“Long ago,” Chaa said, “before the wind learned how to breathe or before the sun learned how to laugh, or before the first human was trained at the hands of a Neanderthal how to throw a spear, there was a vast plain where bison roamed beneath blue skies, and a man lived upon this plain.”
Tull had to force himself to concentrate as Chaa spoke, and he found that his eyelids had grown heavy. He tried to open them, but they were so heavy, and he wondered if Chaa had set stones upon his eyes to keep them closed.
Tull could not rouse the strength to open his eyes, but he looked to the darkness streaming in from the ceiling. He saw it now, a hole with darkness streaming through, only it had moved to the side. He let his head flop to his right, and he stared at the hole.
“The man who lived on this plain found a bear’s den one day, a den so large that he could not walk around it to guard it, and he feared any bear that could dig such a hole—he feared that the bear would come running out at any moment, and he decided to guard that hole, the hollow of his soul, and slay any bear that tried to leave. The man’s name was Man of Peace, and he had twenty-one children, and all of them were like him, made of lightning, and they danced around the great hole, keeping the bear inside.”
Tull could hear something in his head, trudging about. He opened his mouth, and lights came streaming out in ribbons of canary and vermilion.
Chaa kept stroking Tull’s stomach, and he said roughly, “These twenty-one children are called the Lightnings of the Soul, and they dance over the surface of the hollow of your soul, and keep the darkness from streaming out.”
Tull looked at the dark hole. Lightning danced across the surface on tiny feet. The threads of lightning were blue and thin as a willow switch, but incredibly long. They did a slow melodic dance, waving, weaving patterns over the darkness.
“One day, Man of Peace had a dream,” Chaa said. “He dreamed that he needed help, he dreamed that he wanted something desperately, and do you know what it was?”
“Help,” Tull said. He could feel his body sinking, sinking into the floor. I am only made of mud, he thought, and that is why I must sink down into the mud of the earth.
Chaa kept stroking above Tull’s navel, digging his fingernails into the hollow just beneath his ribs, and Tull suddenly understood that he had not been stroking at all, but that Chaa had really wanted to dig something out of there. Something stuck under the flesh, and Chaa was digging a hole with his fingernail.
“Yes, Man of Peace wanted help,” Chaa whispered. “For Man of Peace feared the Slave Lords of Craal. He had gone into their country to hunt for sea serpents, and while he was there he had killed some soldiers and a sorcerer. So, what do you think he did?”
Tull wondered for a moment before he answered, “Gah.”
“Man of Peace planted the seed of a tree on a black hill, and in only moments the tree began to grow.”
Tull felt something enter him, a sharp pain in his abdomen. He looked down, and just above his abdomen on the black hill, blood flowed like a stream. Tull realized that Chaa had been scratching and picking at that dark place, and now he had pushed a seed into it, and he could feel the seed swell and grow, rumbling in its power.
“The tree grew fast, faster than Man of Peace could imagine, and it filled the sky so that the stars hung in its midnight-blue limbs like ornaments, and it became the World Tree, where the future hung heavy on the branches like globes of fruit. It is above you even now, and Man of Peace knew that if he climbed that tree, it would take him into the future, where he could explore its many branches, but Man of Peace did not want to climb among the tall branches; he only wanted to climb the trunk, then look up at the leaves to find where the slavers hid.”
Tull studied the World Tree bursting from his belly. Its bark was rough and black like the bark of an oak, and it was tall with many branches. He could no longer see his feet. The trunk of the tree was enormous—filling the room, and the tree itself filled the sky. Stars blazed among its branches, moons hid in its leaves, and the tree was dark blue, the hue of the dark between the stars.
A flame leapt at the tree’s trunk right before Tull’s eyes—a single streak of pink lightning, and it tentatively wavered at the bole of the tree.
“That is right, let Man of Peace climb,” Chaa urged. “There is so much to see in that tree. Its roots stretch deep into the past, and its branches flare wide into the future, twisting endlessly. Only here do the two halves join in a single moment. Let Man of Peace climb. Do not try to stop him. Don’t even try to help him. Man of Peace has climbed many trees, and needs no help.”
Tull watched the lightning waver at his belly, pinker than the sunrise, then begin to climb. Tull asked, “Why is Man of Peace pink?”
“He only looks pink today,” Chaa answered. “Turn your eyes toward me. Look at the lightning of my soul.”
Tull turned, saw blue lightning dancing over the black hollow of Chaa’s soul. The Spirit Walker’s body was but a pale shadow, like the flesh of a jellyfish. Within the gelatin lightning played, and the black sphere seemed small, a tiny black hole like the iris of an eye. The gelatin, the sack of flesh, was tinted slightly blue, coloring the lightning.
Tull gazed at his own navel, saw the hollow of his soul—large, like a huge ball, and the pink lightnings flashed over it, and the gelatin of his body colored the lightning pink.
Man of Peace had nearly climbed the tree, and Tull wondered what would happen if he fell. He became very concerned. The lightning snapped back into him.
Chaa swore mildly. “You were almost there! Here, Tull, close your eyes. If you must look anywhere, look at me. Let the Man of Peace go where he will. Think only of one thing, think of the slaver he wants to see. Imagine the slaver—the color of his hair, the shape of his nose, the strong arms.”
Tull lay for a long time, and a calm dizziness entered him. He imagined a slaver in the forest, a slaver of the Blade Kin—a tall man, human with a strong nose and single eyebrow. He hid in the woods above Smilodon Bay, at night. Tull had never seen the man’s face before, but in his heart he recognized that this was how the slaver would look. The slaver stood on the hill above Smilodon Bay, and crept quietly, all dressed in black. The man’s heart pounded, afraid. Down in Smilodon Bay, lights shone in the streets.
Man of Peace watched the slaver, watched him and wanted something badly. Man of Peace went to the slaver, beheld pale green fronds of lightning dancing over a dark orb. Man of Peace entwined himself around a single rod of green light, and then with his tip, he danced across the dark hollow of the slaver’s soul.
A strange sensation passed through Tull, as if a breeze were blowing through him, and Tull realized he was touching this human—that in some way, Tull’s spirit was communicating with the slaver.
Suddenly, Tull felt as if a blade of ice had pierced him, and he broke contact. He sensed something behind him, turned to see two huge black orbs floating through the redwoods.
An inner voice shouted, “Spirit eaters!” and Tull fled.
Sound faded. The vision fragmented. Tull’s head ached as if struck with a mallet, and he crawled to his knees, and then vomited seer’s tea into the ashes of the empty fire.
The room spun, and he lay a moment, trying to regain consciousness, and then found himself walking with Chaa through the dark, stumbling on a narrow trail. A light rain fell, and Tull suddenly remembered that he had wakened earlier to find Chaa urging him to his feet.
“Where are we?” Tull asked.
“We are on the way back to your house,” Chaa answered.
“Oh,” Tull said, and he stopped. He realized he had blacked out, and didn’t know for how long. “What time is it?”
“Still early. Your endeavors lasted only for a couple of hours.”
“Did I connect with the slaver?”
“No,” Chaa said, laughing mildly. “You did not connect. To connect takes very long. You only saw him, and touched him, then you were frightened away.”
“Wh
at are spirit eaters?” Tull asked, and he stopped, waiting for his head to clear. He suddenly realized that Chaa had sent him to seek the slaver for some purpose.
Chaa helped hold Tull upright a moment. “Spirit eaters … In the Land of Shapes are creatures you cannot comprehend. Spirit eaters are … sometimes living people, who have hidden the lightning in their souls, concealed their own effan—their own holiness, or divinity. Instead, they are dark, and they feed on the souls of others. Sometimes spirit eaters are incorporeal, like the ones that came to you. That is all I can say about them.”
“Why did you have me seek a slaver?”
“I was testing to see how much control you had in the Land of Shapes. I hoped you would work harder if I gave you a warrior’s task. You did very well for a first try.”
Tull wanted to ask more, but his thoughts came slowly. He let Chaa usher him to the door to his hogan, help him through. The fire was burning low in the fireplace, and on the mat in the corner Fava and Wayan lay huddled together.
“Good night,” Chaa whispered. “Get some sleep.” He left.
Tull stood and stared stupidly for a moment, watching Fava. He squinted, realized that the drugs had not left him, for he could see into her, see the pink tendrils of light at her navel. There was almost no hollow to her soul—just the smallest of beads—and because of that he realized that she was a special woman, very precious.
He went and lay beside her, wrapped his arms and legs around her, and clung to her.
***
Chapter 9: Uknai
Uknai worked hard after Tull’s party, showing his pictures, trying to warn the people of Smilodon Bay about the terrors that would soon be coming out of Bashevgo. The following morning, he went with the Pwi boys out to a field and learned the basics of swordsmanship.
Uknai had never touched a sword. The Blade Kin did not permit it of Thralls. Yet he marveled how naturally the sword fit his hand, how clean his blows could be.
He suffered through hours of practice, wishing he were young. He felt shamed to be an old Thrall with no children, nothing but desire for vengeance keeping him alive. Often, when the grim despair struck, and he thought of his sweet woman, he wanted only to die as she had died. But rage made him live on.
Yes, it had been a good day. In all his years as a slave in Bashevgo, he’d never imagined anything as beautiful as this: watching the seeds of an army sprout.
When the sun set over Smilodon Bay, he went to Moon Dance Inn, which quickly filled with young Pwi from Finger Mountain and Muskrat Creek and Song of Glee—all young men who had heard rumors of strange happenings in town.
Uknai showed them his paintings, and his heart leapt when he saw their rage, the fanatic gleam in their eyes. For a man with no tongue, Uknai had become persuasive, even eloquent. But after nearly two days without sleep, he finally signaled to the townsmen that he needed rest, even though the hour was early.
“Please, I would be honored if you would sleep at my house!” one young boy said, the beginnings of a yellow beard under his chinless face. Uknai remembered the boy’s name, Farranon. Farranon’s eyes held awe.
Uknai grunted, carefully rolled his canvasses and placed them in their wooden map box, clutched the package under his tired arm.
Farranon wanted to carry them, but Uknai held tight. So many months of work had gone into the paintings. He could not bear the thought that some clumsy youth might stumble and crush them.
The boy opened the door, nearly dancing forward, and grabbed a taper by the doorway and set it alight. “This way, this way, just down the bridge and over the river to Pwi Town!”
The night was chill and a thick fog had risen from the bay. Up in the sky, Woden gleamed pale and milky blue, like a blind eye, half closed. An evening drizzle muddied the streets, and Uknai hurried in the cold, just behind Farranon who walked in his circle of light.
Uknai smelled the humans before he saw them—the musky human scent of vegetables, like broccoli or molding corn. But the boy must not have smelled them, for a man in black robes rushed forward, swung a club down and knocked Farranon aside.
The torch fell in the mud, sputtered, and Uknai saw men around him, at least six, all in black robes. Two stuck a sack over Farranon’s head, silently dragged him away.
“You should have stayed in Bashevgo,” a deep-voiced human said, stepping forward. He was huge in girth, if not in height, and he had a great dark beard.
Two men grabbed Uknai from behind. He dropped his pictures, yelled “Ahh,” and tried to pull away.
Something hit Uknai hard in the back of the head, staggering him, and the attackers managed to grab Uknai’s arms.
Pain lanced through his arthritic shoulders, searing hot. His legs wobbled, and he nearly fell, but the men kept him on his feet.
Uknai looked at his shoulders where the pain lanced through; his captors were holding him upright with meat hooks. They did not intend to ship him back to Bashevgo. They wouldn’t ship merchandise so torn.
Uknai screamed for help.
The man in front of him laughed. “Go ahead and scream, you tongueless bastard. Come on, let’s hear it!”
Uknai screamed, leaning his head back, trying to project his croaking voice toward the inn. He sounded like a hound.
“Gah, Gah, Gah,” his captor barked, mocking. “Right, Enough of that,” he laughed. “Behold your executioner.” He pulled back the hood to his robe, exposing his face. The Mayor smiled down at Uknai, pulled a long knife from a wrist sheath.
“Go ahead! Scream once more. You can’t wake anyone in this town,” Garamon said. He plunged the knife into Uknai’s stomach and twisted.
Uknai screamed from deep in his belly, screamed for release, his ruined voice no louder than the croak of a gull soaring over a vast and empty sea.
***
Chapter 10: Murder
Tull and Fava were sleeping when the alarm rose, a cry of “Murder! Murder!”
The sound came distantly to Tull’s little hogan. He staggered up. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Fava said. “Someone got killed. Go see who!” She handed him his sword, and Tull ran out, strapping it on. He could see dozens of people in the human part of town, gathered in a circle. He ran to the place.
Old Uknai lay in a pool of blood, a burnt taper near his elbow, still smoldering. Nearly fifty people had gathered in the street, shock apparent in their pale faces. Whatever tracks might have been in the mud were hopelessly erased.
At first Tull thought Uknai dead, but the old man gasped in short pants. Someone had bandaged the wound, but the pool of blood beneath Uknai was fresh, and Tull realized that the attackers had not gotten far.
All around, Tull listened to comments. “Just got here … heard him scream … someone get some light.…”
He peered up and down the road. The mayor’s house sat on the corner, two doors down, the windows lighted within, and the mayor’s dogs were not barking. They were locked in their shed behind the house.
Garamon must have heard the shouts, Tull thought. An honest man would not hesitate to find out what was going on, even if it meant he had to run half-naked into the night.
Tull glanced behind him. “Anorath, come with me,” he said sprinting for the Mayor’s house. He watched the windows as he ran, saw a shadow within—the mayor at the fireplace. Tull decided not to knock on the door, and when he looked behind, nearly everyone was with him. Tull hit the front door full-tilt, smashed it.
The mayor stood, stoking the fire in his night clothes. Garamon turned to Tull and shouted, “What’s the meaning of this?”
Tull grabbed the candlestick from the table, waved it near Garamon and said, “You’ve tracked blood on the floor!”
Garamon’s eyes grew wide. “That’s only mud!”
Anorath bent to inspect the floor. Garamon reached into his robe, pulling out something that flashed in the candlelight. Tull only guessed that it was a pistol when the muzzle flash went off, and someone cried out b
ehind him. Anorath fell, grabbing Tull for support, tackling him.
“He’s got a gun!” someone shouted too late.
The mayor whirled, sprinted through a maroon curtain back toward the kitchens.
Tull grabbed Anorath momentarily, to keep him from falling. As he set the man down on the floor, the Pwi raced past him, giving chase to the mayor.
Some of them went back to the bedrooms, shouting, apparently unable to find the man.
But soon some boys brought out Garamon’s wife, along with his twelve-year-old daughter. The women stood huddled in a corner, their faces pale.
Garamon’s wife had dark-red hair and an aging face, but his daughter was all Garamon, the same black hair, the flabby cheeks. One of the Pwi rushed to the fire and pulled out a half-burned oil skin. It was one of Uknai’s smoldering paintings.
Tull sat on the floor, watching Anorath bleed from the ribs. The wound was small and clean, and Tull decided his friend would live.
Yet Tull felt impotent, helpless. He could do nothing but sit and hold his friend. The mayor’s house was large, the furniture rough-hewn, rustic. On the mantel above the fireplace, were odd-shaped decorative glass bottles—midnight blue, lime green, amber and scarlet.
As the crowd grew, the young men decided that the mayor must have fled out a back door. So they ran from house to house, shed to shed, and began searching for the mayor.
Zealous young Pwi shattered the windows to human shops, then climbed inside to search.
They herded some humans, the mayor’s friends, into the streets for questioning.
Chaa himself strode from room to room in Garamon’s house, checking the walls. At last he settled before Garamon’s wife and asked plainly, “Did you know that your husband was a slaver?”
She looked at the pitiless faces of the Neanderthals and shook. “I didn’t know!”
“Did you ever guess that he might be a slaver?”
Blade Kin Page 7
