Finally, by the banks of the northern river that divided the land of the Biriae from those of their neighbors, Ohaern turned to thank his escort, and then sent them back to their homes with gifts of the booty they had captured from the robbers. For himself, he kept none, but Lucoyo bore a pouch of gold and gems. Then the smith and the half-elf crossed the river and made their way through forests becoming increasingly familiar as they came home—until, one afternoon, they came out of the trees, and Ohaern’s eyes filled with tears as he readied himself to find the wreckage of his former village.
But his eyes dried with amazement as he saw the village standing as it had been when Ryl had been alive and vibrant in his arms. A young woman, watching children at play, looked up and saw them, then cried with delight and came running.
Lucoyo stared, unable to believe his eyes, then gave a shout of joy and tossed his pack away so that he could run and sweep her up in his arms. Ohaern stared in surprise, too, then remembered that the Biriae had been broken into many tiny bands of fugitives. So Elluaera had lived after all, and Lucoyo had spent his grief in vain!
No, not in vain. The Vanyar were weakened by the loss of the false god who had lent them rage and hatred; they had been chastened by the Biharu and penned within the lands they already held, their vanguards harried back to the main horde, where they would settle to farm the earth like the shamans who would rise to rule them by knowledge alone, and by faith in a god that would not die. Lucoyo had helped to accomplish much in his wanderings.
Ohaern picked up the pack of gold and weighed it in one hand; he would keep it for the half-elf till he was done with the distraction that gave him so much joy. Lucoyo had gained by the adventure in gold as well as experience and wisdom, and had come back rich enough to wed a wife and rear babes, even to see them marry and have children in their own turns.
Epilogue
And we are the babes of those babes, Grandfather?” the eldest boy asked.
“You are, scamp, and you know it,” Lucoyo said, reaching out to give an affectionate tweak on the boy’s ear. “You know it well, for you have heard this tale a dozen times already!”
“But we never tire of it,” the eldest girl assured him.
“That is well,” said Lucoyo, who always changed the story enough to keep it interesting, “for I intend to tell it to you so often that you shall never forget it, and will drum it into the heads of your grandchildren in your turn!”
What he did not tell them was that Ohaern had stayed long enough to watch his toddling son without telling that he was the boy’s father—it would be unfair, since the child had never known him, and to reclaim him from the loving parents who were rearing him would have been cruel to both. He had left them with a few baubles he had kept from the booty, more than enough to keep them in comfort, and had forced himself to turn away.
No, Lucoyo did not tell the children that. Instead, as always, he said, “The Biriae asked Ohaern to be their chief and rule all their tribes, but he saw that they had rebuilt their lives without him, even though it was due to his labors that their enemies had been weakened enough to leave them in peace—and he saw that they had shamans and chiefs already, already and enough, so he told them instead that he must go off into the wilderness to find his true love. They understood his need, if not his destination, and let him go with praise and feasting, but without argument.
“So Ohaern left his village—” Lucoyo said.
“Our village, Grandfather?” said the second-eldest girl.
“Yes, our village, riddlehead!” Lucoyo gave the child an affectionate tap on the crown. “He went off into the wilderness, and no man ever saw him again—”
“Huh!” The youngest nodded her head. “Could be! Somebody from ‘nother village!”
“Well, yes, all right, there may be somebody in this world who saw him again—but nobody I have ever spoken to!”
“Did he just wither away and die of a broken heart?” The middle girl blinked eyes gone suddenly moist.
“Your heart must not be so soft, child, or when you’re grown, every boy you meet will mold it to his liking,” Lucoyo warned. “Well, I suppose he might have died of a broken heart, but I doubt it—Ohaern’s heart was oak, and not so easily split. No, I think he went off into the woods, to live by himself and find again the waking dream he found in the cavern.” He smiled into the wide, spellbound eyes before him.
“Beware, husband,” said the village beauty, now grown old. “Would you have them think your hero became a hermit?”
“A hermit, aye, and living in a hermitage—but much more now, much more! I think that he found his goddess again— aye, that his dream-woman was Rahani herself, tired of Ulin and wanting a taste of a mortal man for a change!”
“Oh,” said his daughter, trying to hide a smile, “and I suppose that one taste of Ohaern would make her want him for an everlasting banquet!”
“Well, it would not be so impossible as you might think.” Old Elluaera’s eyes took on the faraway look of remembrance. “Certainly there was a lot of him—and I can see that if he was to a woman’s taste, she would want a whole banquet, not just a nibble.”
“Such a woman as yourself?” Lucoyo asked in a dangerous tone.
“No, husband.” Elluaera rose, a little stiffly, and came over to clasp his hand. “I have a taste for lighter fare. There was no merriment in him, and I need the salt of humor in a man.”
“Well, you found that, truly enough.” Lucoyo smiled into her eyes. “You chose that, if nothing more.”
“A great deal more.” She tightened her hold and pressed his hand against her. “If Rahani’s mouth watered at sight of Ohaern, I rejoice—for mine did not.” A little lie never hurt a marriage, after all.
“The other boys say that Ohaern’s body lies locked in ice in a hidden cave,” the eldest boy said stoutly, “but that his spirit has found his goddess, there in the spirit world, and learns wisdom from her lips as he dwells in rapture with her. What is ‘rapture,’ Gran’pa?”
His mother cleared her throat rather sharply, and Lucoyo said, “Well, I can believe the part about his body, at least.”
“Did the goddess fall in love with him, then?” the eldest girl asked breathlessly.
“They say the Ulin cannot truly fall in love,” Lucoyo hedged, “for they can love nothing so much as themselves. But I doubt not that she still takes pleasure in—”
His wife coughed.
“—his company,” Lucoyo said smoothly, “and keeps him rapt in his trance, teaching him more and more of that which a man like Ohaern most desires—”
His daughter coughed.
“—wizardry!” Again Lucoyo changed directions without the slightest sign.
“So she keeps him entranced, teaching him wizardry and love?” the middle girl asked.
“But when shall he waken?” the eldest boy demanded.
“When humankind needs him,” Lucoyo told him, “and be sure that we will, for it is even as Ohaern thought it was when he told me, “This is not finished, nor will it ever be.’ And he was right, for the fight is not done. Ever.”
The bear stepped off the Tree and found the radiant woman waiting. “So you have found me at last, Ohaern,” she said.
“At last, O Lady—O Beloved!” Even as he turned back into a man, Ohaern fell to his knees, reaching up to clasp her robe.
It came away, revealing a sheer garment beneath, and the woman laughed. “So impatient, Ohaern!”
The shaman stared at the form that seemed to glow through the translucent fabric, and stammered, “How—How can you condescend to embrace a clumsy mortal like myself!”
“You are never clumsy, but sensitive, deft, and caring.” She clasped his arms and raised him up. “There is no condescension in it, only desire—though I am sure the few Ulin remaining would charge me with cowardice in pursuing a male whom I could so easily overpower, if I chose.”
“You have done so,” he whispered, “and without choosing.”
; She gave him a languid smile, bathing in the flattery, and came into his arms. When they separated, she told him, “If I choose this way to teach you things men are not born knowing and only rarely have need of, who is to tell me I am wrong?”
“None would dare,” Ohaern said fervently.
“No, but they would ask why.” She gave him a mischievous smile.
“Is this to be my reward for work well done, then?” Ohaern said, with a bitterness he had not known was in him. “Am I to be given pleasure for doing your bidding, for attacking when you commanded and coming at your call? Am I, truly, only your pet? For I cannot understand how I could be anything more!” Then, instantly, he pleaded, “I beg you, do not tell me that I am, for I could not even then summon the pride or the anger to turn away from you!”
“As indeed you should not, with a woman of a race so much older and more powerful than your own,” she said tartly. “How, though, if I told you that you were not a pet, but a weapon that I must forge and sharpen to ward me against my foes, in a battle that will come?”
“I shall guard you with my life!” he said instantly and with total devotion. “Bid me attack, and I shall do it—now, or in five centuries, or whenever you wish! Forge me as you will, that I may protect you as you need!”
“Why, so I do,” she said, “and this is the manner in which I choose to do it.” Then she slid into his embrace again, arms twining up about his neck to draw him down, down, where the luminous mists enfolded them and the wisdom of the Ulin could be imparted to a mind not made large enough to hold it, by love and care and caresses, by lip and touch and fingernails trailing sensation, heart-to-heart and mind-to-mind, and spirit enfolding and sharing itself with spirit.
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THE STAR STONE
Book Two: The Sage
Now available from Del Rey® Books.
The Shaman Page 38