The Shaman (50 page)

“You
yourself have said it,” the judge cried, and the Biharu cheered.

So
the next morning it was Dariad, not the old judge, who saw that Lucoyo and
Ohaern bore packs heavy with provisions as they mounted the camels the tribe
had given them. “You are certain that you shall not stay?” Dariad said, face
pinched with anxiety.

“We
must not,” Ohaern said, and gave him a gentle smile. “There is much yet to
do—and we would see our own homeland.”

Dariad
nodded, remembering what Lucoyo had told him in private—that Ohaern’s heart was
wrung with longing as he watched the simple life about him, the closeness of
neighbors, the bond between husband and wife and their joy in their children.
That was all he had ever wanted—and that, it seemed, would be denied him.
Dariad understood instantly the pain of Ohaern’s guesting and did not truly try
to press him to stay.

“If
you must go,” he said now, “a score of Biharu shall accompany you until you
have passed the lands where Ulahane’s influence moved people.” He expected
Ohaern to refuse and was ready to persuade—but the shaman only nodded with
pleased acceptance. “I will be grateful for the might of their arms, O Dariad.
But bid them bring their swords, for there may yet be fighting to do.”

The
young men answered with shouts of approval and mounted their camels.

Thus
they rode away from the Biharu camp, with the people assembled to wave
farewell—but as they rode up toward the northwest, more Biharu from other
villages joined them, until Ohaern rode once again at the head of an army. He
turned none away, but was grateful for their aid, and Lucoyo began to become
nervous. What battle was the shaman still awaiting?

Then,
as they came in sight of the walls of Cashalo, a hundred dwergs rose out of the
rocks and came to their sides. “What would you of us, Ohaern?” their leader
asked.

“Hail,
Grakhinox!” Ohaern greeted him. “I would ask you to be ready to bring down the
wall of Cashalo and my thanks, O Dwergs.”

So
Lucoyo was not surprised when another army of Klaja appeared from a defile.
Their leader demanded, “Command us, Ohaern!”

“The
sight of your face brings joy to my heart, O Shieldmate,” Ohaern answered,
smiling. “Do you bring your people around to the north and west of the city.”

“We
shall!” The Klaja smiled, tongue lolling out, and led his half-men away at a
trot.

So
when Ohaern stood in the rubble that had been the wall before the city and told
the people of Cashalo that he was Ohaern, come back to destroy Ulahane’s temple
and give them words of advice to guide them through the years, the city folk
made no demur, but opened the way to the hundred Biharu who he promised would
be the only invaders. In they rode, destroyed the temple of Ulahane, and
installed the priest of Ranol in honor. Ohaern bade the people of Cashalo to
refurbish his temple and hearken to his advice, bade them all turn to the
homage of Ranol and listen to the Biharu leaders as they explained the worship
of the Star-Maker. The people of Cashalo listened with quiet attentiveness,
then cheered them as they rode out of the city.

“Do
they cheer us,” Lucoyo asked, “or our leaving?”

“Let
us give them reason to cheer indeed,” Ohaern replied, and to the armies, “Ride
on and away! Give these people the chance to discover a True Way by themselves!”

So
they rode homeward, stopping to destroy any temple or shrine to Ulahane as they
went, to chastise the rover bands that had broken off from Ulahane’s armies to
prey upon the weak—and finally they came to the land of the Vanyar.

Word
had run ahead of them, and they found a Vanyar army drawn up and waiting for
them—but Ohaern called up the dwergs and the Klaja again, and the Biharu proved
to be better fighters than the Vanyar, even as the back of a camel proved to be
an excellent place from which to strike down at racing chariot drivers. When
the battle was done and the Vanyar fled, Ohaern looked upon his Biharu and
Klaja, and grieved at the loss of a tenth of their number—but when his armies
followed the fugitives home, he found them more than ready to sue for a truce.
He left them with a stern injunction to live in peace with their neighbors and
steal no more. Then he bade Lucoyo tell them the tale of the battle between Ulahane
and Lomallin, and when he was done, advised the Vanyar to abandon the worship
of Ulahane, of whom not even a ghost remained, and to turn to Lomallin.

When
they left the chastised invaders behind, the word of Ohaern’s band of vengeance
spread throughout the land, so that the wicked turned away from their cruelties
in fear that the shaman or his Biharu might find them.

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.

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?”