Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (6 page)

 
          
"This
is Arikan," was all he said,
then
turned away as
though no longer concerned. As the bows were lowered, Wenketh called over his
shoulder to Arikan, "We meet. Join us.
Now."

 
          
No
choice in the matter, eh? No chance to see if any would give him a place to
rest, food or drink in welcome? Granted, the shaman had never been one for idle
chatter, but this . . .

 
          
Wondering,
Arikan took his place among the others, seated on the ground in a circle about
the village's central hearth, and acknowledged the stares with polite dips of
his head: Yes, he was back.

 
          
Courtesy
demanded a complicated ritual for one who'd been away from the People so long—
particularly, Arikan thought, for one who'd gone off in search of a vision. Of
course no one asked if he'd actually found one; that would have been
unthinkably improper. But the ritual was little more than the briefest of
blessings from old Wenketh, who dusted him with pollen there in the central
meeting place, then fixed him with an alarmingly intent stare. And there was
such tension radiating from everyone that Arikan burst out, even though it was
not his place to speak first, "What has happened?"

 
          
"The
eagles are gone," the shaman told him, almost accusingly.

 
          
For
an astonished moment, Arikan could do nothing but stare. There had always been
eagles, a mated pair, whether the same or their descendants, living in a
cliffside nest overlooking the village; beautiful birds with a vast wingspan
and a glint of gold over the brown of their plumage, they were the tangible
sign of the People's name!

 
          
Even
if one no longer believed in the guiding Spirit behind them . . .

 
          
"Gone
how?" Arikan insisted. "There's been no storm so mighty it could tear
down the nest, and no one could climb that cliff!"

 
          
"No
one human," someone said darkly.

 
          
"Aie, nonsense!"

 
          
But
his voice was drowned out by the others. "What does it mean?"

 
          
"Has
the Eagle Spirit abandoned us? Have all the gods?"

 
          
"The
village still stands," Arikan pointed out.

 
          
"But
without the eagles, how can the Eagle Spirit stay?"

 
          
Arikan
bit back an impatient,
There
is no such being!
"We can hardly pack up and leave. Besides, the water here never fails, and
the soil is rich enough—"

 
          
"For now!"

 
          
"Without
the eagles, the land will reject us!"

 
          
"We
cannot stay!"

 
          
Only
Shaman Wenketh said nothing, continuing his disconcerting stare at Arikan.
Arikan shifted uneasily. "Where would you have us go?
To
the Wolf Spirit People?
They would let us pass, yes, but never settle.
And the Owl Spirit People . . ."

 
          
"It
is their doing," the old shaman said, and Arikan winced, expecting
an uproar
from the others. But ... no one said a thing.
Wenketh's mouth almost turned up at the corners. "The others cannot hear
me. But it is the Owl Spirit People who are behind this. Come, Arikan. Walk
with me."

 
          
They
left the circle unnoticed, walked on in silence for a time. Then Wenketh,
eyeing Arikan slyly, said, "Speak."

 
          
Arikan
held up a helpless hand. "What would you have me say? They are only
birds."

 
          
"You
believe that no more than do I. They are only birds even as we are only people.
And we both know that people need their symbols."

 
          
"What
are you saying?"

 
          
"How
went your vision quest, Arikan?"

 
          
Arikan
stopped short. "Forgive me, shaman, but that is a question not even you
may ask."

 
          
"That badly, eh?"

 
          
"I—you—"

 
          
"The
people need their faith, Arikan, even if you think you have lost your own. They
need the Eagle Spirit watching over them. Wait, hear me out. Whether or not you
believe in that or any spirit is not the point. The Owl Spirit People have our
eagles and are trying to destroy us. And if they succeed in breaking our
people's faith, they will succeed in all. I cannot use my powers from afar; the
shaman of the Owl Spirit People would know, and kill the eagles. And I no
longer have the physical strength for the necessary journey.

 
          
Someone
else must go there and bring them back."

 
          
"But why me?
Go to the true
believers,
send them on a—a sacred quest!"

 
          
"Send
them so blinded by their own beliefs they cannot see reality. Or be
sufficiently profane. Besides," Wenketh added dryly, looking Arikan up and
down, "no one, not even our enemies, would ever recognize in so ragged a
being one of the Eagle Spirit People."

 
          
Arikan
ceded that with a shrug. "But why should I risk—"

 
          
"Why
did you return?"

 
          
"Because
. . ."

 
          
"Well?"

 
          
"All
right, yes, because these are my people!
Because, yes, I am
part of them, body, heart and mind—Oh, you are manipulating me most
beautifully, shaman!"

 
          
"One
does," Wenketh replied tranquilly, "what one must. But you will
survive, Arikan."

 
          
"A vision?"

 
          
"Knowledge of you.
Yes. Still. Even after so long a
while. You are a clever man, Arikan, perhaps too clever."

 
          
" 'For
there is a gap between 'clever' and
'wise,'" Arikan quoted.

 
          
"You
may yet bridge that gap," the shaman said dryly. "Come, I see you
have more to say."

 
          
"To ask.
One question: How, exactly, did the Owl Spirit
People steal away the eagles?"

 
          
Wenketh
flinched ever so slightly.
"By magic.
And before
you ask: By magic so sudden and overwhelming that I could do nothing."

 
          
Arikan
stared. "And you want me to go up against that?"

 
          
"As
I say, you are a clever man. If you are clever enough, there will be no need
for them to rouse any great and terrible powers."

 
          
"Of course not.
All they need rouse is some arrow or
spear. No need for sorcery at all."

 
          
"There
is always risk," the shaman retorted. "But there is reward as well.
At the very least, you will, if all is well, find your home anew, and know you
have preserved it. Is that not reason enough?"

 
          
"I
. . ." But Arikan suddenly could find no useful argument at all.

 
          
"If all is well."
If.
And
I believed him, Arikan thought. Hah.

 
          
He
was standing before the Owl Spirit People's village, which was, like his own
home, sheltered between cliffs, with its skin lodges looking so alarmingly like
his people's own— alarmingly, because there should be something different,
something to mark this as
Enemy
Territory
.

 
          
I
let Wenketh overwhelm me with thoughts of home and family.

 
          
Arikan
stiffened. Grim-faced warriors armed with bows and spears were swarming out of
the village to block his way. I let him talk me into this. Now, if only I can
talk my way out again!

 
          
There
was a trading language held in common by many of the Peoples. In it, Arikan
said, keeping his voice carefully neutral and his hands outspread,

 
          
"Greetings.
I come in peace."

 
          
"Who
are you?" a warrior asked coldly.

 
          
"A
wanderer, no more
, seeking
only a fire by which to
rest for the night."

 
          
"We
have no space for wanderers."

 
          
"Have
you not? How strange! I have heard tales of the kindness of the Owl Spirit
People toward those alone and in need." Arikan paused, as though mildly
disturbed by children's rudeness,
then
added, just as
mildly, "A shame were the tales disproved."

 
          
Oh,
that struck the mark! He saw the warriors stir uneasily, wondering, as anyone
might, if this stranger might not be more than he seemed, Other than he seemed.

 
          
"Wait,"
one said. "We will speak with our shaman."

 
          
I
can imagine you shall! But Arikan kept his face innocent. "Do as you must,
of course."

 
          
He
waited, seemingly doing nothing at all. But Arikan was seeing signs of tension,
of a people who were not at peace. Why? The rains fell here as they did
elsewhere; the hunting should be just as good. He saw children . . .

 
          
But not that many.
Not as many, surely, as should be in a
healthy village.

 
          
Ah,
is that it? Was there disease here that slew the young, or prevented the young
from being born at all?

 
          
And
do they think Wenketh and, through him, all the Eagle Spirit People to blame?
Wenketh does not deal in such dark magics!

 
          
But
these folk might not accept that. And if their shaman had then stolen away the
eagles in retaliation—

 
          
No,
Arikan realized suddenly.
For sacrifice.

 
          
Have
they already been slain? Have I come here, risked my life, for nothing?

 
          
A
bit late to worry about that, he answered himself dryly. For here came the
warrior again, and with him, a tall, lean figure that must surely be this
People's shaman.

 
          
No.
No,
he
wrasn't. "The shaman cannot speak with you
now," the man said portentously.

 
          
Ah,
of course not! Any magic powerful enough to catch Wenketh off-guard must
certainly need a great deal of recovery time. "I would not wish to disturb
him," Arikan said piously.
"If I may just rest a
while?"

 
          
He
held out his hands again in the universal gesture of: See? No weapons.

 
          
"What's
in the pack?" the lean man countered.

 
          
"Oh, this.
Nothing much, see?" Kneeling, Arikan
unwrapped
it: A worn, stained hide such as a poor man might
carry, and within it, the bits and pieces someone not quite . . . right might
carry—a shard of flint, a coil of twine, some bright pebbles, and a shred of
dried meat. "Would you like some meat?
A pretty pebble?
No?"