The Sage

by Christopher Stasheff

  “How do we know that he did not?” Swiba returned. “He may have berated us, he may have beaten us at his whim or taken' one of our women for his pleasure when the urge came upon him—but he was always there as long as our grandfathers can remember, and we always knew what he would say or do if we erred in our duty to him!”

  Kitishane stared in outrage, but before she could speak, Illbane said sternly, “But he did not control the weather or the crops. He gave you nothing and took everything, especially your pride and your manliness. Do you wish certain knowledge? Then be sure the rains will never fail here in the mountains, be sure that if you catch the sheep and breed and rear them, they will always be there. You are no worse off by his death, and greatly improved by your freedom. Go now to keep all you catch, all you raise! Go, to learn to defend yourselves, and to work out the confusion of choice!”

  The Chamoyards looked uncertain, but Swiba went back to join them, then led them off down the mountainside. One by one they followed, glancing back uncertainly at the companions.

  When the last of them disappeared around the curve of the path, Kitishane erupted. “The cravens, the cowards! To fear him dead, when he could harm them no longer!”

  “But sister,” Lua pleaded, “they feared only to go without his direction and protection!”

  “Could they not see that he guided them only to their own poverty and degradation?” Kitishane raved. “Could they not see that they needed protection only from him?”

  “No,” Illbane told her. “He had taken that sight away from them.”

  “Try to understand it, Kitishane,” Lua pleaded. “People enslaved end by looking up to their master, to justify their own shame—it is not that they are so lowly, but that he is so high.” She lowered her gaze. “Believe me, I know.”

  Kitishane stared at her in shock, then whirled to glare at Culaehra. He met her gaze and nodded slowly. “It is even as she says.” He nodded at Illbane. “I, too, know—now.”

  That took some of the edge off Kitishane's wrath. She turned back to Lua with a frown. The gnome-maid gave her a tremulous smile. “Remember, too, that these men were born slaves, as their fathers were. To them, Wauhanak was the order of all the world.”

  “Blasphemy! And a mortal wound to the soul!”

  “Not mortal—we recovered,” Lua said, sharing a quick glance with Culaehra. “They will, too, though it will take them longer, since they were born to it.”

  “They will,” Illbane assured her, “though it will take many years. Not only will they recover their independence—they will even come to rejoice in their freedom. But it will take time, maiden—it will take time.”

  Kitishane frowned up at him, brooding, then turned away with a shudder. “Slaves or not, they were lethal! I thought they would slay us sure!”

  “What, a handful of ragged wild men slay you, when you have just slain their god?” Illbane turned to her, caught between amusement and annoyance. “Do you still have so little faith in yourselves? You have slain an Ulharl!”

  “Surely that was a happy chance . . .”

  “It was not! It was muscle and quickness, inspiration and strong magic, sure aim and shrewd fighting! It was all four of you working together against a giant and a dozen armed men! I could lead you to another Ulharl, and you would win again!”

  “Oh, do not!” Lua wailed.

  Instantly, Illbane softened. “Be of good heart, little one—I will not do so just yet.”

  Culaehra tried to ignore the chill raised by that “just yet” and said, “It was also because you were with us to counter the Ulharl's magic. We could not have won without you, Illbane.”

  “Well, no,” the sage admitted, “not just yet. Yocote had never seen which spells to use against an Ulharl before, and the four of you might have been overawed if I had not been here beside you. But your shaman gnome learns more magic every day, and no Ulharl will ever afright you so much again by his mere presence. Be warned, though, my students—Bolenkar is huger still, and far more fearsome than any of his siblings, by the sheer intensity of his hatred and malice.”

  “Why do you tell us of Bolenkar?” Lua asked, her voice trembling.

  “Why did you shoot at Wauhanak?” Illbane returned.

  “Oh, I could not let him slay Culaehra!”

  Yocote's face turned to stone; he turned away.

  “Oh, do not be so, Yocote!” Lua cried. “Culaehra is one of our number, even as you are, even as Kitishane is my sister! Should I not defend him, too?”

  “Even as he defends you?” The gnome turned back, and if his face was not warm, at least it had come alive again.

  Culaehra forced a grin. “Why, shaman! Would you have her leave me to my fate?”

  But he winced as he said it, and Yocote frowned at him. “Why do you press your hand to your side?”

  “Stiff muscles,” Culaehra grunted.

  “Aye, with the sweat pouring from your brow and your breath so light it would not disturb a butterfly!” Yocote strode toward the warrior. “Lua, favor me by lighting a fire and boiling water! Kitishane, take him down! He has cracked a rib at the least, and perhaps broken it!”

  “Can you sit without making it worse?” Kitishane stepped up to take Culaehra's arm.

  “Why the devil should I?” he snapped, then winced again.

  She stared at him a moment, then sank to her knees, reaching up to him. “Come, sit beside me, strong man!”

  The posture sent desire throbbing through Culaehra with a strength that startled him.

  “Please.” Her voice was a caress, her arms beckoning.

  Culaehra almost screamed within his brain, reminding himself that she was only luring him down to be healed, and for no other purpose. “You have no right to be so alluring,” he snapped—but it came out as a groan, for he was trying to lower himself to the ground.

  Illbane came up and planted his staff near. Culaehra grasped it to steady himself, carefully unfolding his legs as he sat. Broken ends of bone grated against one another, and he practically screamed with the pain, but managed to stifle it into another groan.

  “Be brave, my friend,” Kitishane said, her voice gentle, sympathetic. “Yocote, does he need to lie down?”

  “No, only to be low enough so that I can reach him.” The gnome stepped up beside the warrior, probing his chest.

  Culaehra nearly screamed, then gasped, “What is this, gnome? Revenge?”

  “Mercy,” Yocote said dryly. “If I had wanted revenge, I would have let the Ulharl have you. You are fortunate—there is only the one rib broken. Grit your teeth, Culaehra—this will hurt like a demon for a moment, but after that, it will only ache abominably.”

  He set himself, fingers on the broken rib. Then his hands moved, not very much, but precisely, and enough to make Culaehra whinny with a suppressed scream. As his voice quieted, Yocote's rose, reciting a long string of syllables that seemed to have some sort of music buried in them, his fingers moving over the broken bone. At last he stopped, stepping away and saying, “Sit very still this while, Culaehra.” He turned away to the little fire and the pot that boiled above it. “Thank you, Lua.”

  Yocote took small pouches from his belt, pinching powders from within and sprinkling them into the pot. He let them boil as he chanted over them, then took the little vessel from the fire and set it in front of Culaehra. “Sit still until the steam has ceased to rise,” he said. “Then you may drink it—but drink it all, no matter how vile the flavor. Some while after that you may rise—and your rib should be as good as new. That is not to say it will not ache for a few days, but it will stand up to normal misuse.”

  “I ... thank you, shaman,” Culaehra said, as if not quite knowing how to pronounce the words.

  “I shall delight to see you in good health again,” Yocote said, inclining his head. “After all, it is to our benefit, for if you are laid low, who will carry that horrendous weight to Agrapax for us?”

  “What horrendous weight?” Culaehra groaned.
r />   Silence fell. Everyone looked about for the treasure chest. “Where is it?” Yocote asked softly.

  Culaehra groaned again, not from the pain. Quietly, Kitishane said, “I was about to fall into a crevasse. He had to choose between the treasure and me.”

  “He chose well,” Yocote said instantly.

  “Oh, aye!” Lua said fervently. “Bless you, warrior, for saving my sister!”

  Culaehra looked up in surprise. “You bless me?”

  Lua could only smile beneath her goggles. “I forgave you months ago, Culaehra. Do you forgive Illbane?”

  “Aye, if you wish it.” But the warrior looked up at the sage, searching his feelings and finding only a lingering resentment of Illbane's bullying. The hatred was gone, and with it, the lust for revenge. After all, how can you keep hating a man who saves your life, who listens to your self-condemnations and never whispers a word of them to another soul, who nonetheless reassures you of your own worth? “I think I have already.”

  Illbane's smile was radiant. “What matters the loss of a mass of gold, against such discoveries as these?”

  Culaehra's shoulders lifted and fell with the laugh he dared not yet let out, for fear of his mending rib. “It matters little to us, Illbane, but it will matter somewhat to Agrapax, and even more to Oramore. I find I have no wish to go to an Ulin and tell him I have lost his gold.”

  “Well, then, we must win it back,” Yocote said simply.

  “Oh, easily said!” Culaehra snorted. “But how shall we go down where the chest has fallen, especially now that the crack in the earth ...” His voice trailed off as he stared at Yocote.

  The little shaman smiled under his goggles, nodding. “Yes, Culaehra. We are gnomes—people whose natural home is far underground, to whom the seams and rips within the earth are as natural a playground as a tree's limbs are to you. Come with us, if you dare.”

  “I cannot let you go alone to mend my failure!”

  “It was not a failure!” Lua's brows knit in a frown. “You saved my sister!”

  Culaehra stared, wordless at hearing the gnome-maid speak sharply. Yocote took advantage of his silence to say, “You are a hero, Culaehra—accept it. Come now, drink your medicine, and when your rib is healed, we shall descend!”

  “But how?” Culaehra managed to croak.

  “Through there.” Yocote jerked his head toward Wauhanak's cave. “Any cave is an opening into the earth, and my gnome's senses tell me that this opening goes deeper than most. Come, Culaehra—or are you afraid to go into a god's home?”

  Chapter 17

  Culaehra grunted. “A god's house I might fear,” he said, “but what has that to do with Wauhanak?” Then, to Illbane, “Why are you smiling so?”

  “Hear your own words,” the sage answered. Culaehra thought back, then realized that he finally did believe the Ulharls were really not divine. Would he believe that of the Ulin, when he met their smith Agrapax?

  He drank the brewed herbs, but Yocote insisted that he rest for an hour or two. He brewed another tea for all to share, and they sipped and chatted about the adventures of the last few months. They were amazed to discover how much they had all changed.

  “Yocote has become a shaman, and Culaehra a man worthy of any trust,” Kitishane said in tones of surprise. “Lua has turned from a timid sparrow into an archer who can slay if she must. Only I have changed little, save for becoming the trained fighter that I used to pretend I was.”

  “Oh, no, sister!” Lua protested. “You have changed far more than that! You are more quiet, you do not bluster or storm at those you perceive as a threat—and you are so much more sure of yourself that I might not know you if I had not seen the changes as they happened.”

  Kitishane stared. “Am I really?”

  “You are,” Yocote confirmed, but Culaehra only frowned and said, “You did not know?”

  She met his gaze, her eyes still wide. He smiled, glowing within at her compliments, and vowing never, ever, to violate her trust.

  “This is your doing, sage,” Yocote accused.

  “It is, and I rejoice in it.” Illbane looked from one to the other, his smile radiant. “The ordeals through which I have led you, the enemies you have faced together, have put each of you well on the way to becoming all that you can be, a way that will go on your whole life, if you have the determination to follow it without me to goad you.”

  “All that we can be?” Culaehra frowned. “What is this?”

  “It is most obvious in you, Culaehra, for your body, which was strong but running to fat from self-indulgence, is now hard and lean, and trained to true fighting skill. Your conscience is at last awake, seeking to tell you what is right, not finding excuses for doing as you please. This battle has shown that you have the spirit of a true warrior—” He looked around at them all, smiling. “—but so do you all. In Culaehra it is more apparent, for he had the furthest to go; in Yocote it is almost as much so, for he has changed from a gnome whose magic was weak into a shaman of formidable powers. But you and Lua have grown just as greatly, and the sign of it is that you have even more determination than Culaehra and Yocote in your chosen goal.”

  They all stared at him in surprise; then Yocote asked carefully, “What goal is that?”

  “You see? You are not even aware of it yet.” Illbane smiled upon Kitishane. “Speak, maiden. What do you seek to do?”

  Her voice was hushed, almost as if she was afraid to be heard. “To destroy Bolenkar.”

  The men stared, then stared again at Lua, for she had not cried out in dismay. Instead she only nodded, slowly and with gravity. “So you have seen that, too, sister?”

  “Yes, it is as you say!” Culaehra said, eyes wide. “It has been growing in me, but I had not yet put words to it!”

  “Nor had I.” Yocote frowned. “But it is true, is it not? The fuchan, the king's corrupter, the Ulharl grinding down these mountaineers—all were sent by Bolenkar, were they not?”

  “Yes, and the man who sowed doubts of right and wrong in my village.” Culaehra glowered at the memory. “Was there one among the gnomekind, too?”

  “Was there? Why do you think they let Lua go wandering aboveground, and despised me for being too weak in magic?” Yocote spat.

  “All is due to Bolenkar, is it not?” Culaehra asked.

  “Not all humanity's woes, no,” Illbane said, “for our kind is more than able to make one another miserable by rivalry for position and for mates, by greed and jealousy and the lust for power. But the suffering that has grown amazingly in this last hundred years, yes—it is far worse than is natural to humankind, and the gain is all due to Bolenkar's agents, playing upon our natural vices.”

  They were silent a moment, aghast at the magnitude of what they had said.

  “It is audacity of the highest order, even to speak of overthrowing a god,” Lua whispered.

  “But he is no god.” Culaehra pushed himself to his feet. “We know that now—Bolenkar is no god, but only an Ulharl, and can be slain, even as we slew Wauhanak.”

  “Can be, yes.” Yocote frowned. “But Wauhanak dwelled alone, with only these mountaineers to do his bidding. Bolenkar surely must dwell surrounded by armies, all eager to win his favor by slaying his enemies!”

  “That is very true,” Illbane said, nodding.

  “Then we shall have to amass an army,” Culaehra said resolutely, “and we shall have to be devious in the extreme. What, little companion—can you not outsmart a lumbering hulk like that?”

  Yocote's face split in a grin. “Why, surely I must! Come, big man, take up your sword again, and take a few brands for torches before you smother the fire. I pronounce you healed, and we have a treasure to find!”

  He led them past Wauhanak's corpse and into his cave, where he and Lua took off their goggles. Around, behind the throne they led, then through the fine purple linen that masked the opening into the earth.

  The Ulharl's dwelling was furnished in luxury. The walls were hung with preciou
s cloths, the huge table and chairs and bed were carved from lustrous woods and ornamented with great care. Jewels winked in the cups and plates of silver and gold, and the stone floor was covered by furs sewn together to form one large carpet.

  “The villagers may have lived in abject poverty,” Yocote said sourly, “but their god did well enough for himself.”

  “Where did they find so many beautiful things?” Lua asked, eyes wide and wondering.

  “From caravans that came here in the early years, before Wauhanak's 'toll' grew so great as to make them shun this pass,” Illbane replied.

  “It is so neat and clean!” Lua looked about her in amazement.

  Culaehra grunted. “I doubt that was his doing. More likely the women of the village were summoned each day or week, to sweep and dust and cook for him.”

  Illbane nodded steadily, pleased at their reasoning.

  “Enough of his dwelling!” Yocote began to thrash the wall hangings. “There is an opening to the world below; let us find it!”

  “How do you know?” But Kitishane joined him in his probing.

  “A gnome knows, sister,” Lua assured her, flicking draperies aside. “There!”

  They all turned to look, and saw a dark opening in the rock, perhaps five feet high, barred with a wooden grid of close-set rods. Culaehra looked upon it with a smile of irony. “He did not go through there himself, did he? It will be difficult even for me! But why the grid?”

  “To keep out vermin, warrior,” Yocote said dryly, “such as rats and bats—and gnomes! Come, take it aside for us!”

  Frowning, Culaehra laid hold of the grid, twining his fingers through the rods, set himself and gave a hearty pull. The grid groaned, then came away—and they found themselves staring down into a lightless opening. Kitishane shivered, but Yocote rubbed his hands, pleased. “Now we go into gnomes' land! Follow, friends!”

  Lua and Yocote stepped in boldly. Culaehra and Kitishane followed with somewhat less assurance. They held their torches higher as the darkness closed about them, leaving only a flickering light that reflected off the walls of the cave and disappeared into the darkness ahead of them.