The Shaman (15 page)

“Eventual,”
Ohaern said, with a sardonic smile. “It shall not come soon enough to save us.”

“Who
was the giant, O Sage?” another woman asked, and shuddered at the memory of
that handsome, brutal face.

“He
was an Ulharl,” Manalo answered, “half human, half Ulin. Which one, I cannot
say—but by the sigil in his tore, it is clear he was one of Ulahane’s.”

“One
of his own bastard sons, then?”

“In
all likelihood,” Manalo said, “though since the Ulin do not marry, the term ‘bastard’
has little meaning among them. What is more to the point is that Ulahane’s
by-blows are almost without exception the children of rape. It is for that, and
for his harshness to them, that they hate their father—but since the other Ulin
despise them and will injure them if they can, Ulahane’s progeny are dependent
on him for their safety.”

“So
they hate him, but must serve him,” Cordran said.

“All
except Kadura, the first of them,” Manalo answered, “for he was the child of
seduction, not rape, and his mother was honored among humankind, those who
followed Ulahane. So was her son—until she died and Ulahane took back his own.”

“He
cannot love his father!”

“No,
for Ulahane has dealt as cruelly with him as with any. Still, he is the
strongest of the Ulharl, and will gladly discipline any who grow rebellious.”

“Would
not their father’s death free them?” Ohaern demanded.

“In
some measure,” Manalo said slowly, “though all know they would instantly war
upon one another, to see who would win command—and it is not certain that
Kadura would rise from the chaos, for his siblings are like to league against
him before they fall to warring upon one another.”

“What
a sweet family,” a woman said bitterly.

“Are
they not? And Ulahane would have us believe that this is the natural order of
things—for the son’s hand to be turned against the father, the father’s against
the mother, and all the children’s against one another.”

“It
is to our advantage, then, to see Ulahane dead,” Ohaern said judiciously.

All
held still in shocked silence. Some of the Biriae glanced nervously over their
shoulders, as though to see if Ulahane had been listening—but Manalo nodded,
unperturbed. “It is so,” he said, “and therefore is it apt for you to give your
allegiance to Lomallin, and to persuade all you meet to do so, for only an Ulin
can slay another Ulin.”

“But
from what you say, it is Ulahane’s worshipers who grow in number, not Lomallin’s,”
Lrylla said.

“It
is even so,” Manalo agreed, “for your village is unique in that three quarters
escaped. Only imagine the lot of those who lose!”

The
villagers, wide-eyed, exchanged looks of mingled dread and fascination.

Manalo
gave them time to recover, though, time to tend their wounds and begin to heal
in spirit as well as body, before he told them the fate of those tribes who had
not died fighting. The next day, Ohaern put the question to him after the
evening meal, and Manalo replied, “The Ulharl bade their subject peoples turn
to the worship of Ulahane and serve the Klaja— who served Ulahane—for all their
days, by laboring to grow crops in the fields, by building his temples, and
doing any other work they were given.”

The
Biriae rambled, and a woman demanded, “This was a boon?”

“To
the Ulharl’s way of thinking,” Manalo said, “yes. Those who served the scarlet
god long and well, with full devotion, might one day win the right to wear his
tore of honor, such as the Ulharl wore.”

An
ugly mutter sprang up among the Biriae, and one of them growled, “What honor is
this, to wear a dog’s collar?”

“The
Ulharl counted it so, as it was the sign of their rank—so it would likewise be
a sign of rank and authority among the humans who worshiped the Scarlet One.”

“How
if they did
not
wish to serve Ulahane?” Cordran demanded.

“Then
they would serve him with their deaths, on his altar.”

“Sacrificed?”
a woman cried in horror, eyes wide.

“Even
so,” Manalo said, “and it is from just such a fate that Ohaern and his band
saved me—though perhaps the price was too great, for surely Ulahane knew when
they departed, knew the time was best for striking down your village when the
strongest of its warriors were gone.”

Again,
an ugly murmur, and here and there a woman muttered to another that the men
should have fulfilled their greatest responsibility and stayed at home to
protect kin and kind—but none could bring themselves to say it aloud, realizing
that Manalo then would have gone to Ulahane’s altar, and not as an acolyte.

But
the sage had excellent ears, or else knew their thoughts. “I regret the loss of
your village, my friends, and of your kinsmen. If I had known, I would have
bade Ohaern and his men stay at home, for surely my life is not worth your
fifty dead, nor the loss of your homes.”

The
Biriae were silent for a moment; then Cordran said, “You gave us much, Teacher,
and it was a debt that we needed to repay. There was no question of Ohaern
staying at home.”

The
tribesmen rumbled agreement, and the women, too. Manalo smiled, warmed by their
support—but it was a sad smile, too, for he knew their loss.

“If
it is the price of freedom,” a woman cried, “we will pay it! Would that I had
died, rather than my sister!”

“What
of those other tribes given the choice?” a man asked. “Did any convert?”

“Most,”
Manalo said, lips thin.

There
was a babble of consternation. Cordran summed it up. “Free hunters and
warriors, accepting slavery to the scarlet god?”

“The
sacrificing was not merely death, look you,” Manalo told them, “but death by
torture!”

“Even
so,” a woman cried, “they were free hunters!”

“Some,”
Manalo agreed, “though some were free nomads, and there were tribes of several
nations who were taken. But most chose the side of the one whom they thought
must be the stronger god, for they valued winning above all else—and some chose
slavery rather than death in agony. Do not censure these last, I beg you, my
friends, for you have not stood where they stood. If you had heard the screams
from the temple of Ulahane, as I have, you would not be at all quick to blame.”

The
Biriae shuddered and exchanged looks of dismay.

Lucoyo
came limping out of the thicket that had been his temporary sickroom, leaning
on the arm of Elluaera, his self-appointed nurse. He pretended disdain, but
occasionally stared at her for a moment, as if he could not believe she really
existed. Whenever she caught one of those stares, she gave him a roguish
glance, then turned her gaze away with a toss of her head.

But
the words of the people by the campfire electrified Lucoyo, making him turn all
his attention to Manalo.

“What
of the Kuruites?” a woman demanded. “Were
they
conquered, and did they
turn away from their ancestral gods to the Scarlet One?”

“They
turned their backs on their parents’ gods, yes, and embraced the worship of
Ulahane,” Manalo told her, “but they were not captured. No, they were seduced
by Ulahane’s promises borne by the Ulharl—promises of wealth and power, of
dominion over all the ‘barbarians’—”

“The
word is infuriating,” Cordran said, “and I have heard traders, and now an
Ulharl, use it as an insult. I know that we are barbarians, but—”

“Not
really, no,” said Manalo. “You are savages—that means, ‘wild,’ which is to say
that you are hunters who are not ruled by the king of a foreign nation.
Barbarians are folks who drive the great herds—”

“Like
me!” Lucoyo cried.

“Yes,
like Lucoyo and the tribe that reared him.” Manalo turned to the half-elf with
a nod. “The Kuruites, on the other hand, deem themselves to be ‘civilized’—but
that word, taken strictly, means only the ways and customs of people who live
in cities.”

Cordran
spat. “That for the cities! If that is the meaning of the words, Teacher, I
will be a savage, and proud of it!”

“Even
so,” Manalo said, amused, “but when folk speak of civilization, they generally
mean that such customs are more cultured, and their behavior less brutal, than
that of folk who do
not
live in cities.”

“Not
to judge by the Kuruites,” a woman sneered.

“Quite
so,” Manalo said, “quite so. In fact, I have met many savages and barbarians
who are more civilized than the people of Kuru.”

“So,
then,” Lucoyo said, “Ulahane may be a god of cities, but he is not a god of
civilized ways.”

But
Manalo shook his head. “He is not a god of cities alone, for the Klaja are
wild, and so are the Vanyar, the nation of tribes who are swarming over these
western lands to beat them into subjugation for Ulahane—you met them on the
river, and I promise you that, though they be foolish in boats, they are very
clever indeed with horses.”

Lucoyo
snorted. “Their arrows fall short.”

“But
on land they will be much closer to you,” Manalo reminded him. “They, like the
Kuruites, have been won over by Ulahane’s promises—but they seek land and
slaves, where the Kuruites seek empire.”

“And
the Klaja?” asked Ohaern.

“They
seek to stay alive.”

“So
we face the Kuruites, the Klaja, and the Vanyar,” Lucoyo summarized. “Which of
these is worst?”

“All,”
Manalo said grimly, “though if I had to choose one who is even more my enemy
than the others, I would choose the Kuruites, for they have been seduced so
thoroughly, and won over so completely, that their city of Kuru is virtually
Ulahane’s capital.”

Ohaern
tensed. “Is that his seat?”

“There
he dwells,” Manalo confirmed, “for in Kuru is his largest and most luxurious
temple—and there it is that a human man or woman is sacrificed to him every
single day, not once a year or once a month, as is the case in his other
temples.”

“Never
a Kuruite, of course,” Lucoyo said with irony—and to his amazement, the people
laughed.

“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.”