The Shaman

by Christopher Stasheff

  “There are some few Kuruites,” Manalo said somberly, “who have been bred to the sacrifice, and who have dedicated themselves to Ulahane so completely that they go willingly to the torture and the death—but these are given drugs that make the pain far less than it is for foreigners such as us.”

  Lucoyo frowned. “Do even they who are bred to be sacrifices spend their lives, then, in murdering and torturing their fellows?”

  “No, in prayer and service in the temple.”

  “Then when they die, how can they be of Ulahane?” Lucoyo asked. “Their lips may worship the scarlet god, but their lives worship Lomallin!”

  The Biriae cried out with glee at his words, slapping their knees. Lucoyo almost bolted with shock, but caught himself and sat straighter, with affected calm.

  Manalo nodded, and waited till the people had quieted before he said, “You speak truly, archer. Those good souls are deceived and blameless, so upon their deaths they flee to Lomallin, who protects them from Ulahane. Then from Lomallin, they fly to the Creator.”

  “But their fellow city-men, who do Ulahane’s real work, are far less devout,” Lucoyo said grimly.

  Manalo grinned. “By your own mark, Lucoyo, they are quite devout in the way they live their lives—in murder and rapine, and secret laughing at the ones who spend their lives preparing themselves to be sacrificed.”

  “Why, what a sweet devotion is this!” Lucoyo cried, and was very glad he had mistaken his way out of Ulahane’s worship. “Those who pursue it most devoutly go outside its reach, and they who are most hypocritical fall most squarely within it!”

  The people crowed with delight, and Manalo returned, “What says that for its god?”

  “It says that he prospers by knowing his worshipers’ greed, and by persuading them that their self-interest is his! It says that any worshiper of Ulahane’s who thinks himself smart and worldly is a fool, for by believing in Ulahane, he is a thorough gull!”

  The Biriae hooted and stamped and applauded, and Lucoyo was completely amazed. He thought he had spoken in anger, not in wit.

  Then he realized that the two could be completely compatible.

  “There is truth in that claim,” Manalo admitted.

  “So!” Lucoyo cried. “By seeking their self-interest of empire, and thinking they let Ulahane do their work for them by granting them victory, they truly spread his empire, bringing more and more lands and tribes under his sway and into his service, willingly or not!”

  “Far too willingly,” Manalo said darkly.

  “When will they discover how he has used them?”

  “They will discover it when it is too late,” the sage told him, “when all the free lands have been conquered and Ulahane has no shortage of ruthless, depraved servants of all lands and tribes. Then will he grind down the Kuruites to the bondage and subjugation in which he delights—and too late, they will know their folly.”

  “Well!” Lucoyo’s eyes flashed as he forced himself to his feet—and nearly fell, but Elluaera was there to steady him. “Well! Let us do what we least delight in, and try to save the Kuruites from the discovery of their own folly—by seeing to it that this tribe, at least, remains free!”

  The people leaped to their feet, shouting and bellowing their approval.

  Manalo waited until the shouting had passed its peak, then spread his hands to quiet them and said, “It is well. Let us seek sleep, then, for you cannot do Lomallin’s work if you stagger with exhaustion. To bed, and on the morrow we must move, for we have tarried in this place a day and a night, and if we stay longer than another night, we shall surely see Ulahane’s jackals upon our heels. Good night, good friends.”

  They answered with calls of good night and wishes for fortunate dreams as they moved back toward their brush huts. A stout young man clapped Lucoyo on the shoulder and said, “You are witty, friend.”

  “I thank you,” the half-elf said warily. “Who are you?”

  “This is my brother Lafgar,” said Elluaera.

  He turned to her in astonishment, then back to Lafgar, all wariness now. “I owe your sister great thanks, Lafgar. She has nursed me through a most pitiable state.”

  “I have always had cause to be proud of her, and hope that she is proud of me,” Lafgar returned. “I love her dearly and would take it amiss if anything untoward happened to her.”

  “Lafgar!” Elluaera said indignantly, but Lucoyo only threw back his head and laughed. He slapped the bigger man on the shoulder and said, “Friend Lafgar, I would I were well enough to be a threat of any kind!”

  Lafgar stared at him a moment, then grinned sheepishly.

  “Have no fear,” Lucoyo assured him. “Her honor is as sacred to me as my own.”

  “That is what I feared,” Lafgar said.

  Lucoyo’s eyes flashed with anger; then he realized the joke, and smiled. “So, a man after my own taste in words!”

  “So is she,” Lafgar warned. “Beware.”

  “I will rejoice in it—for at the moment I can rejoice in little else. Have I your permission for her to escort me to my pallet?”

  “Do you need it?” Elluaera demanded indignantly.

  “Need it or not, he has it,” Lafgar told her, and struck Lucoyo a mock blow on the upper arm. “Our family is honored by your friendship, half-elf—but I pray you, learn of our customs ere you flirt with my sister. Good night.” And he was gone into the gloom.

  Lucoyo frowned after him, then turned to the maiden, who burned with embarrassment. “What customs did he mean?”

  “Why,” she said, “our silly males hold that a man must prove his worth ere he can ask a woman to be his wife.”

  Lucoyo stopped, staring into her eyes. “I see no silliness in that.”

  She stared back at him, startled, then turned away, blushing. “As if you had any interest in me other than in my nursing!”

  “Yes, as if I had,” Lucoyo murmured. “Imagine that.”

  “I cannot.”

  “You should,” he told her, and she looked up, staring in surprise. “But if I were a well man, and a whole man, and one who might think of more than flirting,” said Lucoyo, “how would I prove my worthiness to be a husband?”

  “By gaining wealth,” she said slowly, “furs and amber to trade, and perhaps even some of the southerners’ golden coins. In our tribe, if a hunter has built a house and brought back meat for the clan and gathered furs and amber for two years together, he is deemed worthy to take a wife, for he has shown that he can feed her and her children, and house them.”

  “Is that all?” Lucoyo asked in surprise. “Must he not also go forth to battle, and come back alive?”

  “Well yes, but there may be no battles in his time,” Elluaera said. “Besides, you have already proved your worth in that fashion, by the accounts of Ohaern and his band—and no one will doubt their word in that.”

  Lucoyo stared, amazed and grateful to his fellow raiders. It felt odd. “But I fell down in the battle!”

  “After it,” she reminded him, “and you were already worn down when the band met you.”

  Lucoyo stiffened in indignation. “I walked as tall and ran as far as any of them!”

  “You did,” she agreed, “and they spoke of it with great respect when they told your tale around the campfire. But they knew you were not in the fullness of your strength even then.”

  And they had never let him know they guessed! “So—I have proved my worth as a warrior .. .”

  “And need only prove that you could husband.” Her eyes twinkled. “But that would be if you had the wish to marry.”

  “Why, yes.” Lucoyo caught her hand and looked into her eyes. “And if I did, and if I had proved worthy by hunting and building, would you wish to marry me?”

  Her eyes widened, seemed to swell as she swayed forward, and her lips tasted sweet on his, sweeter than any honey or syrup he had ever sipped, sweeter yet as the kiss deepened, and he closed his eyes, the better to savor the taste, the touch, the fe
el ...

  Then her lips moved away, but her eyes were still huge, still very close, and shining into his. “I might,” she said, “but no woman may answer such a question till the man may ask it.”

  “But I have not,” Lucoyo breathed, “only asked, ‘what if.’ “

  “Then what if you proved your worth as a hunter first?” she asked. “What if you dwelt with my people for two years, to show them you would willingly dwell among us all your life?”

  “Why, so I would,” Lucoyo said fervently. “But for me, a far greater question is: Would they have me?”

  “Oh, yes,” Elluaera said softly. “From the words I have heard around the fire, they would very willingly have you among them all your days.”

  Some little while later, Lucoyo returned to the brush hut that had been his sickroom—and found Ohaern reclining on the other pallet. He sat up, smiling, and said, “So you have found your nurse a pleasant companion, outlander.”

  “Very pleasant indeed.” Lucoyo sat slowly on his pine-bough bed. “But how is it you are come, Ohaern? I need no nurse any longer, and if I did, I would not choose you!”

  “It is because you no longer need one, that I am come,” Ohaern said with some irony. “We must speak of the future, Lucoyo.”

  Lucoyo braced himself. “Speak, then.”

  “Will you return to your own tribe?”

  “Never!” Lucoyo spat. “They have cast me out bodily—but they cast me out in their hearts, the day I was born!” He sat trembling, amazed at his own venom.

  “The more fools they, then, and the greater our gain,” Ohaern said. “Would you be a Biri, Lucoyo?”

  “Aye, willingly,” Lucoyo said slowly, “but can a fox become a wolf? My ears will always be long and pointed, and my feet shall always be that of a nomad!”

  “So long as they return to a Biri village, there is no bar in that,” Ohaern said, musing, “and so long as the rest of your body cleaves to no woman but one. The fox can be adopted by the wolves, Lucoyo.”

  “I have never seen that, nor heard of it!”

  “Nor have I,” Ohaern admitted, “though I have heard that wolves have raised human children and treated them as their own. Will you be an honorary wolf, Lucoyo, and mingle your blood with that of our clan?”

  Lucoyo stared, his whole body stiffening, trembling, unable to believe his good fortune.

  “Come, the choice is not so great as that,” Ohaern said, his voice low. “You have already mingled your blood with ours on the battlefield. Do you not wish it?”

  “With all my heart!”

  “Then it shall be done.” The big smith stood up, grinning, and reached down to clasp Lucoyo’s arm and hand. “When we have returned to our own land and reclaimed our village, we shall take you into our tribe with ceremony—but we have already taken you in, with our hearts. Sleep well, Lucoyo.”

  He left, but the half-elf did not sleep for an hour and more. He only sat, dazed by his good fortune and trying to persuade himself that it was both real and true.

  At last he lay down, but lay awhile longer staring into the darkness, seeing visions of harmony and companionship and love and marriage, trying desperately to quell the fear within him, the fear of hoping, of feeling delight, the fear that if he did, all would be taken from him. So when, at last, he did sleep, worn out by warring jubilation and anxiety, he was not surprised when he was wakened by the angry shouts of alarm and the clash of iron on bronze.

  He clasped his knife belt about him, caught up his bow and quiver, and charged out into a night lit by burning brush huts, hearing the cries all about him.

  “The Klaja! The Klaja!”

  “They have come back, with more!”

  “More Klaja, and their master!”

  Lucoyo was scrambling upright when a running body struck him and sent him spinning. The body fell with him, howling, and sharp teeth snapped shut an inch from his face. In panic, Lucoyo yanked out his knife and struck. Crimson streaked across the human cheek and the jackal’s snout, and the monster howled again, but this time in fear, then scrambled away. Hot with blood lust, Lucoyo pursued—and saw his quarry duck between two more of his kind, who advanced, snarling, with spears raised.

  Lucoyo fell back a few steps, then bent to string his bow and came up with an arrow nocked. The Klaja hesitated, giving him stable targets, and he loosed one arrow, then whipped another across the bow even as the first struck a Klaja chest. The beast fell howling, and its mate scrambled away.

  Burning with fury and the elation of victory, Lucoyo spun, looking for new quarry ...

  And a huge hand slapped him aside as if he were a branch of leaves. Thunder filled his head as he fell, the thunder of a huge basso voice bellowing in a foreign language, as much bark as words. Dazed and terrified, he saw the giant, half again the height of a man, wading through the fight toward a knoll where Ohaern stood with Manalo behind him. The giant struck Biriae and Klaja alike, sweeping them aside with huge backhanded sweeps of his arms, slamming them against trees to slide broken to the ground.

  One of those blows struck Elluaera.

  She stood bravely, a spear in her hands, jabbing at the giant. Then she was flying through the air, head snapping back, striking the bole of a huge oak and sliding to the ground in a heap of bright hair and tumbled limbs.

  Lucoyo screamed.

  He screamed, bent his bow and loosed. The arrow flew straight and true, and stuck jutting out of the giant’s shoulder, right next to the cross straps of his black leathers. He did not even seem to notice, just kept ploughing through the fight.

  Lucoyo went mad. He screamed obscenities, running around the giant, stabbing and slashing at any who came in his way, not caring if they were human or half beast, for he was almost a beast himself now. Twelve feet in front of the giant and five to the side, he knelt and loosed an arrow. He aimed for the eye; it struck the cheek, and this time the giant felt it. He roared in anger—a broad, blond-haired, high-cheeked face that might have been rudely handsome another time, but was now ugly with rage and gloating anticipation. He advanced even as Lucoyo was drawing again, and struck the half-elf a backhanded blow that sent him caroming off an elm. Dazed and aching, Lucoyo scrambled to his feet—and saw the circle of men about Ohaern and Manalo, only yards to his left. Ohaern stood shouting, a sword in each hand, cutting down any Klaja who came near him. Most huddled back, spears ready, wary of coming within the big smith’s reach. One by one the Biriae rallied to their chief, those who still lived. As they came, Manalo gave each an iron sword, which he produced from beneath his cloak in seemingly endless profusion; even in mid-fight,

  Lucoyo had the crazy notion that the sage could not possibly have carried so many.

  But he needed a sword himself, and his arrows could reach those Klaja who were careful to stay beyond Ohaern’s grasp. Lucoyo ran toward them—or tried to run, but his legs kept giving way beneath him, and a Klaja, mistaking that weakness for vulnerability, struck down at him with a cry of glee, the firelight gleaming off its teeth. Lucoyo struck upward with his knife, ripping skin and muscle; the jackal fell back howling in pain, clutching blood. Lucoyo paid him no attention, but stumbled toward Ohaern, dodging legs and striking with his blade. Twice spears struck him, but he twisted aside at the last instant, and they only left red streaks; twice, blows caught him and sent him spinning, but they threw him in the right direction, toward the knoll, and the protection of the Biriae.

  But the Ulharl reached them first.

  Chapter 11

  The Ulharl reached them first, or came close enough. He roared and swung up a hand, a hand that suddenly cupped fire in its basket of a palm, a hand that shot forward, hurling that fire, hurling it straight toward Manalo.

  The sage whipped one more sword from beneath his cloak—a sword of bronze, with strange patterns etched in the metal. He shouted some words the Biriae could not understand, slashing the sword between himself and the Ulharl. Fire traced that arc, flames burst from it—flames that engulfed the Ulh
arl’s fireball. A loud, sharp report sounded; then the flames roared, swirling up higher than the Ulharl’s head and billowing toward him. The giant fell back with a cry of alarm, then growled as the flames died. He lurched toward the sage.

  But Manalo was chanting again, gesturing as if lifting handfuls of grain, and snakes came writhing out of the ground to twine up about the Ulharl’s legs, dozens of snakes, scores of snakes, thicker and thicker as they followed one another, twining about the giant’s limbs and swarming over him. He thrashed at them, bellowing in anger, and managed to trample a few underfoot, but the others held fast, tightening their coils.

  In rage, the giant shouted a spell of his own, and the snakes melted like spring snow in a shadowed pocket, touched suddenly by sunlight.

  But Manalo was still chanting, hands paddling like a mole’s, and the ground beneath the Ulharl rumbled, then sank. Roaring in surprise and anger, the giant dropped into a pit that had not been there a moment before, as the ground gave way beneath his feet.

  “Their champion is down!” Ohaern bellowed. “Cut these jackals apart!”

  The Biriae roared agreement and blocked spears on their shields while they slashed the owners with their swords. One Biri began to chant their old war song, and others joined him. In seconds the whole throng was belting out the words of doom, while their swords reaped death all about them. Biriae fell with spears in their chests—but far more Klaja rolled on the ground, yelping with fear and pain as they clutched at crimson wounds, or lay silent and lifeless. Even though they outnumbered the Biriae three to one, the Klaja began to give way, their circle widening.

  As they did, Manalo held his palms out toward the hole as if he were warming them at a fire, and chanted words of power.

  But the Ulharl was chanting in his pit even as he was gouging handholds, then kicking them into footholds and climbing up toward the rim. He surged up the last four feet, head and shoulders shooting into sight, right arm swinging down, fingers widespread, as he shouted his own enchantment—and a thousand dripping teeth shot through the air to englobe the sage. But even as they flew, Manalo shouted his imperative, and a thousand needle-sharp daggers flew to stab at the Ulharl from all sides.