She laughed again. “You have great daring, O Smith, but it is rewarded—for know that I take delight in your embrace too, though the other Ulin would call me twisted for it. Still, it is not in my caresses alone that you are blessed, but in the lore that you are learning and the cause in which you are privileged to spend your life.”
Ohaern wondered in what sense she meant “spend.”
“In both,” she answered, and nodded at his start. “Of course I can read your mind. Am I not a goddess?”
“Not as I was told by Manal—” Ohaern flushed. “Lomallin.”
She did not take offense; indeed, her eye twinkled with approval. “It is true, O Smith—I am no goddess, but only an Ulin woman. Yet the Ulin have great powers and are gods enough for most mortals. Do you not fear me?”
“Yes,” Ohaern said frankly, “but the fear is overcome by the desire.”
“Only desire?” She tilted her head to the side, gazing at him quizzically.
“Oh, I love you, and you know it!” he said. “Though it is beyond arrogance for a mere mortal to love an Ulin. But I do not think the love by itself would overcome the fear.”
“No, but it reassures you that the fear is wrongheaded.” She nodded. “An honest man. You have no idea how rare you are.”
“I am only a smith and warrior of a forest tribe! And one who is concerned for the friend who remains among the living.”
“You need not be,” she assured him. “Your friend and your body will be safe in the cavern, for it is under my protection, and my magic hides it from the sight and scent of the monsters and the Ulharls who drive them—so let your heart be easy and your mind be at rest.” She lay back, eyelids growing heavy, smile growing sultry, and beckoned. “Come—if you have strength enough.”
Ohaern had—but when their breathing had slowed again and she was tracing slow circles with a fingertip that left a wake of sensation on his chest, she said, “I am not goddess enough for you, though I would be for any other man.”
“No,” Ohaern said frankly. “If I truly believed you were a goddess, I should never dare to touch you.”
“And probably could not do anything more,” she agreed. “Precious little use would you be to me then!”
“I shall be of whatever use you wish!” he cried, rolling up on one elbow.
“Bravely spoken,” she said with approval, “but the service I require is the bringing down of Ulahane.”
Then she waited, while Ohaern lay rigid in shock. When it passed, he breathed, “If you wish it, I shall strive for it with all my might—but how could I triumph against an Ulin?”
“You could not,” she told him frankly, “but you could bring him to the brink of doom—for know, O Smith, that it is not only Lomallin and Rahani who survive of those who opposed Marcoblin, but other Ulin, too, though not many—and some among them might be induced to take arms against the Scarlet One.”
Then she told him of the twilight of the Ulin.
When the Ulin War ended, Lomallin tried to assemble all the Ulin who found Ulahane’s cruelty and blasphemy distasteful, tried to persuade them to band together to protect the humans. The homunculi joined Lomallin, and would have made the perfect sort of unquestioning soldier, to be sent against the enemy and slaughtered by the hundreds—but knowing how helpless they were in all ways except carrying out specific tasks as they were commanded to do, Lomallin set them instead to building strongholds to protect the humans and the other younger races from Ulahane’s predators.
“Then there are other Ulin who will battle Ulahane to save my kind?” Ohaern asked.
“There are other Ulin,” she said noncommittally.
Ohaern frowned. “But they will not fight?”
She sighed. “When the war ended, there were so few Ulin left that they could no longer fight one another with expectation of anything but the extinction of their kind. It is for that reason that Lomallin has sought out humans of strength and courage, who may lead their people in defense against Ulahane’s hordes.”
“Such as myself,” Ohaern whispered.
“Such as yourself,” she confirmed, “though you will meet others when you go up against Kuru, and have met one or two already.”
Ohaern suspected she spoke of Dariad. “And is it for this reason that he has gone among us in disguise—to find those who may act for him?”
“There is that,” the Ulin woman admitted, “though it is even more because he has far too soft a heart for his own good, and tries to alleviate the misery that Ulahane visited upon you humans with his magic.”
“Surely the Scarlet One could not have objected to such labor!”
“He objected most strongly! You still do not understand the depth of Ulahane’s hatred. He may have been Marcoblin’s follower, but when he inherited leadership, he surpassed his master in every way, most especially in cruelty and malice. No, he responded to Lomallin’s kindness by imitating Marcoblin and again outdoing him. He ingratiated himself with Agrapax, then dared him to make a creature out of a nightmare, and watched while he worked. When the construct was made, Ulahane went away and set himself to making monsters of his own, and to breeding them out of living ones.” Her face turned to a mask of loathing and anger, and Ohaern had to fight to keep himself from shrinking away. “Ulahane used his magic with gloating cruelty to breed monsters out of humans and animals together,” she said, “and did not hesitate to use rape, and cutting and stitching aided by magic, no matter how painful or degrading it may have been. It was this that persuaded me to work among human folk even as Lomallin did—though not in his fashion—for I could not let pass the atrocities Ulahane worked upon human women and females of all races.”
“What of the other Ulin who remain?”
“The rest of the few score of us still living,” she said, “whether they be human-lovers or human-haters, have imitated Agrapax, going off by themselves where it was safe, to eke out what pleasure they could without danger, refusing to be drawn into the conflict between Lomallin and Ulahane. Now and then these lonely Ulin will take a human or two for their own amusement, or for servants or laborers. Some have even set themselves up as gods—no difficult task, since human folk think us to be such, anyway—and stir up their own cults to ensure a steady supply of human services. Like Lomallin and Ulahane and myself, they have vast powers, when they can be induced to interfere in human affairs—though they are far more likely to lash out at humanity in jealousy and spite.”
Ohaern marveled at the notion of an Ulin being jealous of a human—but then, the younger race had taken the Ulin’s place.
As he did, even now? He wondered how many Ulin would long to rend him limb from limb and visit unspeakable tortures upon him, simply for the audacity of approaching Rahani. “But you, at least, went out to work among us humans.”
“Went out to you, or brought you here.” She turned a lazy, slumberous gaze upon him. “I have tasks for you, O Smith.”
“I shall do them,” he said without a moment’s hesitation—or even a thought as to whether or not the labors she required would be possible. “Is it you alone of all the Ulin, then, who work among us humans?”
“Yes, though I rarely go about in disguise, as Lomallin did. It is too easy for Ulahane to find me and to counter my power with his own, leaving me to the mercy of your kind—and some are less than kind indeed.”
Her face hardened again momentarily, then cleared as he said, very carefully, “You are truly alone in this, then.”
“Not while I have you.” She squeezed his hand, smiling again. “But you speak of Lomallin’s death. Know, O Smith, that his death deprives us only of his body. His spirit still moves among us—no, do not be so surprised! Even your kind leave ghosts upon this earth now and then, and certainly an Ulin would, if he had not sickened of existence. Lomallin has not, for he has work yet to do—and though his spirit may not perform the work of hands, it is much stronger now for no longer being lumbered with flesh.”
Ohaern’s eyes widened. �
�So that is the meaning of the legend!”
“That is its meaning,” she agreed, “and Ulahane knew it well.”
“Then for him to dare to slay the Green One ...”
“Means that he is very sure of victory.” She nodded. “After all, there is a great deal of the work of hands still to be done. Lomallin’s power may counter Ulahane’s, but the younger races must themselves counter the strength of the Scarlet One’s monsters.”
Ohaern thrust himself up to his feet “I must go, I must gather armies, I must—”
“You must learn.” She reached up to stay him with a touch. “You cannot yet fight Ulahane and have even a chance of victory; you must learn magic, that you may fight with arms and with wizardry both.”
Ohaern felt despair mushroom within him. “But how can I learn so much, when I must learn so quickly!”
“I shall teach you.” The gentle touch became stronger, more demanding. “But first I wish to be cherished. It has been long, yes, very long, since I have been worshiped as a goddess should be.”
Ohaern paid the price of his learning—or was rewarded for the labor of it. If it was a price, he was glad to pay it, and if it was reward, he reveled in it. But learn he did, and labor he did. She led him into trances within the trance, and showed him the richness of the spirit world that had lain about him all his life, unseen; he saw the faces in the smoke and the wind, heard the voices in the rocks and the trees, felt and touched the contours of the spirits in the earth. She made him known to all of them, too, and taught him the words of power that would bring them, and all who depended on them, to his aid. She also showed him the malignant spirits and taught him words of power that gave him dominion over them—except a few who were far too strong, and there she taught him how to call up beneficent spirits and weave them into a net that could hold and compel any evil one, a weaving in which they were the woof threads, but he was the warp. She taught him the virtue of every herb and the poison of every creature, and the countering of the one with the other; she taught him the dances and songs and instruments with which malignant spirits could be commanded or banished, and beneficent spirits summoned and beseeched. She made the spirit world as much a home to him as the living world—but now and again, in all these visions, he caught sight of an old man with gray hair and beard, dressed in black robes and bearing a staff that was intricately carved. Several times he turned a glance that was fierce and angry on Ohaern before he strode away into the mists—but she would not tell him who this was, only that he would know when the time came.
At last she confronted him with the spirits of the iron and copper and tin to which he had sung all his years as a smith. Terrible they could be, but gentle they were by nature, and welcomed him as a friend long known.
But always and ever, when the day’s work was done, she called him back to her bower, where duty was privilege and homage was cherishing.
So there was respect in both of them when at last she took him out beneath the night sky and bade him go to bring about the downfall of Ulahane.
“But how shall I induce these strange Ulin, who have gone off by themselves, to move against Ulahane?” Ohaern asked.
“That is my task,” she told him. “It is for you to bring the tribes of men against the city of Kuru and defeat the soldiers of that cesspit.”
“If you command it, I shall do it,” he averred, “but when it is done, may I return to you?”
She gave him a melting smile and reached out to touch. “You have learned how to walk in the spirit, Ohaern. You may always come to me in that form.”
But that, he knew with deep-plunging sadness, was not what he had asked of her. Still, she had only told him what he could do, not what he could not, so there was yet hope.
She told him, “Do not be sad, O Smith, though I tell you we will never meet again until you have brought down Ulahane, for I shall ever be with you—” She touched his chest over his heart. “—in here.” Then she gave him a last transporting kiss, turned away, and was gone. The mists folded about her, swayed with her movements and eddied where she had been, then enfolded Ohaern, caressing him with her perfume, with currents that seemed a last vagrant touch, then enwrapped him and chilled him to the bone. He began to shiver, then blinked to dispel the fog from his eyes—and it dissipated, blowing away. He looked up at the darkened sky again—and saw that it was not truly the sky, but the ceiling of the cavern, ghost-lit by moonbeams. Yet it must have been a sky, for across it stars were falling. He followed their paths and saw that they were truly sparks rising up from a small fire, a fire whose light played upon the features of a gaunt face that bore pointed ears, and Ohaern realized that he had come back to the real world, the world of living men and human women, and though he could not say how or why, he knew that Lomallin would triumph in the end, but that it would be a hard fight, a very hard fight.
More, he understood something about himself now, understood that Rahani would always be with him in some way, but not only her—his wife Ryl, too, for he had taken her into his heart, and she would always be there, smiling, and rejoicing that if she could not care for him, another would. He knew now why he had been so often morose, and knew that he would never be so again.
Looking up, he saw Lucoyo watching him anxiously. How thin he had grown! Ohaern moved, amazed at the stiffness in him, but it was a stiffness that faded even as he brought a hand up in greeting and said, “Thank you, Lucoyo!” But it came out as a croak, from a throat long unused and long dry.
The croak was enough, though; Lucoyo gave a cry of delight and leaped up to clasp him by the shoulders, crying, “You live! Ohaern, I feared you had died and would be forever a statue!” Then he instantly shifted to anger. “You idiot, you death-seeking fool! Cold was your body—and colder your heart, for leaving me so to fret! You would not drink, you would not eat—you have nearly starved yourself to death!”
Ohaern looked down at his body, but saw no lessening in his bulk—though each muscle and ligament did seem to be only now softening, turning from bonelike hardness back to flesh. He looked up to smile with great fondness at his friend. “I cannot thank you enough for having guarded my body throughout this ordeal, Lucoyo. I assure you, I will be well from now on.”
Another face rose next to Lucoyo’s, and Ohaern blinked with surprise. “Grakhinox! But you were to wait for us with the Biharu!”
“We worried, the Klaja and I, when you did not come back,” the dwerg answered in his rusty voice. “We had to see that you lived.”
“We?” Ohaern looked up, and heard a slow, slurring yap from the entrance to the cavern. Turning his head, he saw the Klaja standing, spear in hand, in the tunnel mouth.
“He has guarded us,” Lucoyo said, “not that we seem to have needed it—the manticores and lamias have not come near, though the Klaja followed our trail straight to this cave.”
Lucoyo seemed puzzled, but Ohaern smiled. “It is because the goddess Rahani has taken us under her protection. She has warded this cavern from the eyes of the Ulharl and their herds.”
The Klaja’s breath hissed in sharply, and the dwerg stared— but Lucoyo’s eyes narrowed. “Why, Smith, how do you know that?”
“Because she told it to me in a vision,” Ohaern explained. “She told me many things, Lucoyo, and taught me, too. Call me ‘Smith’ no longer, for she has made a shaman of me.”
The dwerg and the Klaja gave cries of mingled fear and delight, but Lucoyo only said, “ ‘Smith’ you have been to me since I first met you, and ‘Smith’ you shall be to me always. As to your being a shaman, there is nothing so strange in that, for I have seen you learning all the magic you could, whenever Manalo worked a spell.” His face clouded. “Yes, you are a shaman, are you not? For you have learned the magic of the gods themselves!”
“The Ulin,” Ohaern corrected. “They are not gods.” Somehow, he had come to see that the distinction was important.
Lucoyo was still narrow-eyed. “And why should the goddess do you this boon?”
“Because I will have need of magic in the work she demands of me,” Ohaern replied.
“I was afraid of this.” From the look on his face, Lucoyo was apprehensive indeed. “What work is that?”
“Only what we had set ourselves to do already,” Ohaern said, his tone reassuring. “To go up against Kuru.”
“No, there is more!” the half-elf snapped. “The goddess did not need to make a shaman of you only to do a warrior’s work. What else?”
“That is all that we are to do,” Ohaern insisted. “The goddess will do the rest.”
“Which is?” Lucoyo was liking the sound of this less and less.
Ohaern sighed, caught by the half-elf’s insistence. “To challenge Ulahane himself and bring him down, even as he brought down Lomallin.”
The dwerg cried out, and the Klaja growled, every hair on his neck and scalp bristling—but Lucoyo only whimpered once before he said, “I had feared as much. Well, then, O Weapon Forged by the Goddess Herself, O Spear of Rahani, what shall we do?”
“Rest a few days.” Ohaern reached out, stretching cautiously. “I have grown stiff and weak in this trance. How long have I sat thus?”
“Three weeks,” Lucoyo said in disgust. “I wonder that your joints have not rusted tight, that there is still flesh on your bones!”
“And I, that there is flesh on yours!” Ohaern exclaimed, staring. “Oh, my friend! I did not intend to cause you such hardship!”
“It is past, and worth it, from your account.” Lucoyo shrugged impatiently. “That I have any flesh upon me at all, you may thank the Klaja for; he has hunted and found small game in a wasteland where I could have sworn nothing lived— and if there is water in me and, aye, in you, too, you may thank Grakhinox, who found where it pooled in the earth and brought it forth. Now and then I dribbled some moisture over your lips, and it sank in—at least enough to keep you from shriveling before my eyes.”
Ohaern did not tell him that was far more Rahani’s work than his own, or that his trance had taken him into her spell, where she had preserved his body unchanged until it was needed again. He only said, humbly, “I thank you for such faithful nursing, archer—and you for your provisions, my friends. Well then, we shall rest and eat and recover our strength.”
The Shaman Page 33