Rhys nodded and looked woebegone, letting his shoulders droop. “This is so,” he sighed.
The Shaman put her long narrow hand on his shoulder and canted her head to one side. “You are very young,” she told him, “but I feel you have the colors of a good Shaman. You can learn much by watching your elders.”
“It will be a privilege to learn (most humbly) from you, O Colorful One.”
The Shaman smiled toothily. “Your praise is singing. Now, say why you have come.”
“I wished you to know, O Bright and Shining One, that my Chieftain will arrive in four of your days and will be honored to sit in the Council Tent of the Pa-Kai.”
The Shaman made a “Have I heard you correctly?” face and said, “Why does it take so much longer for your Chief to arrive? You and not-Shaman Rumble Mouth are from the same world, yet he sends an Elder to tell me his Chief will arrive tomorrow morning.”
Rhys wished he could just bring himself to tell the Shaman that was because the Bristol-Benz “Chief” was a fake, but his personal code of ethics forbade that bit of back-biting. Besides, as far as he knew the Pa-Kai didn’t have a word for fake. He suspected they would after associating with Humans for any length of time.
He didn’t have any way to explain Time Altered Space travel to the Pa-Kai either, so he settled for trying to bill Danetta Price as a conscientious sort of Chief, in Pa-Kai terms.
“Your wise eyes will easily see why that is,” he said. “My Chieftain is a female and she feels she must see to the needs of her Clan families before she can be free to do business.”
The Shaman nodded approvingly. “An honorable Chieftain. I will advise the Eldest that we should wait for her arrival before speaking again of foon. It would be only courteous to do so.”
“Thank you, Most Splendid Shaman!” exclaimed Rhys, bowing deeply, then capering two steps to one side. “I am fulfilled.”
“Welcomes, young Shaman. Now, it would please me if you would adore to see my laboratory/workshop/office/place of colorings.”
Rhys boggled at the rich palette of nuances the last word provided. He understood clearly, however, that he was being singled out for the Shaman’s special attention. He accepted her invitation eagerly.
“Your place of colorings will be my School Tent, my Great Tent, my Paradise,” he said, and realized that a deep part of him meant it in more than the polite sense.
o0o
Vladimir Zarber was furious when he heard that negotiations would be held up until the arrival of the Tanaka CEO. He didn’t look furious or sound furious—at least not in front of the Pa-Kai. In front of the Pa-Kai he nodded and cooed and said merely that the Chief of Bristol-Benz would be disappointed. In front of Rhys and his team, Zarber was considerably more disgruntled.
“What did you do?” he asked Rhys suspiciously. “How did you get them to postpone the talks? I had that Shaman convinced our Chief was honoring them by showing up so fast. She was suitably impressed.”
Rhys scratched his jaw and gazed cross-clearing at the Pa-Kai’s tent village, glowing in the twilight. “I only told her our Chief had some things to take care of on Jamal first.”
Zarber’s eyes narrowed. “That should have put her off. You didn’t tell her...”
Rhys could tell he was searching for the appropriate euphemism. “What, that there was no way in God’s great Cosmos you could get your CEO here by tomorrow morning? No, Vlad. I didn’t make a peep. Your... fairy tales are your concern. I’d only expose one of them if I thought it might endanger somebody.”
“You make me sound like a crass materialist.”
Rhys shook his head. “You’re a businessman, Vladimir. Neither pure nor simple. But I do admire your style.”
The older man raised silken brows in an arc of surprise. “Why, thank you, Llewellyn. Dare I hope that praise is sincere?”
“I’m always sincere.”
“Yes, you are,” agreed Zarber cheerfully. “And that, young man, is bound to be your undoing in this business. You have neither the ability nor the inclination to prevaricate.”
Rhys shrugged. “I’ve always subscribed to the belief that, more often than not, honesty really is the best policy.”
“That is a subscription best canceled,” retorted Zarber, visibly pleased with the glib pun. “Most developed cultures expect cleverness in business dealings, whereas our primitive hosts here would be offended by what you call sincerity.”
“I’m not sure I agree with your definition of cleverness, Vlad. But I think our ‘primitive hosts’ may be quite offended to discover that your ‘Chief’ is one of your assistants, and that the real CEO of Bristol-Benz couldn’t be bothered to attend the negotiations.”
Zarber’s expression darkened. “Is that a threat?”
“No. I’ve already told you I have no intention of pulling your covers off.”
“Then the point is moot, isn’t it? Since there’s no one else around to pull my covers.”
“I suppose so... Look, it’s getting dark and we’ve got a state dinner to attend.” Rhys glanced toward the tent village again.
“Oh, yes, of course. And I suppose you’re looking forward to it.”
“Yes, I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me...?” Rhys gave his competitor a slight nod and headed back to the shuttle.
He really was looking forward to the banquet, he realized as he donned his flamboyant Shaman’s garb. His afternoon in the company of the Pa-Kai Eldest’s Shaman, Pa-Lili, had been interesting and productive. Pa-Lili had given him a tour of her workshop, performed several characteristically Pa-Kai magics for his edification, and taken him on her “rounds,” explaining certain spells, tonics, and cures as she executed them.
In turn, he had demonstrated the workings of both his communicator/recorder and his brief-comp, and shown her what Humans made with foon. He’d used his own purple dress unisuit by way of example, as well as the waterproof fabric of his “cape” and the fluorescent splendor of his head ornaments. Pa-Lili had been very impressed, although a bit disappointed to hear that his dress kilt was fabricated from the wool of a creature that thrived only on Earth and one or two of its colonies.
She’d made such delightful noises over his entire outfit that he had promised to make a gift of some similar garments. His preparation for the evening’s festivities had included the careful folding and wrapping of those gifts, which now reposed on his bunk-side unit next to the little pile of Shamanistic fetishes and charms Pa-Lili had insisted he have to fill his sporran (which she had taken to be an empty medicine pouch). He smiled at them, feeling a genuine fondness for the Pa-Kai Shaman, and put on the lulac stone necklace with its small pendant spirit bag. It clashed wonderfully with the rest of his outfit and he knew Pa-Lili would approve.
So, he thought, might his ancient Celtic ancestors.
His assistants, on the other hand, did not approve.
“Do we really have to wear these crazy get-ups?” whined Rick. “I look like a neo-deco Franciscan monk.”
“No, you look like a Pa-Kai apprentice Shaman,” said Rhys. “Franciscan monks didn’t wear that particular shade of chartreuse.”
“Aren’t we taking this ‘when in Rome’ stuff a little too far?”
“Not if it makes the Pa-Kai more comfortable with us.”
“But why are we pretending to be Shaman?” asked Yoshi, peering at him from beneath the nest of colorful cloth strips that festooned her hair. “I thought you said we should always be honest in our dealings with indigenous cultures.”
“Who said anything about pretending? All three of us are the product of cultures in which Shaman played an important early role. We’re just reaching back to our own roots.” Rhys studied the two dubious faces for a moment, then sighed. “Look, I realize this is a bit different from our usual negotiating style. Normally, we’d just throw on the dress clothing, behave in what is generally accepted to be a civilized manner, and offer the sought-after goods and technologies. And I realize you two are out of your
element here. But consider this: We know that as far as the Pa-Kai are concerned, there are two parties necessary for official, binding negotiations—the Chieftain of the Clan or Tribe and the ranking Shaman. If our CEO is the equivalent of their Eldest...”
Yoshi nodded. “Then you’re the logical equivalent of their Shaman and the Shaman must have apprentices and we have to look and act the part.”
“Exactly. And when it comes to looking and acting the part, there is a... slightly different measure of decorum among the Pa-Kai than we’re used to. The clothing we consider businesslike, they consider unworthy.”
Yoshi continued to nod, her dark eyes lighting. “Yes. Our clothes seemed dirty to them—drab like the clothing worn by their children—little color.”
Rick blinked at her. “Is that what that was all about?”
“Didn’t you notice? The young Pa-Kai wear drabber colors than their elders. I would say you earn your colors on this part of Pa-Loana. It’s a sign of status. The more colors, the greater the status.”
Rhys was pleased. The girl had the makings of a good cultural anthropologist. He wondered what either of them was doing in a negotiating team for a major corporation.
Rick nodded. “All right. So, we looked young and dirty. And since we want to impress them as mature and capable...” He shook his colorful habit.
“You’ve got it. But don’t forget the behavior part of the equation. A Shaman is obviously expected to use the full range of body language to communicate. Our mannerisms probably seem ... weak or even secretive to them.”
Rick’s eyes glinted with a sudden spark of realization. “Then, Count Vladimir, with his dress blues and dignity fetish...”
“May find that what were once assets are now liabilities,” finished Rhys. “At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” He crooked his finger at them. “Let’s go.”
“But,” said Yoshi, falling into step beside him, “what if Zarber catches on?”
“I’m hoping he won’t. After all, he accused me of the same thing you did—pretense.”
Yoshi blushed. “Sorry, sir.”
“No apologies necessary. Now, think Shamanistic thoughts and smile.”
o0o
The Tanaka contingent arrived at the collective village circle to find that the Bristol-Benz party had preceded them. Vladimir Zarber’s expression went from arch to stunned to incredulous to amused and back to arch again in remarkably swift succession. Dressed in a midnight blue full-dress unisuit, he strolled over to Rhys with all the swagger of a nineteenth century buccaneer and looked him over from head to toe with a scathing, chuckling glance.
“What in the name of creation are you made up for, Llewellyn? Have you gone completely mad?”
Rhys smiled. “Not that I know of. I’m just trying to fit in with the other Shaman.”
“Really? You could have just explained that where we come from, Shaman don’t dress like that. That’s what I intend to do if the subject of my ‘youthful’ garb comes up again. After all, Llewellyn, in our common culture, it’s the immature who costume themselves in garish abandon.”
“That’s true. But this isn’t our culture, common or otherwise.”
Zarber shook his head. “Honestly, I can’t imagine what Danetta Price was thinking of to hire a Professor of Anthropology over someone with Ph.D. s in Business Psychology and Diplomacy. You are completely unqualified for this line of work, you know. You belong in a dusty little museum somewhere, pottering about with bones and poring over hieroglyphs. It astounds me that you’ve enjoyed as much success as you have. I can only credit it to your beleaguered support staff.” He flicked his gaze to Yoshi and Rick, who met his eyes with cool insolence. “You’re an archetypal geek, Llewellyn,” he said flatly. “And you’re turning your assistants into geeks, too.”
“So there!” muttered Rick when Zarber had stalked off again. “I guess that put us in our place. What was that about Price picking an Anthropologist over a Doctor of Biz-Psych?”
“I don’t know,” said Rhys thoughtfully. “Curious comment, wasn’t it?”
A gong sounded just then, announcing the arrival of the Eldest and his Shaman. There was a general clearing away of Pa-Kai along his preferred route as he was carried to his place in the banquet circle by four hefty specimens, each bearing a corner of his carved and ornamented pallet. He was preceded by Pa-Lili and followed by a standard bearer whose pole-top pennant blazed with the Eldest’s Clan emblem.
Rhys and his assistants bowed and bobbed along with the Pa-Kai, then went to greet their seated host. The Shaman showed them to their seats. She put Rhys to her right and Zarber to her left. Each set of apprentices sat flanking their Shaman. Rhys felt intuitively that the arrangement augured well, if for no other reason than that by placing him so, Pa-Lili seemed to be expressing a preference for his company.
She heightened his suspicion of favoritism by addressing him with great familiarity during the ensuing meal. At one point, having told what passed among the Pa-Kai as a joke, she even slapped him sonorously on the back.
Zarber, quite literally on the other hand, she treated with pronounced decorum. She referred to him always as “Shaman Tsar-Bar” and never once slipped from the Pa-Kai formal pronouns into the more familiar address she used with Rhys. Rhys was pleased with that, but he was the slightest bit uneasy about the fact that Zarber seemed as pleased with her formality as he was with her familiarity.
Just as bemusing was the title “Shaman” being accorded to a man who, earlier that day, Pa-Lili had referred to as “not-Shaman Rumble Mouth.” Taking advantage of Zarber’s distraction by the food and entertainment, Rhys turned to Pa-Lili wearing the “Question?” expression.
“Pardon my nose, O Radiant Pa-Lili, but may I ask why you refer to Zarber as a Shaman? I thought I heard him say he was not a Shaman of the Bristol-Benz Clan.”
“Ah.” Pa-Lili nodded. “Yes, that one was a little confused. He said he did not understand what was being asked of him. The word ‘Shaman’ was not familiar to him. He said among the members of his Clan he is called ‘Doctor.’” Her violet eyes gazed at him very directly. “You had no trouble with the word.”
“We are from different Tribes,” explained Rhys. “Our training was very different.”
“He has more age than you, Reeslooelen.” The name rolled off Pa-Lili’s long slender tongue with a fluidity Rhys had thought possessed only by native speakers of Gaelic.
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, he’s quite a bit older than I am.”
Pa-Lili displayed a most Human frown of bemusement and commented, “He dresses very young. Perhaps he is not comfortable enough with age to admit to it.”
Rhys swallowed a chuckle. “May I also ask why you are so formal with Shaman Zarber?”
“I do this because he likes to be addressed from a distance,” said Pa-Lili. “It strokes him. You would be put off with such formality.”
Rhys bit the inside of his lip. He’d been wrong. Pa-Lili was obviously very sensitive to the personality quirks of other beings. As she was “stroking” Zarber with formality, she was “stroking” Rhys with intimacy.
“And besides,” Pa-Lili said, after a moment of thought, “I like you.”
Rhys quite nearly blushed. He felt a rush of pleased surprise. “I like you, too,” he told her.
She blinked and made the “This pleases” face, her crest hair rippling visibly. She patted his hand. “You wear my gift spirit bag,” she noted.
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Many Hued Pa-Lili. Your gifts were most generous. My medicine pouch is full.”
“What spell do you weave—or is it a secret one?”
Rhys mind went blank except for the entirely irrelevant thought that no one had ever asked him that before and was this what it was like to attend a Sorcerer’s Convention?
“I would like to weave a spell of good will and complete honesty,” he said. That sounded innocuous enough and seemed to please Pa-Lili.
“What, then, are the contents of your bag
?”
“I, uh... It’s empty.” He knew that was wrong and gritted his teeth, waiting for Pa-Lili to register her offense at his ineptitude.
She merely shook her head and clucked at him from somewhere deep in her throat, her long face saying, Poor baby. “No spell may be drawn from an empty bag,” she told him with the air of one repeating ageless advice. “You must place the spell-weaver within.”
Rhys blinked, sensing his apprentice’s eyes hot on the side of his perspiring face.
“A spell-weaver?” he asked limply.
Pa-Lili clucked again. “What do they teach you on your world, Reeslooelen?” She began a rhythmic recitation: “Within the bag must live/the fetish that will power give. Within the bag must dwell / the talisman that weaves the spell.” She raised a long finger. “If a thing is to be tagged, a piece of it goes in the bag. If a soul is to be touched, a bit of their life will serve as such.”
She finished the musical little chant and nodded once, then turned her eyes to Rhys. “They do not teach you this?”
“Not exactly, but I think I understand.”
“I don’t,” said Yoshi unexpectedly. She colored as both Rhys and Pa-Lili turned to look at her. She pressed her hands together before her chest and bowed her head deferentially. “Pardon me, Most Wise Ones, but what does it mean—‘a bit of their life?’ How can you put a bit of someone’s life in a bag?”
Pa-Lili deferred to Rhys. “Will you explain to your apprentice, Reeslooelen?”
Rhys nodded. “Certainly.” He turned to Yoshi and crossed his fingers under the billow of his cape, hoping that Pa-Kai Shamanism followed the same rules as the ancient Earth cultures he’d studied—his own included. “What the Sagacious Pa-Lili means is that something pertaining to the person for whom the spell is intended must be placed in the bag to—ah—to bind the spell and to... point it in the right direction.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Rhys could see Pa-Lili twitching the end of her camelid nose in agreement. He heaved a mental sigh of relief.
“Well spoken,” said the Pa-Kai Shaman. “The bag contains the pointer to the spell, for the spirits/angels must know where the spell is to go—to what or whom it must be bound. So, you give them a twist of hair, a drop of blood, a slice of skin. If many people are involved—many bits of life go into the bag.”
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