge them. You may do as I tell you, Gicok, or you may die now.”

  He looked mistrustfully toward the demon man, then back in Jovai’s direction, his eyes flickering furiously. With a deep frown to register his misgivings, he nodded his agreement.

  “I am ready to submit to your people,” Jovai told the shaman. Her voice shook slightly as she said it. She hoped he did not hear.

  “Then push the White One away from you,” he instructed.

  Jovai obeyed, pushing the Gicok as far away as her arms could reach. He did not resist but only watched her, confused. As soon as he was well away, the shaman once again raised both his arms to his chest. Then, with a few murmured words, he lowered the arm that faced the Gicok back down to his side. As he did so, the earth pushed the Gicok back to its surface and hardened underneath him, leaving him standing, shakily, with caking mud all over his body. The shaman then turned to Jovai and the arm that faced her slowly raised. She felt herself sinking deeper into the quicksand until it was just under her chin. Then the shaman fisted his hand and the quicksand turned to solid earth. She was trapped so tightly she could hardly breathe.

  “You see, he lie!” exclaimed the Gicok, rushing angrily toward the shaman.

  “Be still Gicok!” yelled Jovai, but he did not heed her. He rushed to topple the shaman and found the man suddenly not there. He had vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

  “Demon man!” yelled the Gicok angrily. He turned back to Jovai and began pounding and scratching at the now solid ground around her, trying to dig her free. As hard as he tried, the ground would not loosen. Jovai let him struggle until the last of his energy gave and he collapsed, panting, on the ground next to her.
r />   “This spirit man has not lied,” she told him. “Not yet. He has agreed to heal you and let you go. If you don’t trust him, then leave now while no one can stop you.”

  “And Dolkati Friend?” demanded the Gicok.

  “I stay.”

  “They kill you?”

  “They could easily have killed us both. It is generous of them to let you go.”

  The Gicok shook his head and struggled to rise.

  “I not let them kill you,” He declared. “They eat you. Steal your spirit. I not be dishonored.”

  “Why do you care, Gicok? I’m only a “Vohee.” You don’t even like me.”

  “I like you O.K., Vohee. You ride horse like bulky sack but you not so stupid otherwise. You Dolkati Friend. I believe you not steal. You earn.”

  “You cannot help me, Gicok. If you do not get healing, you will die yourself. Just don’t fight them — at least not until you have a chance of winning.”

  Through the woods came the sound of the footsteps of several men. Jovai’s heart leapt with fear as the shaman and two warriors stepped around to where she could see them. She forced a small smile for greeting. The shaman watched her closely.

  “We have come to take the White One for healing,” he told her.

  He motioned for the two warriors to take the Gicok.

  “No!” yelled the Gicok, pulling away. The shaman frowned and looked toward Jovai.

  “They are taking you to heal you,” Jovai told him as the warriors again tried to grab him. Again the Gicok pulled away.

  “Wait,” he said. “Talk to demon man for me. Tell him I make deal.”

  “The deal is made. What more could you want?”

  “Tell him, Vohee!”

  She spoke to the shaman, delivering the message.

  “What deal will he make?” asked the shaman.

  “He will listen to you,” she told the Gicok. “What do you want?”

  “Tell him I trade places with you.”