Qaletaqa

by Gladden, DelSheree

  I stopped, realizing that Quaile wrote all of this when she was still an apprentice. It didn’t even sound like she believed in what she was writing, not really. I turned back to the book, eager to find out what Quaile failed to teach Uriah.

  “Not all of what the Qaletaqa will need to know will be taught to him by the chosen shaman. It would be too much to ask, not to mention some of the knowledge is beyond a shaman’s scope. I will discuss this more at a later time, but first I will detail the shaman’s responsibility to the Qaletaqa.

  I dove into the writings hungrily. I was sure that everything Quaile pretended to either not know or not understand would be in this book. I skimmed through the opening of the chapter quickly. It was mainly just more history on the shaman and how they handed down their lore and traditions. After that came some more useful information.

  “There are three main areas that the chosen shaman must cover as she teaches the Qaletaqa. They are the mind of the Matwau, kinship with the animals, and control of others. Each of these talents are integral to his success. Failure to fully impart the methods and understanding involved in these gifts from the gods will have dire results.”

  I snorted when I read that. Quaile wrote all of this down, sounded so convincing even, but she didn’t bother to follow her own advice. Maybe she didn’t see the signs in me, but surely she realized how Uriah affected animals or could push others to do what he wanted. It was hard to believe she was that blind. I shook my head and kept reading, skipping over what Uriah and I had already figured out for ourselves.

  “The mind of the Matwau is inconceivable to most humans. His great love of chaos and destruction is difficult for many to understand because they are neither as evil as the Matwau, nor the opposite, so compassionate that they can envision the opposite of themselves. The Qaletaqa must remain dedicated to serving others above himself. If his desire to protect others diminishes, so will his ability to understand and defeat the Matwau.”

  I stopped reading for a moment to ponder what Quaile said. In the last line she said Uriah’s compassion would affect his ability to understand and fight. Understanding made sense, but fighting? Why would his compassion have anything to do with causing damage to the Matwau? I wondered if it were linked to his physical strength somehow. If Uriah became more concerned with living than killing the Matwau, would his body weaken? I asked Uriah what he thought about it, but he wasn’t any more sure than I was. My eyes fell back on the words hoping for an explanation. Big surprise, there wasn’t one. There was something else that caught my eye, though.

  “Because of the depth of the Matwau’s vile nature, he will never offer mercy, never back down, never let someone live when he could feast on their life.”

  That line caught my eye because it wasn’t true. The Matwau had the chance to kill Melody, but he didn’t. He could have ended the threat of the Qaletaqa, at least in theory, if he had gotten rid of Melody and the bond as soon as he found her. Instead he chose to take her captive and bait Uriah into fighting him. What Quaile wrote made him sound like a mindless animal. It had been many centuries since his creation that the Matwau has had to roam the earth and learn more than what the dark gods put in his mind at the beginning.

  A battle between good and evil, Matwau and Qaletaqa, had turned into something more. It had become personal. The Matwau wanted to kill Uriah specifically. I shuddered. What else had the Matwau learned during his long life?

  I tried not to think of the Matwau soaking up all the cruel, twisted thoughts and deeds man had to offer as I went back to reading. The next section focused on Uriah’s ability to call on animals for support. It explained the gods of light instilling in each animal a compulsion to help their servants, the shaman, from the beginning of time, then expanding it to the Qaletaqa later. It was fascinating to read about how the gods gave each animal specific characteristics for a specific role in the world. There was a lot more mythology to animals than I had realized.

  I neared the end of the section having read about how Uriah should talk to the animals-something he had learned with Talon’s help, and how to command them. The only really interesting part of the section was an explanation of how Uriah could relay his commands from one animal to the next and gain more distance that way. I explained it to Uriah and he quickly lapsed into thoughtful silence, trying out the technique. From the smile on his face, I assumed it was working.

  The last section Quaile wrote about was by far the most interesting. Mind control. As I read I realized that wasn’t actually what Uriah had been doing all his life without realizing, but it was close. The way Quaile described it, Uriah was capable of pushing a small portion of his power into the people around him.

  His power could search out their mind and feel the weight of their decisions. To me it sounded similar to something Quaile might do. When I was trying to figure out what was going on between me and Uriah what felt like ages ago now, I had read a passage in a book describing how a shaman used her power to see visions of the future. I didn’t understand much of it, but touching someone else with their power definitely seemed to be the key.

  What I found really interesting about Uriah’s ability was that he couldn’t actually force someone to do what he wanted. His gods-given power allowed him to contact a person’s decision, but not to forcefully alter their direction. The gods thought the lack of free will would upset the balance. So Uriah could urge the person toward the right choice, but he couldn’t force them. If a person truly believed he was wrong about what he wanted them to do, it wouldn’t work.

  In general, I wasn’t overly thrilled with the gods and their divine maneuverings. It seemed to me that their quest for eternal balance had only created more problems and left more people dead than anything. How that was fair, I didn’t know. In this, though, I completely agreed. Even though Uriah being able to force people to do as he wanted would probably be a very helpful tool, I did not want anyone, including Uriah, making my decisions for me.

  Plus, if he could control people completely I would be in big trouble when it came to secrets and promises I knew I was probably going to have to break. Lucky for me, his powers didn’t work on shamans. I wondered why that was. Uriah could have forced Quaile to tell him everything a long time ago if his power had been a little more encompassing.

  Was that part of the balance as well, or did the gods simply know that shamans more than anyone were trusted with secrets and decisions only they were capable of keeping and making? Did they know shamans would be required to make sacrifices the Qaletaqa would never want them to make? I sank down in my seat. If I truly was a member of that group, I was exempt from Uriah’s convincing power, but could I truly make the right decision on my own when the time came?

  14: A Dark Part

  Claire kept reading. We had finally made it out of Denver and were cruising north on interstate twenty-five. The traffic was surprisingly light. One or two cars passed me and a single blue sedan seemed content to trail behind us. Without bad driving and congested traffic to keep me on the edge of my seat, there was little left to distract me. I looked at the radio, begging it to spontaneously turn on. The long ago blown out speakers in the truck remained painfully quiet. It was better not to ruin Claire’s focus, anyway.

  I knew Claire was right about Quaile not purposely trying to piss me off by not teaching me what she knew, but it was hard to think of anything else. I had gone through so much that I hadn’t needed to. If she would have been honest I would have been spared near death and multiple headaches.

  Claire had been quiet for a long time, and my thoughts were beginning to cram inside my head so tightly it was painful. I wanted to shake them all out and forget everything for a few minutes. The steady hum of tires on asphalt was getting on my nerves. Even Talon was quiet. I wanted to enjoy the peace inside the truck, but it seemed so false. This wasn’t a rambling drive out to the hills. Claire and I may never make it back home. Yet the monotonous prairie tried to convince me that everything was as it should be, static
and calm. The world didn’t want to believe a monster was holding a girl captive, baiting me to come to my death.

  It felt wrong that the world could be so oblivious.

  “Hey,” Claire said. Her voice was like a beacon come to lead me out of dark and dismal thoughts. I latched onto it and looked over at her. She pointed at the book excitedly. “There’s a whole section in here about what your parents were supposed to teach you. They each had an area they were meant to focus on as they raised you.”

  “Really? It mentions them specifically?”

  “Well, not their names, but it says the parents of the Qaletaqa will be responsible for teaching their son about both spiritual and combat readiness,” Claire explained. “Quaile wrote in notes later on after she found out you had been born and saw what you were. She wrote your mom’s name in next to spiritual readiness, and your dad’s next to combat.”

  My dad had certainly fulfilled his roll. Well, kind of. I wondered if my dad had known how I was supposed to kill the Matwau. He taught me about fighting, but he died so unexpectedly. Was there more he had been planning on teaching me?

  “Listen to this,” Claire said. “Quaile wrote, ‘the Qaletaqa’s mother will be charged will teaching him our traditions and lore. She must instill in her son a strong belief in the legends of our people. Most importantly she should impart the wisdom found in the stories of our tribe’s heroes. In these stories the Qaletaqa will have a model for the path he should follow on his journey. They will be his mentors even in death. They will teach him how to complete his quest.’”

  I laughed, not cheerfully. When Claire looked over at me with her brows knitted together, I said, “My mom certainly made sure I knew the stories, but they didn’t have the effect the shaman were hoping. The old heroes weren’t my mentors. I hated them. I hated hearing about them.”

  “No you didn’t,” Claire said softly.

  “I did. I knew there was something wrong…different about me. Even if I never wanted to admit it, I knew I could do things that didn’t make any sense. It scared me to think I was like them. I didn’t want their lives. I had no desire to be pushed and prodded like a cow into some harrowing, legendary quest.” I sighed and took Claire’s hand. “I already knew what I wanted out of life, and that wasn’t it. I hated that whispering voice in the back of my head that told me I wouldn’t have a choice someday.”

  For a few minutes Claire said nothing. She let me stew in my anger for just long enough that I could breathe it in and then send it away from me where it couldn’t try to poison me. When she knew I was ready she squeezed my hand and asked, “What do you think Quaile meant by the old heroes would teach you how to complete your quest?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. None of them faced the Matwau. No one in my mom’s stories, anyway. And even in the one story Kaya found where a man did fight the Matwau, he didn’t kill him. He fought him off, twice, and then went on with his life. I don’t have that option. Either I kill him, or he kills me.”

  Claire’s nose crinkled as she thought. “What if there’s really something in one of the old stories that will help you kill the Matwau? Maybe there’s an answer in one of them that we haven’t considered.”

  “I don’t know, Claire. I know most of those stories by heart, and you spent months researching them. Did you ever find anything even remotely related to what we’re facing? I sure didn’t.” Frustrated again, I squeezed the steering wheel to vent my rising anger. “If there was a story out there, why wouldn’t my mom tell it to me? She either chose to hold back on the Twin Souls stories that included the Matwau, or she didn’t know them…”

  “Or Quaile told her not to tell them to you,” Claire offered.

  I nodded. That was probably the real truth. The real truth of what Claire was saying sunk into my gut like lead. “If she left what would have obviously helped me out of the Twin Souls stories then she may have left out a hero story that would have taught me how to kill the Matwau.”

  It was a sickening admission to make. I had always viewed my mom as the most honest, heartfelt, and true person I had ever known. It hurt to know that she had kept so much from me. I had no doubt it was under Quaile’s orders, but why did she listen to her and follow so blindly?

  “Even if there is a story,” Claire said, “we don’t know it. How could we not know it after everything we’ve researched?”

  I started to shake my head when a thought occurred to me. “What if it isn’t one story in particular? What if it’s something all the stories have in common?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was there something all, or most, of the heroes did in their stories? Something I should do to prepare myself?”

  Claire thought. Her index finger played with the pages of the book in her lap as she did. Finally, she said, “I’m not sure. They were all gifted with some kind of special ability, which is just like you, and they all had divine guidance on their quest, but I can’t think of anything specific that they each did.”

  “Wait,” I said, “maybe that’s it. The divine guidance part. When have I gotten any of that? In the stories I remember the hero either got help from an animal spirit guide…”

  “What about Talon?”

  I shook my head. “No, Talon remembers being a cub. He’s lived on earth as a regular animal. Plus, he would know more if he was an animal spirit guide. He’s as lost as the rest of us on plenty of things.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. Go back to what you were saying before.”

  “Well, heroes either got a guide, or an actual visit from one of the gods, though that was usually when something bad happened. I haven’t gotten any help from the gods at all. Maybe that’s what I’m missing.”

  “But how do you get that? They’re gods. Shouldn’t they already know you need their help?”

  Yeah, probably, but that didn’t mean they were going to reach out. I didn’t say that out loud because it sounded too pessimistic even to my ears. The gods of light wanted to stop the Matwau as much as I did. Why weren’t they helping me more? I felt like I was missing something.

  “There must be something I’m supposed to do to earn their help, but I don’t know what it is.”

  Claire’s hand rested on my arm. “We’ll figure it out, Uriah. Maybe it’s in the book.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you want me to keep reading?” she asked. I nodded and she turned back to the book. “So it says that your dad was supposed to teach you how to fight.”

  “Does it say he was meant to teach me how to kill the Matwau? Maybe that was my dad’s area. I know I can hurt him, but I don’t know if hurting him is going to be enough. I’m guessing it won’t be easy,” I said.

  Claire shook her head. “It just says fight. I suppose that could be interpreted either way, though. I’m not sure. It says he should teach you how to control your enhanced physical strength. Your strength would develop as you aged, growing stronger with your commitment to protecting and serving others. He was charged with teaching you how to defend yourself and others, and how to take down fierce opponents.”

  So it didn’t say for sure that my dad had left anything out, or that there was anything more to killing the Matwau than simply fighting with him. But I still doubted. Shaman liked their secrets too much for me to trust everything they said. Plus, even though in the two fights I’d had with the Matwau I had done a great deal of damaged to him, he healed so quickly that I feared I could never do enough. I wasn’t even convinced physical damage alone could do the trick.

  Whether my dad had taught me everything he needed to before he died or not, I looked back on those lessons with smile. I had been looking at a picture of my dad in his army fatigues when I asked him what exactly he did in the army. My dad told me about boot camp, long hikes, combat, and rifle training. When I asked him to show me what he had learned he was happy to oblige.

  Of all his training, I had begged him to teach me how to shoot a rifle. Unfortunately my mom put her foot down at t
hat. Nine years old was too young for guns in her mind. I settled for the fighting lessons instead. I loved those times with my dad. He taught me how to punch and defend, how to take down someone bigger than me, and when I would actually need to use what I learned, which was almost never. Protecting myself, or defending someone were the only two reasons I was ever allowed to use the skills my dad taught me. I wished I could honestly say that those had been the only reasons I had ever thrown a punch. I didn’t think a couple schoolyard fights marked against me too badly, though.

  I may not have appreciated my mom’s efforts to prepare me for this, but my dad’s lessons were treasured memories. I remembered sparring with him, practicing shooting in comfortable silence, talking about technique and girls and everything in between. That was always the best part. Either during or after, we always took the time to talk about whatever was on our minds. When I was younger it was about the animals or my friends. As I got older we talked more about Claire and how to deal with her father, and what our plans for the future were.

  Even more than fighting, my dad’s lessons and words of encouragement shaped me. I learned compassion by watching him with the animals. His touch was always gentle. He respected them and they respected him. They held a mutual bond of friendship. I wanted to emulate him because I felt the animals’ love for him, and his for them. There was a sweet innocence to their interactions I recognized even as a child.

  It wasn’t until I was a little older that I realized he treated people the same way. I couldn’t think of a single person who disliked my dad. He had disagreements with people, but people still respected his opinions even if they didn’t agree with him. My dad was my true mentor, not some long dead hero in a story.